Sitting at the wooden table in the living room, I still need a sweater when the night falls. Next to me there is a glass pretending to be a vase with a withered branch of mimosa that comes from my father-in-law's garden. I can't throw it away: despite having lost…
How many meat sauces exist in Italy? In between the rich and self-indulgent Bolognese ragù, where the ground beef and the ground pork are cooked with white wine, milk and tomato paste, and the Neapolitan one, where tradition has it that there is no ground meat, but whole pieces of…
I am traditional. A few days ago I found myself kneading, as if I had received an order from another time. An internal clock, tuned in to the coming and going of seasons, reminded me that the day of the pan co' santi had come. It is a dense bread,…
I sat down and pour myself a tiny glass of vino di visciole, a sweet wine made with sour cherries, a bottle left from a past weekend. The memories of those two days spent with some friends will be indelible just like the red cherry stains on my lips. We chose a weekend that was…
I am proud of how my hands look now. Growing up I used to have small gracious hands, and my granddad Remigio would say: guarda che manine! Look at your hands. These hands have studied, they have not worked yet. He had worked for all his life as a bricklayer.…
December is my August, with the bonus of a cup of steaming tea, freshly baked bread eaten in the morning with raw honey, the crackling fire of the stove, the smell of tangerines and the relaxation, the luxury, to be able to do everything with calm. I have always considered Autumn to be…
I'm sitting at a table at the Arnold Coffee in Florence, one of those bars inspired by the American Starbucks with a continual coming and going of people, a huge stack of paper cups next to the counter, enormous blackboards with an endless choice of American coffee, lattes, shakes and…
Last week I made for the first time a meat broth. As long as I lived with my parents - a year has passed since I made this first floor apartment overlooking the Tuscan hills my gracious palace - it was out of the question that someone else could make…
I’ve written my first acceptance speech, sitting at my tiny desk in the living room with a stained apron, dreaming to wear a red dress and high heels and to stand in front of some of the best food writers, bloggers and editors of our time. I am sure I would have cried, I’m emotional.