I have believed myself a terrible baker for years, but it turns out that I might be an average one which is a lot better than the self-deprecating level I had placed myself at.
I mean, I can make a decent loaf of bread (not with sourdough… I am yet to conquer sourdough…), I can make half decent pies and crostatas alas some with soggy bottoms… And, as it turns out, I can make a decent chocolate chip cookie. Not strictly with my own recipe, but it still counts.
Continue reading “Revenge of the Chocolate Chip Cookies”
There is a flat on the shores of Lake Garda that has been empty for about 5 years.
It’s only a small place on the top floor of a 3-storey building with 2 bedrooms, an airy living room, a small bathroom and an even smaller kitchen.
There is a balcony overlooking the great deep blue waters of the lake and their crown of snow-topped Alps. A balcony where rabbit was spit-roasted nestled amongst pillows of bacon and rosemary needles and pots of flowers and fresh herbs lined the walls.
There is a cellar that used to be filled with bottles of wine, old books, salamis, tins of homemade olive oil and Lego bricks. There is also a garage spot where a red Alfa Romeo car used to be parked. Continue reading “Luisella’s Tiramisu”
I’m 10, nose stuck to the window of the “doposcuola”.
Outside is cold, the day is grey and not at all like those Panamanian days drenched in sunshine and heat my little head remembers from Panama and behind me the nuns watch us. I don’t like the nuns in this doposcuola; they’re not fun like the ones my parents sent me to when we first moved to Italy. Those other nuns played ball with us kids and served us homemade cakes or bread with their very own thick fruit jams for our mid-afternoon snack whilst these ones just pass around sad looking pre-packaged snacks and apples. I miss the jam. These nuns also tell me off continuously for my spelling: they have no patience for the girl who moved across the world less than a year before. Continue reading “Castagnaccio – Chestnut Cake”