Black Eyed Peas and Celery Salad with Anchovies

I am thankful this month is coming to an end. It has felt long and challenging, full of events that shook my spirit in a too violent way –a forced passage through a dark forest. I can finally see the light at the end of it.

April awaits me with promises of a better, brighter, and hopefully warmer tomorrow. There will be small and yet fundamental changes in my daily life that I hope will bring some solace to my restless and anxious heart, and more time for myself and the others.

"Real change takes small, meaningful steps" is the mantra filling my mind these days. In this spirit, I forced myself to get out of my comfort zone and make things happen. And they did. When they do, I feel as I have been relieved of yet one more weight, one more burden that was keeping me down. It is a process and it takes time and courage. The hardest part is always the beginning.

Change for the better. It might be something as trivial as making the choice of throwing away all your previous beauty products and finally investing some money in new, natural ones. It might be something as huge and scary as quitting your old, hatred job and take new chances. It is all about living the life we want. Spring always feels like the best season to make things happen.

What is the change, if any, you wish for yourself? 

Almond Hummus

"Look around you. Think about it: only one year ago we didn't have this, and this. There wasn't this pot, there was not that lamp, or the little table, the basket."

"What are we doing? Why are we doing this?", asked J.

"At least we still don't have a TV". 

After reading this article, I started to mumble a lot (more than usual) over the very human habit of accumulating stuff. And although I have always thought I am pretty good at not doing it, reality tells me differently. The simplifier and the wonderluster that is in me is constantly challenged by this instinct to be surrounded by objects which somehow make life easier but that are not essential in any way. I could have lived without those enamel dishes, or without reading lamps or pile blankets or a bread bag. I could, but I chose not to.

Eventually, I realised that there has to be a balance, a fragile yet important balance, between feeling constantly precarious and having so much stuff that moving becomes impossible. It is up to us to find it, as there is no single answer to the issue. As it happens, a home that feels like home rather than a temporary accommodation might require pillows, a comfy blanket, and some extra kitchen appliances that will enable cooking a dinner for some friends on the right occasion. I decided that I won't give up these small things for fear that they will hold me down. I decided that as soon as I feel it's getting too much, I'll get rid of all the excess. I decided I don't want to be a slave of objects nor to fear them. I decided that I decide.

A few months ago we bought a blender (also called "the pureerer" as mentioned here). Nothing fancy, just a very basic blender with a few attachments and two functions on special offer. The purchase was controversial: it was the biggest and heaviest thing we had ever bought since our move to London, and something we knew we had to leave behind at one point –too heavy to brin with us to our next stop, our next bit of life in a new, still unknown place in the world. However, we had been moaning about not being able to make this or that creamy soup for months, about wanting to make those granola bars that require pureed dates, or the fantastic Ottolenghi's hummus recipe. Why not satisfying a very basic, simple need as a warm creamy soup to warm up our soul in a very chilly winter night? We finally chose the blender over the moaning, and we will never regret it.

We have been using the blender for many purposes, but perhaps the most satisfying has been making almond milk from scratch. Far from being an enemy of dairy milk, I still enjoy a glass of chilled almond milk from time to time, and I like using it to make chai latte and hot cocoa. Some store bought options might be OK, but they are fairly expensive and sometimes contain extra-ingredients that I don't want in my milk. The home-made version is not only inexpensive, but healthier too, and ridiculously easy to make. The proportions are 1 cup of soaked, blanched whole almonds for 4 cups of pure water, blended until smooth, and drained with a colander (or a nut milk bag). Store in a clean glass bottle, in the fridge, and consume over 3-4 days, shaking the bottle before serving.

Here comes the cool part. Making almond milk from scratch means you will kill two birds with one stone, as you'll make the most of your almonds by having milk on one side, and a good deal of solids (pureed almonds) on the other. Don't throw them! They can be turned into your next favorite spread, aka almond hummus.

We have been enjoying this almond hummus on toast or crackers as a starter or snack, or in some tasty sandwiches. It can even be used as a dip to eat with pita chips as part of a potluck dinner or a pic-nic –it's almost that time of the year! And because it packs so well, it can be the perfect simplifier and wanderluster's lunch to go ever. I came full circle.

Italian Table Talk Easter Edition: Pastiera Napoletana

The most fascinating side of an enlarged family is usually the one which lives far from the rest. My family is no exception.

As a kid, among the whole lot of aunts and uncles all born and raised in Veneto, I have always been intrigued by that aunt who chose the alternative path, married a man from the South during her graduate years and left the native soil to follow him in his social and professional climbing.

They lived in Palermo, Reggio Clalabria, Naples, Udine, Varese, Florence and who knows where else in Italy. My aunt would follow her professional, upscale engineer husband wherever his career would take him without objection, even after the birth of their (only) daughter. They would show up sometimes at my grandma's house for a weekend over Christmas or Easter or some other public holiday, have lunch with the rest of us, and then leave right after in their shiny new company car.

What was most striking was how much she had changed and moved on from her Venetian country origins. Far from using any dialect, her way of speaking had a strange inflection, a mixture of accents and local usages that made her even more singular before my eyes. She would discuss literature, philosophy, religion, art and music with her very puzzled mother and sister –all subjects that she probably had time to dig in her long days at home alone, with her husband away for work, pressured by the idea of pleasing him and be presentable at one of the many social events they had to attend.

A way of detecting in which city they were living at the time of their visit, besides paying attention to my aunt's acquired accent, was looking at what food she had brought for us. Usually sweets, often purchased in the best local pastry shops, they would either be some sort of almond delight from Sicily, or Florentine cookies, or some Neapolitan sugary treat. To the young version of myself, her foodie presents seemed the most foreign thing on earth.

The only home-made thing she would bring with her, and only over Easter, would be pastiera. Proud of having grasped the recipe for the best, authentic version of this traditional Neapolitan cake while living indeed in Naples, she would proudly showcase and share her creation with us during the big family Easter meal at grandma's house. Being used to the more cross-regional Easter cake out there, colomba, having anything else for dessert seemed fairly unique to us. Welcoming my aunt's exotic cake meant welcoming this new bit of culture in our family, one that didn't belong to it originally but had become part of it in time.

As I was biting my very first piece of pastiera, I remember my first impression being stricken by the aroma more than the flavor. It was like I was eating a smell. The powerful scent of citrus and orange blossoms, which I couldn't detect as such back then, reminded me of the smell of the beauty section of a department store rather than the sugary scent coming out of a pastry shop. I just knew immediately I hadn't eaten anything with such a strong flowery note before. At first, it was hard for me to get it. But then, after one more bite, and another, the creamy, sugary sweetness seduced me subtly, with no chance for second thoughts. The texture was pretty novel to me as well. Never before had I eaten a cake whose filling was creamy and slightly chewy at the same time, and so dense and heavy to barely hold within the edges of the cut slice. I asked what was inside it, and she answered, to my surprise: ricotta and cooked wheat. Wheat in cake, I thought, must be some kind of Southern culinary eccentricity I wasn't familiar with. Yet, I had already surrendered to its goodness, and not quite sated, I helped myself with a second small slice, digging in the moist filling all the way to the crumbly and buttery crust.

Year after year, whenever she would come for Easter, she would gift us with this cake that we all learnt to love more than any other. The odd had become familiar, in cake as much as my aunt's personality. Until one year, for some reason, she skipped her Easter visit, and all of a sudden we were left deprived of our beloved pastiera. So I thought I would make it myself instead, using her or some other trusted recipe. As in time I found out that just like many other Italian traditional dishes, there is no ultimate version, only multiple good ones. However, it seems like the one I know and make is the most authentic and old one, which doesn't contain any custard in the filling –a modern twist to make it creamier.

This is how this Neapolitan cake, typical of Easter, became part of our otherwise very Venetian family, and why I am talking about it for our Easter Edition of Italian Table Talk. Although not an expert in the art of making pastiera, it entered my life at a young age and it is now part of the flavor I long for and miss and try to recreate to feel closer to home during this time of the year. What I learnt about it, visiting Naples a few weeks ago, is that no matter how good the store-bought version is, the real deal is just home-made. And that although you might be able to find it all year round now, it remains a dolce di Pasqua (Easter cake) filled with symbolic ingredients (eggs, flower essence, wheat) representing spring, fertility and re-birth in pagan symbolism as much as in the Cristian metaphorical language.

Before jumping to the recipe, here is what this Easter-themed edition of ITT has in store for us: Emiko shares the details of a 19th century traditional Lent meal from Artusi's Italian cooking bible;  Giulia brings to the table a Tuscan Easter favorite, lamb; and Jasmine tells us about Mimuna, a traditional Jewish cake for Passover.

Beet and Chard Spelt Galette

We landed at London Gatwick on March 10, 2012, late at night. We took a cab directed to the studio flat we had booked for a week, as a temporary solution. That's when our adventure here began. When we started fighting against time and rules to find an apartment, land a rental contract, start jobs and deal with bank accounts. We quickly realized that one week wasn't going to be enough. It became two, then three. After three weeks, which felt more like months, we had finally found humble jobs and could show the real estate people we were (barely) able to afford the one bedroom apartment we had seen and loved and wanted so badly. Those three weeks counted dozens of seeings of properties all over London. None of which worked. We were depressed, discouraged, and tired. Then, we saw the one, and we knew since the very first step into the door that we couldn't find anything better. We also knew we were going to struggle to afford it, month after month.

We left the temporary studio flat that gave us a shelter and two electric hobs and a shower for three weeks. We entered the door of the new house with our two suitcases and two carry-ons. We didn't have anything else. The house was bright and bare. Nothing else was there besides heavy furniture. We dropped our things, and with an energy that I can't believe possible as I write, we headed to the train stop, directed to Ikea. We bought the cheapest plates, the cheapest pots and pans, the cheapest bed sheets. We bought only the essentials. We skipped on bedside table lamps, on cake tins, on shoe racks –we can do without, we thought. At the checkout, we paid with my Italian card, the one I was keeping for savings. It was an emergency, one of the many to come. We managed to fit all our purchases into two big blue recycled bags. We carried them to the train stop, and then home. Three flights of stairs without lift, and it was already the second time that day.

I remembered being exhausted to the point of not being hungry, of not being able to fall asleep. I remember getting ill from tiredness and stress. I remember sharing pots of store-bought soup warmed up in the microwave for dinner, and going to work with a banana and a carrot as "lunch" –there will be cheese to try, I thought. I remember everything, after one year, and these memories seem so far in the past and yet so vivid.

We are still here. Some things have changed, life is not as tough. Beginnings are always tough. I still wander how we made it through the rough times, 'cause we did. What is still tough today is working shifts and fitting social, emotional, creative life in between. But we are learning to make it work, and to make the best of what we have. We have grown, as individuals and as a couple. Today, we are stronger.

My hopes for the year to come are all about finding balance. For us, for ourselves. Because this lack of routine messes us up every part of our being. Because it doesn't enable us to gain a needed rhythm, and to enjoy and share all those rituals that make life a bit more meaningful. It makes us feel constantly precarious.

You might wander at this point what a tart, or rather, a galette, has to deal with all this. It is while making this galette that I was recalling those moments. And in doing so, I was thinking of how food like this has helped us through these 12 first months here, in many ways. It helped to create meaning even in the hardest times, when we were feeling lost and scared and tired. It filled our days with simple joys and pleasures when we couldn't afford much social life and getaways. It helped us to notice the passing of time when everything seemed confusing and fast. It made us stop, even if just for a moment, to understand, savor and listen. Food like this galette, filled with seasonal produce, helped us define who we were, where and when.

Now, after one year, is spring again. Time for rebirth and change. Time to make it happen.

Napoli

 

This was, for both, our first visit to city of Partenope. Although we landed for reasons other than leisure, we tried to fill the empty spaces between one appointment and the other with as much wonderful local food as possible. Naples doesn't leave you indifferent. You love it or hate it. There's enough of both to keep you busy.

Pizza and co.
Gino Sorbillo, via dei Trbunali 32 (closed on Sundays).
THE Neapolitan pizza. The menu is the right size: it's not as small as marinara VS margherita like you find at Da Michele (yes, the one of Eat, Pray, Love), but it's not infinite either. The whole atmosphere matches the location of this pizzeria in the heart of popular Napoli: plastic cups and un-arranged flatware rolled into paper napkins, paper menu and fast service. Prices are also very popular: two margheritas (3.30 euro/each), water and a can of beer are going to cost you about 13 euro. The price-satisfaction ration is the best I've ever encountered. This might explain the long queue at the entrance, which is well worth tackling nonetheless, as it moves pretty fast. The pizza itself is a hymn to the land: sweet, sweet mozzarella, low-acidity tomato sauce, chewy, perfectly risen dough, basil, olive oil. You'll be in heaven, and not surprisingly light as a feather.

Pizzaria La Notizia, via Caravaggio 53/55
Enzo Coccia has developed the concept of Pizza Gourmet to perfection. With his pizzaria located well out of the main touristy paths, in the residential area of Mergellina, he created an environment that is  far from the popular atmosphere of a downtown pizzeria like Sorbillo, and a solar-system-far from the original, street food version of pizza a portafoglio (portrait above). At La Notizia, professionally dressed waiters will take your coat. Fancy water bottles, a wine and craft beer list, and a long list of "creative" pizzas, embraced by antipasti and desserts, are also part of the deal. The prices are adequate to the style of the place, ranging from about 5 to 9 euro for pizzas, depending on toppings. Ingredients are top-quality, all from local sources, and all listed at the end of the menu: pomodori del Piennolo, Cetara anchovies, Andria broccoli etc. The pizza? Outstanding. Definitely made in a different way than Sorbillo, but just as good. The main differences: pizza here is a bit smaller in size, and the mozzarella-tomato combo sauce doesn't leak on your plate — Coccia squeezes his mozzarella balls hours before using them for pizza. The crust is yet still soft and the combination of flavors is extremely well-balanced. The check is also different: three pizzas (I travel with a carb-fueled man), water, craft beer (14 euro/75cl), coffee and limoncello for dinner ranked 48 euro. Total win.

La Focaccia, Vico Belledonne a Chiaia 31
In the heart of the happy hour/aperitivo area of Naples, this place is a true gem to mop up some alcohol with something very tasty. Particularly on Sunday night, when every restaurant seems to be closed, this is your safety boat after a couple of drinks in a nearby enoteca (listed below). This family-owned, cozy and spartan place serves a huge variety of focacce (note the difference: they are not pizze, as they are thicker and they come by the slice!) at very affordable prices. The quality of the dough and the toppings is good, and you can ask for an extra warm-up if you want yours very hot. Best of all is the beer selection –quite impressive for such a low-key place (Belgian and Trappist included). Five (huge) pieces of focaccia (including awesome stuffed ones with friarelli and sausage, and with scarole), 2 good beers (Orval and Chimay) and water for 20 euro sounded pretty honest to us.

Glass of Wine
Enoteca Belledonne, Vico Belledonne a Chiaia 18
A cozy spot in the most lively and lovely area of Naples, Chiaia. If you are lucky enough to walk in during a Napoli soccer match, the whole front area and the counter will be packed with people staring and cheering at the maxi-screen, but the back room will be at your complete disposal. Take a seat, and someone will bring you plump green olives, tarallini (round-shaped cracker snacks), and a wine list. The by-the-glass choice is quite interesting, with some good local wines, and most of all affordable: 3 to 6 euro. We might have been ruined by the London scene and ridiculous prices for wines by the glass, but we were just mesmerized. If you fancy a light, fruity, before-dinner-like red, Moio 57 (based on Primitivo grapes) is quite nice. Taurasi always wins for strenght and personality, but might require some food. As for whites, from Falanghina to Amalfi Coast wines, you're all set. Wider choice by the bottle, with the option of broadening your horizon outside of Campania with some darn excellent labels.

Coffee
Naples is the city of coffee. Espresso, ristretto –forget about these: once inside a bar, you'll simply call it caffé. Pay and get your receipt first (each coffee is 90-95 cents), then get your order at the counter. Experienced baristas will quickly serve you an inch of super-concentrated caffeine potion from the best mix of dark-roasted, high-acidity beans. One shot, done. Love it or leave it. Please be careful, some places serve it in a HOT CUP. Also, if you drink yours without sugar, make sure you ask for it beforehand, as the standard here is sweet.

1) Mexico, Piazza Dante 86
2) Gran Caffé Gambrinus, Via Chiaia 1/2, Angolo Piazza Trieste e Trento
Also home of traditional pastries like babà, mini-pastiere, sfogliatelle ricce or frolle, zeppole etc.
3) Caffé del Professore, Piazza Trieste e Trento 46

Ice Cream (and Chocolate)
Gay Odin, via Toledo, Via Colonna et al.
We are not the biggest chocolate consumers but we heard of this historical place, this Southern chocolate institution and we couldn't miss it. We stepped inside the one in via Colonna, near our apartment, and enjoyed the view of this pretty, old-school looking shop with all kinds of chocolate crafts. What we couldn't resist was the ice-cream: judging from the amazingly-looking, brown-greenish pistachio, it promised only good things. You can choose either the cono or coppetta with two scoops from 2 euro, or the take-away version (by weight). We tried pistachio (wow), dark chocolate with orange zest (wowwow), fiordilatte (good) and ricotta with pears (yum). You taste the quality and you forget about it in a second, overwhelmed by pleasure.

Pastries
In Naples, it's all about sfogliatelle, little pasties filled with ricotta cream and candied citrus. You'll find them in two versions: riccia (the wrinkly, crunchy, phyllo-style one) and frolla (softer, almost like a sugar pastry dough). Other classics include babà with rum, pastiera (a traditional Easter cake now available all year), caprese (almond-chocolate cake, nothing to do with the salad), tart with wild strawberries, and zeppole (fried pate à choux covered with custard and topped with maraschino cherries, typical for Father's Day, around March 19th). Pastries range between 1 and 2 euro, depending on the place. If you go for a pastry with your caffé here's the proper order, as a Neapolitan would do: first the pastry, then the glass of water (free), then the coffee. Yeah?

Moccia, Via San Pasquale a Chiaia 21
It's the only one we made it to among the recommended ones, as it was at walking distance from our apartment. The selection is impressive and the sfogliatelle are quite delicious –that said, I don't claim any kind of expertise on the subject.

Other recommended ones:
Vittorio Carraturo
Attanasio

Enjoy!