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”
Let’s talk about dip, yes? I like dip. A lot.
If you are coming to mine for dinner likelihood is that you will be presented with a bowl of homemade dip as an enticing opener to our evening together. I will toast pita triangles, get out a bag of crisps and might even crack open a pack of carrot sticks (frankly, if I’m making you dinner mid-week AND presenting you with freshly made dip you will not judge me for using pre-cut carrots), arrange them artfully on a serving dish and nest amongst them a bowl filled with something of the savoury belief. Sometimes it will be vegetarian and sometimes it will contain animal flesh. Most times it will be made of whatever I have in my cupboard and what I could find at the corner shop in under 5 minutes before rushing home to get ready and welcome you as if I had everything under control. Continue reading “Crab Dip”
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”