Life on balconies and windowsills

These days I'm waking up late to slatted light streaming in through the grey blue shutters in the morning, staccato sounds of engines and voices rising from the streets below rattle me into being. A long lost friend is often found silhouetted on the windowsill smoking calmly six floors high.

Coffee becomes our only routine and we sample different cafes daily. We perch among the pigeons on a thin balcony in the Piazza with sugared fingers and cocoa-covered legs as the inevitable result of a good cornetto. A Gatsby fueled whim is then indulged at the Caffe' Le Logge where peacock feathers gleam doubly in gilded mirrors and chandeliers, and our coffee is accompanied with black chocolate and almonds. We return there one evening with friends for an aperitivo. Skewering green olives, the Italians follow an unusually strong Spritz with an equally heavy Negroni and Erika takes Talisker, neither of which do much to relieve the suffocating humidity of the night into which we wander afterwards.

photo by Erika Lewis

On other nights we cook together at home, over stuffing ourselves with Italian classics taken from a beautiful book of Erika's called 'POLPO' and mulling over future business ventures. We eat anchovy stuffed courgette flowers and divinely fresh buffalo mozzarella with basil and tomatoes. We roll thyme-scented Arancini and blitz rocket and walnuts in preparation for the party we are hosting later that evening. Chianti in hand,  we attempt pizzette which burst with flavour but are let down by my cursed inability to get on with yeast. This is followed by a dessert of  tiny saffron infused pears drizzled in amber moscato with whipped cream and pillows of meringue; all are defeated by it so it lingers sunken and sticky until breakfast the next day. The pears we had bought from a favourite character of mine at the Wednesday market, the beekeeper Luigi. Brown and stooped with quiet movements, he has always appeared suspicious of my foreignness, smiling a wise and closed smile, usually wordless. As usual he was selling a small selection of other things aside from honey, and the wooden crate of pears none larger than a wren in size caught both mine and Erika's eyes. I tentatively questioned Luigi about these and he gave us one each to try, telling me they were called 'uccellini' (little birds) by the locals, weighing out a kilo of them as he spoke, for which I paid next to nothing. Perhaps we gilded the lily, drowning them so in unctuous liquor, but it was delicious nonetheless.

photo by Erika Lewis

Lazy Sundays are spent basking above the terracotta  rooftops squinting out towards the mountains, listening to Paul Simon and dunking cantuccini in our coffee. A hummingbird moth flirts briefly with us and we talk of Dali and skulls and how some moths have no mouths. Idly, I paint my nails with iridescent rust. Later, we strike out for an ice cream at my preferred gelateria around the corner, where I usually choose strawberry and dark chocolate. Then, in a more energetic mood we go to feed the goats and the donkey at the old Orto where the enthusiastic goat warden's hearty laugh as he hands you crusts and looks on delightedly is infectious.

Another of our strolls, after not quite perfecting pizza at home, is with the sole intent of sampling what the local pizzerias have to offer. After stopping at various locations, seeking out fountains and retreating greedily to the shade with numerous paper bags, we conclude that Menchetti's is the best. This is closely followed however by our last buy which we were truthfully too full to appreciate, a spicy artichoke and spinach stuffed spiral at an unassuming sort of place on the way home. Soon, I'll be in Sicily with Marta and her family where I know that all such ideas of pizza will be usurped, more lazy days will be spent in the sun, on the beach, on boats and on mopeds. Even after a year has passed, I still can't quite fathom that I am here in Siena at all and it is tugging at my mind while I sleep and while I talk and say goodbyes as everyone leaves except me.

"Pizzette croccante" di casa nostra

Menchetti's (photo by Erika Lewis)

Summer in Siena

Summer is my favourite season, on a culinary level , due to the ease with which it lends itself to deliciously quick puddings, such as those in the style of Nigel Slater whose book on the subject, I worship. Unaccustomed to the heat of Siena in July, I have fast developed an aversion to slaving over the stove for excessively long periods of time and am now appreciating the value of these types of recipes even more for their reliance on raw ingredients. Easy, refreshing recipes like these, equivalent to the English classic of strawberries and cream at Wimbledon, have been my saviour whether I have been on my own after a hard training session under the sweltering sun or hosting dinners for family and friends over the days of the Palio where routine goes out of the window in all of the frenzy.

All one needs is some great seasonal fruit, particularly abundant in Italy, and a bit of imagination. Here, I bought some peaches that unfortunately were not ripening as quickly as I would have liked so I resigned myself to cooking them lightly just to soften them a little. What I deigned to cook them in was determined purely by a recent obsession of mine and could easily be substituted with whatever you fancy (within reason clearly, I'm not advocating peaches in Guinness for example):

Dessert For One

2 peaches
1 cup almond milk
1tbsp honey
Ground cinnamon

Slice the peaches thinly, whether or not you remove the skins is up to you (I prefer to retain them for their nutritional value). Put them in a pan with the milk and honey over a medium heat until they are soft and the liquid has reduced slightly and taken on a pinkish hue from the peaches. Serve with a sprinkling of cinnamon.

Another recently installed staple into my mental catalogue of instantly gratifying desserts is anything that revolves around figs. At our local greengrocers you can choose between the bruised-looking black figs which are soft and sweet or their white alternative which taste less intense but have a clean freshness to them. For an impulsive farewell dessert, I bought a mixture, quartered them and and piled them atop a marscapone mountain drizzled generously in runny acacia honey - a classic flavour combination. Figs also work brilliantly for quick savoury dishes though, for example, scattered among slices of soft pecorino with a smattering of rocket leaves and again, a drizzle of honey.

 Figgy Salad (adapted from the Bible of Caldesi cooking)

Serves 4

This is a salad best created in layers rather than tossed together as it becomes rather messy otherwise and loses the contrast of flavours and colours a little.

400g goat's cheese cut into chunks
50g toasted chopped hazelnuts
4 figs
100g rocket leaves
The outer leaves of a lettuce
1 punnet of rasperries
2 tablespoons of runny acacia honey
2 tablespoons of olive oil
Black pepper

Fan the lettuce leaves out on a plate as a base for the salad, then place a layer of rocket on the top. Roll the chunks of goats cheese in the hazelnuts so that they are well coated, quarter the figs and gently break the raspberries up taking care not to squash them. Arrange these ingredients how you see fit on the greenery and then drizzle with oil, honey and a twist of freshly ground black pepper.

Recipe: Pea Sformato with Prawns

Ingredients for One

For the Pea Sformato:

1 cup of  pureed peas (from frozen, canned or fresh peas)  

1 cup of milk

some plain flour

10g butter
20g grated Parmesan

some breadcrumbs

1 beaten egg white

a pinch of nutmeg

salt and pepper

For the prawns:

a handful of whole un-shelled prawns

2 shallots

a drizzle of olive oil

1 cup of Marsala

Preheat the oven to 180 or gas mark 4. Butter the inside of your smallest oven dish (about 10 by 15 cm) or a couple of ramekins if you have them and then coat the buttered sides with breadcrumbs. 

Make some béchamel by heating the milk with the nutmeg, salt and pepper. Whilst this is heating up, melt the butter in another saucepan adding little bits of  flour gradually until you have just about formed a paste. Then combine it with the milk and stir it very well until there are no lumps and it is nicely thickened.

Next, add the pea puree ( this can be flavoured with other things too if you like, for example, I put anchovies in mine and heated them together so that the small fillets had dissolved into the puree) and the grated Parmesan to the béchamel and stir. Gently fold in the beaten egg white ensuring that it doesn't lose any air in the process and then pour it into the dish or ramekin you have prepared. Top with a sparse layer of breadcrumbs and bake for about half an hour until the breadcrumbs are beginning to look slightly golden. 

During the final 10 minutes in which the sformato is cooking, heat the olive oil in a frying pan whilst you finely chop the two shallots. Fry the shallots and then add the prawns along with the Marsala with about 5 minutes to go so that the alcohol reduces and the prawns are cooked.

Turn out the sformato whole or cut into slices and serve with the prawns immediately. 

* Note: to give the prawns a bit of a kick, add a chopped fresh chilli when you fry the shallots.

Prima Paella Ockenden

After cramming a length of brick-red chorizo and a conveniently space-efficient wad of saffron into my already bulging backpack on the way home from Alicante (and having learnt it's correct pronunciation), I was  understandably desperate to have a go at making the first paella of my life on my return.

All of my memories of eating paella, from the takeaway delight shared with my boyfriend among the daisies in Greenwich Park to the veritable feast that Miguel rustled up for us in Spain, are full of friends and smiles. Eager to continue with the social nature of Spanish food, I wanted to make my first venture into its cuisine with my housemates as my guinea pigs. In all honesty though, I couldn't handle waiting for a formal occasion at which to ceremoniously open the hallowed chorizo together, my re-awakened taste buds were already gasping for salvation from the somewhat limited repertoire of spices to be found in Italy and so I ate about half of it in various different fridge raids.

How Jamie's Paella looks

Although I was loosely following Jamie Oliver's interpretation of paella ( to be found here: http://www.jamieoliver.com/recipes/seafood-recipes/paella), I was reassured to have the assistance of my Chilean friend Josefa in the kitchen whilst the rice bubbled away in it's saffron-infused stock. Josefa advised me on suitable pans and expected colour and consistency but maintained that as long as you follow the basic principles, almost anything goes when making this Spanish staple. A must though, is the garlic and lemon mayonnaise that she generously whipped up to her grandmother's recipe as the final touch to garnish our plates. Overflowing with chorizo, prawns, pancetta and chicken, the yellowed rice was smokey, salty and spicy, making a great contrast with the fresh tang of the mayonnaise. Unfortunately this is a flavour combination that I probably won't be tasting much more of here in Tuscany due to the conservative nature of our local stores (although I'm sure these types of ingredients can be found in more cosmopolitan cities like Milan), so I will have to wait until my return to England where our national 'palate' is more open-minded  and where my paella will also benefit from fresher seafood!

How our Paella looks

Blumenthal Blues

Recently, my attention has been drawn to the release of Heston Blumenthal's high-tech range of 'Sage' kitchen appliances, in stock at John Lewis and Lakeland (peruse here at Lakeland). Clearly, as a student, I can only dream of any of these products ever belonging to a kitchen of mine, the least bank-bashing item being a 'Multi-cooker' at £99.99 and the most being a 'Barista Express' at £549.99. Imagining for a moment though, that I was oddly, a very a rich student; would I choose to spend countless hundreds on such culinary gadgetry? After repressing my egoistic visions of the Roux-standard patisserie suddenly within my grasp thanks to the magically transformative powers of Blumenthal's devices, I have decided perhaps not. Why?

 I'm all for an electric whisk, a spice-grinder and even a commercial standard onion-chopper (as owned by my curry-making father) to reduce the sweat and tears element of cooking but I think that the introduction of all this extra apparatus takes something of the enjoyment out of cooking. Is there not something to be said for the timeless immediacy of a pestle and mortar and the pleasure it gives (alongside the pain) when crushing woody herbs or pungent spices, releasing more aroma with each grind of the pestle and colouring it's stone surface so brightly? Or the love imbued with the effort of whisking eggs by hand for the cake of a friend or family member? Perhaps it is youth speaking, for with age I might weary and be contented to sit back and let a machine of six pre-set cooking functions turn out a perfect risotto before my eyes. Currently though, I take rather a lot of pleasure in stirring my own risotto affectionately over the stove. 

I also like to cook simply, and thus far have not acquired the knowledge or skill to do otherwise. This eliminates all need for fancy contraptions, and I fear I would not know what to do with them even if they were to be at my disposal. Take, for example, the microwave, which I rarely use and when I do, blindly push all of the buttons at once and hope that whatever went in comes out still intact. That one cannot see the cooking actually happening with this sort of technology unnerves me yet also bores me. What fascinates me about cooking is the process rather than the end product; I like to be able to watch and taste as a dish develops. I like to feel the satisfaction of having physically made something, rather than just constructed it like some kind of edible Ikea assembly kit. In fact, I would summarise my feelings by saying that although very clever, very stylish and extremely useful, the 'Sage' range is just far too professional for me. Particularly, the £399.99 'Scrape-mixer Pro' which is so efficient at cleaving cake mix from the sides of it's bowl that it would leave none for me afterwards.

For laid-back or luxury: two great restaurants

Boccon del Prete is a restaurant just around the corner from where I live. I was first introduced to it by a local from Sovicille who dines there frequently as her restaurant of choice for a relaxing, casual lunch with friends. It was autumn, and excitement was rising among those in the know about the arrival of the first freshly pressed olive oil. This precious green elixir was a world away from any olive oil I had ever known, smelling and tasting intensely of freshly cut grass as we were to discover at Boccon del Prete. There, they served what has to be one of the simplest of dishes ever, with pride, as an antipasto. It was called 'fett'unta' and consisted solely of grilled slices of bread rubbed with garlic, dripping with olive oil and seasoned generously with good salt. As my mother can confirm, it was delicious. This confidence in the quality of one ingredient to make a dish shine is a fundamental basis of Italian cooking and it became even more evident as our meal went on, as demonstrated by the carpaccio of beef with an understated dressing and salad that I had, which was beautifully succulent and flavoursome.

Olive trees in the Chianti hills

Having enjoyed my first experience of the osteria, I went there again with my father and stepmother this weekend for a low-key dinner on their first night in Siena. Both of them plumped immediately for the pork with balsamic vinegar, which was a great choice; bravely, the pork was served rare and was complimented by the unctuous balsamic perfectly. In the spirit of adventure, I chose something a little less traditional to Siena than pork, and had a cold selection of smoked swordfish and salmon. True to expectation, it was a light and well balanced combination. All was accompanied by a very respectable house wine which is always a good, inexpensive option in Italy as they take so much pride in their wine selection.

Chianti Classico being aged

As far as dessert menus go however, I am yet to be seriously impressed in Italy. The combination of Sienese cantucci (a type of biscuit) with a glass of the sweet Vin Santo is a wonderful classic but it gets rather tiresome when it features on every single restaurant's list. I'll admit that the nougat semifreddo with chocolate and caramel sauce I had at Boccon del Prete was a nice finish to my meal, but disappointingly my stepmother's pear cake with vanilla and vin santo infused cream was rather blander than it should have been. 

Personally I don't blame the individual restaurants for their uninspiring sweet selections, as it seems to be a universal phenomenon across Italy. This is probably due to a cultural preference for sweet creations at breakfast rather than in the evening, when your typical Italian would rather go for a stroll and a gelato than order any of the coronary-inducing concoctions we British dream up at a restaurant.

The next day, we booked a table at one of Siena's more luxurious restaurants for a celebratory dinner. An inconspicuous place from the outside, the Antica Osteria da Divo hides inside it an unusual labyrinth of underground Etruscan grottoes which, along with the subtle lighting and soft notes of jazz drifting from cavern to cavern, makes for an unforgettable experience. We were greeted with delicate parcels of rice and salmon whilst we pored over the creative and well-thought out menu, delivered by attentive yet discreet staff. Of the dishes we sampled, each one was breathtaking. My father had the steamed lobster with boiled potatoes and asparagus with a balsamic reduction, followed by the most elegant egg lasagna 'au gratin' with beef, fennel seeds and Tuscan sausage ragu I have ever seen. Kate then had the rolled pork filled with spinach, mushrooms and fresh pecorino, truffle sauce and potato puree and I a breast of guinea fowl with balsamic vinegar and spinach with pine nuts and raisins. Although already quite satisfied enough, we were unable to resist the temptation of a dessert to finish our evening and were pleased to find a rather more sophisticated selection than had been offered the previous night. Again this course was anticipated with a delicious Neapolitan rum baba each. Both my father and Kate singled out a sumptuous chocolate semifreddo served in a macaroon basket with crunchy almonds whilst I chose a sweet pastry stack with lemon scented cream and fresh berries which was taken to another level by a light garnish of mint leaves. The only grievance we found was the overrated selection of digestifs which would have suitably rounded off a glorious dinner, had the grappa we were after been of the quality my father was hoping for. Despite this small criticism, I am already inventing excuses to return and taste the rest of their seasonal spring menu, which I readily assume must be equally as exquisite.

Lasagna 'da Divo' style

A Spanish Escapade

On Saturday morning, I arrived alone in Bologna with my backpack and seven hours to kill before jetting off to Alicante in the evening. Fortunately for me, I  quickly stumbled upon one of Bologna's famous food markets, Mercato di Mezzo, in the old medieval town where I lingered gawping and ruing the lack of space in my luggage. Each shop, with laden trestle tables sprawling out into the narrow street, was a specialist in it's wares. From Pescheria to Pasticceria, Salumeria to Formaggeria, there was everything you could possibly dream of to the highest of Italian standards. Next time I go back, I'm taking a large empty suitcase. From my point of view, filling that suitcase with Bolognese edible goods will be a sensible investment for my larder as many of their best specialities keep well and even improve with age.

A short hop across the Mediterranean Sea later, and I was sitting in the flat of my old friend Miss Jones eating hot bruschetta topped with  tomato salsa, prosciutto, rocket leaves and goat's cheese. We spent  much of our time eating as becomes necessary when you have a lot to catch up on and it's raining. As a testimony to the wise words of the local Spanish students, we found that by far the best meals that we ate were those cooked at  home, like those by Miguel, who would knock up a paella at the drop of a hat. I  soon realised why this was when we went to Mercadona to buy for the dinner I was cooking. It is a sad result of the economic crisis, but you can buy such  varied and great ingredients for an absolute pittance, that it isn't surprising that  people are making their own rather than splashing out on restaurants. Needless to say, I made sure to squeeze some chorizo, vanilla pods and saffron into my backpack to bring back!

Nevertheless, we did sniff out a few gems on our wanders around the streets of Alicante. One particularly irresistible stop was at the Borgonesse Icecream Parlour on the Rambla where the elegantly sculpted mountains of 'helado' topped with jaunty cinnamon sticks and large chunks of nougat hooked us in despite the drizzle outside.

 Another sweet spot we found was a nearby Creperia called Yog&Bluffin where we sated our sugar cravings with first one crepe, and then a second. We gorged ourselves on strawberries submerged in Nutella, and then walnuts drenched in salty caramel; not quintessentially Spanish but extremely satisfying.

To round off the day, we headed into El Barrio, the old town which is the most picturesque part of Alicante, where the beauty of the traditional architecture remains unspoiled by the jumble of concrete flats that plague the rest of the city. Here, there were many small, boutique bars so we sat down for a couple of Mojitos in a casually retro place sporting battered old petrol station signs and a buffalo head mounted on the wall. The inhabitants of this bar were certainly interesting; we met a Parisian eye surgeon, a bearded old rocker who barely masked his affection for his friends with his rough-edged insults, and a half-Irish, half Pakistani Londoner who made his living in Spain playing poker.

The next day, we climbed up Santa Barbera, the castle that dominates the coastal skyline of Alicante, and refueled ourselves afterwards with a couple of small beers and a selection of traditional tapas in an unassuming bar along the road. For all it's shabby appearance, and it's even more questionable characters, the tapas we were brought out was very good. Making the most of being by the sea, I was delighted by the various morsels of whitebait, prawns, fried squid and crab meat. Megan was even tempted enough to eat some of whitebait, bones 'n' all...

I was very sad to leave, having absorbed a bit of the laid-back Spanish attitude to life and wanting to explore more of this new and intriguing country in which my friend was having such fun on the last stretch of her Erasmus year. However, the call of a hearty bolognese ragu with Cecily on my return to Bologna  and the promise of making my very own paella on arriving home in Siena sweetened the departure somewhat.