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Naked zucchini blossom and potato quiche*

In the winter I was able to write bilingual posts in the evening, after dinner, with a steaming cup of tea at my side and a wool blanket on my legs: what a nineteenth-century image, isn’t it? shall I add a gleaming candle, too? I just want to stress that I used to write my posts on the PC, not by hand on a parchment paper with a pen dipped in ink, so, for the record…

As I have already told you, in these days I’m useless. Just after dinner, my eyes start to close, I feel the urge to lie down outside in the fresh evening air to read a book, to watch a cop tv show with my dad (anyone mad about Chicago Code like me?) or just to do something that is the most precious thing: nothing. A pure, quiet, precious nothing.

On the other hand, sometimes I also feel like going out, because this summer is slipping out of my hands: I want to see my friends, make plans about our upcoming holidays and enjoy Siena or Florence by night, with the lights that turn the Arno and Piazza del Campo in a postcard.

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Artichoke Tart

The first thing that comes to my mind when I think of artichokes is not the Easter lamb, not even the mint, that suits perfectly to artichokes. It is not the first dip made with the spicy extra virgin olive oil. It is not even the black nails you have when you finish cleaning a whole bag of these vegetables. No, the first thing that comes to my mind is earwigs. And with this dreamy memory I think I have reached the highest poetic climax in my blog…

You know, I’m talking about those dark brown insects with antennae and a kind of forceps or pincers on their abdomen, so ugly. When I was a kid I was scared to death by earwigs, and I remember they used to come out of the paper bag with artichokes sent by granddad Remigio from San Gimignano.

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