Pan fried potatoes with sage

I have made these 3 times in the last week…

Which makes me a little excessive and these potatoes very tasty.

I have had plenty of help in eating them and have since given the recipe, or instructions rather to 2 of my fried potatoes with sage eating companions, one of whom is a very particular, opinionated Italian -the kind you are not sure whether to slap or kiss. They are my new favorite thing and I think I will be making them rather alot Amen.

I had seen the recipe posted over at Rebekka’s Nom di Plume a while ago and I noted it down in the big notebook which sits by the computer, the one I regularly rest and then spill coffee onto so I have to dry it in the sun where it crinkles and expands and now it looks a bit like a open accordion. Then Rebekka changed her header to the most delicious photo of the potatoes in question and I was compelled to make them.

I am not sure my photo really does them justice so maybe some words will help.

Diced potatoes fried so they are deliciously crispy and golden on the outside but soft and yielding in the center sprinkled with coarse salt and then speckled with crumbled deep fried sage leaves which lend a quite deliciously musty, peppery  edge to the whole affair and transform the already delicious fried potatoes into something quite special.

The deep fried sage leaves were a little revelation to me, I often saute fuzzy, velvety sage leaves in butter to toss with ravioli, but gently, so the leaves are deliciously soft, floppy and fragrant. Deep frying them is another thing altogether, they become crisp like brittle autumn leaves so you can crumble them between your fingers, the pleasantly musty flavour is less pungent and strangely alluring. The first couple of times I made them I fried about 6 leaves which I crumbled over – delicious, but not enough sage. This time I doubled the quantity of leaves, leaving some whole to scatter over – better. Next time I am thinking 1 cube of potato = 1 leaf, best eaten picked up between two fingers and washed down with a cold beer.

Potatoes aside I think these sage leaves will be popping up and crumbling all over the place in our kitchen now we are acquainted.

Note to myself, soak, soak, rinse, rinse the diced potatoes, they need it to get rid of all the starch, then dry, dry, dry, they fry better that way.

The first time I made them we ate them with bacon and eggs and far to much coffee, a brunch which left me extremely happy if not a little jittery. The second time – a supper I will be doing again- we ate them with some oven baked sea bass and garlic flecked mayonnaise which everyone agreed was all very nice indeed. The third time – the photos from this post) we ate them just so, lots of sage, eaten with our fingers with a cold beer – it is the way I think.

Pan fried potatoes with sage

• olive oil (not extra virgin)
• 10 or 12 sage leaves (or more, I am thinking 25 next time)
• 6 or 7 golden, yellow fleshed, thin skinned, waxy potatoes such as Yukon gold
• coarse sea salt you can crumble (maldon worked really well)

Gently wash and scrub the potatoes but do not peel them (I did this time just to experiment. Conclusion = don’t peel). Chop them into 1/2″ dice and them leave them to soak in cold water for 30 minutes to wash away all the starch.

Dry the potatoes carefully and then in a heavy based frying pan heat about an inch of oil.

To see if the oil is hot enough try frying a sage leaf, it should sizzle happily.

Once the oil is ready drop in the sage leaves and leave them to sizzle and fry for about 10 seconds when they should be crisp. Using a slotted spoon, scoop out the sage leaves and drain them on some kitchen towel. Set them aside.

Now fry the potatoes in batches turning frequently until they are golden and crisp. Once they are done use the slotted spoon to move them to drain on kitchen towel, immediately sprinkle with a nice amount of salt. Fry the next batch while you taste the cooling ones and try not to burn your mouth.

Once all the potatoes are fried crumble over some of the sage leaves and scatter over the rest whole.

Eat.

Spaghetti with barely cooked tomato, red onion and basil sauce.

As you may or may not have noticed, throughout the week lunch is often the proper meal in our house.

You may also have noticed it is very often pasta.

I say proper in the sense that it’s the meal we – a nocturnal musician and erratic teacher – who would both rather work late than rise early – are nearly always together for, the one we cook together, occasionally argue over, the one we try to linger over, at least for a while. It’s all usally pretty simple. but then I prefer my pasta that way anzi, I prefer my life that way.

This is another trusted favourite, hearty but clean and fresh, perfect for balmy days and all the luscious red, tomato shaped, and basil scented produce June is thrusting upon us.

It is perfectly simple.

And quite delicious.

And barely cooked.

Well, that is not entirely true, there is a little cooking involved but I will come to that in a minute.

Ingredients are nicely basic, but need to be really really top notch otherwise it will be disappointing,

• 4 large, ripe, really flavoursome tomatoes
• a red onion, peeled and sliced in half-moons
• 5 or so torn basil leaves
• some good olive oil.
• 200g good spaghetti
• Parmesan and extra virgin olive oil to dribble over pasta
• extra basil leaves for on top if you so wish.

First you plunge the tomatoes into boiling water for about a minute and then you plunge them into cold water, pull them out and slip the skins off (and wish you could plunge you rather hot – self into something equally cold.) Then you chop the tomatoes into unruly chunks and discard the seeds and any tough bits.

Now you get the pasta water a boiling and in a shallow pan you saute the half-moons of red onions in some nice oil, slowly and gently over a low flame for about 15 minutes, until they are soft and just starting to caramelize. Now you add the unruly chunks of peeled, deseeded tomatoes and the torn basil leaves to the onion and raise the heat for just a couple of minutes, stirring and turning so the tomatoes are, well, barely cooked

Meanwhile, you have been cooking your pasta - garofalo spaghetti alla chitarra is particularly nice – to al dente perfection.

Drain pasta, toss with onion, tomato and basil

Serve in warm bowls with plenty of freshly grated Parmesan and a dribble of oil.

Eat, linger if possible.

Cherry compotê

Life is just a bowl of cherries, don’t take it serious, its mysterious. Life is just a bowl of cherries, so live and laugh and laugh at love, love a laugh, laugh and love.

Bob Fosse

At this time of year I am even less inclined than usual to make a real pudding. Actually my pretty limited pudding patience runs out in May, – this year it was about the 5th when I made this again. This is pretty fortuitous timing considering that as my Patience fades, nature throbs and thrives and steps in with the most superlative sweet bowlfuls. The equally superlative gelateria two minutes from our flat – the one someone runs to while the carnage of plates is being cleared from the table, the one that scoops out much icy- creamy flavoured gelato joy to all – provides good company for the fruit feast.

The first sweet bowlfuls are of strawberries, sliced and tossed with lemon and sugar to make them glisten and weep with flavour. Soon we will have bowls of golden apricots eaten just so or macerated in sweet wine, or rose flushed peaches sliced and served with Giolitti’s finest gelato di crema. Next should be the berries which I like straight with some thick cream and then the currants, black and red soaked in cassis, shirt stainingly beautiful. Then will come sweet, smooth skinned nectarines and finally syrupy sweet, luscious figs.

But right now it’s cherry time.

We ate the first bag-fulls from the market and those still warm from our friends tree just so, devouring the tiny, deep red, fleshy globes greedily and just a little compulsively. Then, inspired by Sigrid (as I so often am) I gently poached some of our cherry bounty in a little water, some golden caster sugar,  a couple of strips of lemon zest, 2 couple of cloves, and a stick of cinnamon.

They needed only 10 minutes, just enough to render them tender but still holding their shape, I then scooped out the fruit from the deep red liquid and set it aside while the syrup bubbled and reduced away for a little longer before reuniting both fruit and syrup and letting them macerate and mellow in the fridge.

I think this compote is best served cold, so the syrup is thick and unctuous.

On Saturday we ate the compote spooned over some bitter, dark chocolate gelato then on Sunday morning we ate the left overs with thick, creamy Greek yogurt which was especially nice.

I have been thinking I should really try and have a little pudding patience this summer because I think a spoonful of these would be delicious with this.

Cherry compote

• 1 kg sweet cherries, washed de-stalked and slit to the stone on one side
• 60g caster sugar
• about 10 tbsp water (just enough to cover the cherries)
• 2 cloves
• a couple of strips of lemon zest
• a stick of cinnamon

Put the cherries in a heavy based pan with the water, sugar, cloves, lemon zest and cinnamon.

Cook over a modest heat until the cherry juices run and the sugar had dissolved and then simmer gently for about 10 minutes.

The cherries should be paler and tender but still holding their shape.

Using a slotted spoon lift the cherries from the juice and set them aside in serving bowl and then increase the heat under the juice and let it boil and bubble until you have an intense, sweet, thicker syrup.

Remove the syrup from the heat and then pour it over the cherries.

Chill and serve as you like.

A kind of holiday and a kind of carbonara

I back from my kind of holiday In London.

It was kind of, because that what happens to your holidays when you flee to another country and ignore paperwork for 4 years.

I did however tuck my knees under lots of nice tables, clink glasses with people I love and eat lots of good food, especially here, twice, which was just great.

…..and made modest progress with the ominous muddle of paperwork.

Back home and I am nursing a hangover from the happy but somewhat frenzied kind of holiday. Piles of paperwork, trying to see everyone and special people as much as possible, eating at so many tables, sleeping in so many different beds has left me in need of a long-weekend of quiet and familiar….

……and plates of pasta with Vincenzo at our table

Yesterdays quiet and familiar lunch was courgette carbonara or as Vincenzo would say pasta e zucchini alla carbonara…. or maybe I should say kind of carbonara, which is a bit like a kind of holiday I suppose.

We make this alot, because as you may or may not of gathered we are creatures of habit, especially when it comes to lunchtime pasta, it’s often this, this, or this or this on heavy rotation. The principle of this favorite is similar to that of classic carbonara in that hot al dente pasta is tossed in a frying pan with something fried (guanciale or pancetta) then a mix of raw beaten egg, black pepper, parmesan and pecorino is added to the hot pan which is then removed from the heat. While you stir the heat of pasta and the fried thing (that is usually guanciale) gently cooks the egg and melts the cheese creating a thick creamy sauce to coat the pasta. This is served with more cheese.

When I am alone I am pretty classic but when Vincenzo is around – the man does not partake of meat – the guanciale is replaced by finely sliced onion, courgette, torn courgette flowers, basil and a little more cheese on top than usual

You can of course have guanciale or pancetta with the courgette and onion – that is really nice, really really nice in fact and only forsaken because I love Vincenzo more than guanciale, only just, but I do.

So it goes like this…

While your pasta is cooking, we use garofalo spaghetti which takes about 9 minutes, you fry your onion until golden brown (if you are using guanciale you fry that first and then add the onion and fry for a couple more minutes.) Then you add the fine strips of courgette and courgette flowers, stir and allow them to wilt. While the wilting is happening you beat 2 whole eggs with some finely grated parmasan and pecorino and plenty of freshly ground blcak pepper in small bowl. Now, drain the pasta but save a little of the cooking water, then tip the hot pasta and a small ladleful of the reserved water into the pan with the onion and courgette – toss everything together. Next add the egg mixure to the pan along with the ripped basil leaves, remove the pan from the heat and stir evrything together firmly but gently so the sauce thickens.

Serve on warm plates…..

…….with more freshly grated parmesan.

Pasta and zucchini alla carbonara or A kind of carbonara

• 200g good dried spaghetti, Linguine or Fettucine
• 2 tbsp olive oil
• ( optional -60g guanciale or pancetta diced)
• a small red onion peeled and cut in thin half moons
• 2 medium courgettes julienned (if possible with flowers which should be washed, patted dry and torn into strips)
• 2 large fresh eggs
• 20g freshly grated parmesan
• 20g freshly grated pecorino
• freshly ground black pepper
• a handful of fresh basil leaves
• good extra virgin olive oil and more grated parmesan for on top

Start cooking your pasta in plenty of fast boiling, well salted water.

Fry the onion in olive oil until golden brown (if you are using guanciale you fry that first and then add the onion and fry for a couple more minutes.) Then you add the fine strips of courgette and courgette flowers, stir and allow them to wilt.

While the wilting is happening you beat 2 whole eggs with some finely grated parmasan and pecorino and plenty of freshly ground black pepper in small bowl.

Now, drain the pasta but save a little of the cooking water, then tip the hot pasta and a small ladleful of the reserved water into the pan with the onion and courgette – toss everything together.

Next add the egg mixture to the pan along with the ripped basil leaves, remove the pan from the heat and stir everything together firmly but gently so the sauce thickens.

Serve immediately on warm plates with more parmesan and really nice olive on top.

Cherries for pudding are nice

It’s even nicer to be home.

Just in case……

…anyone was wondering, I am in London on a kind of holiday which is why things are looking a little neglected and jaded around here.

Back soon, but until then here is some curly parsley. 

Pasta ceci

I was convinced I had already posted about pasta ceci, convinced.

I haven’t.

So here it is.

This is our lunch at least once a week, a least.

A recipe as comfortable and beloved as my kitchen dr scholls, shoes which and I quote ‘are true legends in footwear for their simple style and legendary comfort,’  forget the footwear bit and the same can be said about pasta ceci. It is one of Vincenzo’s favorites – he generally mummers buona after every mouthful- and one of the most deliciously frugal and honest platefuls I know. There is nothing clever or tricky about pasta ceci, it is what it is, pasta and chickpeas, or more precisely pasta in a thick, creamy chickpea soup dotted with more whole chickpeas scented with rosemary.

Pasta ceci is a Roman classic traditionally served on Fridays before the baccalà. If you wander the streets of Testaccio -  my adopted quarter and one, which to my london eyes, seems to hark from another decade – on a Friday morning you might well catch the curling scent of numerous pans of chickpeas simmering away. If you step into any Roman trattoria or osteria on Fridays, you will probably find pasta ceci chalked up on the board, it’s scent, tantalisingly drifting to your table from the generally rowdy kitchen alongside (if you are really lucky) some trattoriaesque blaspheming.

I consider myself quite devoted to soup, but I had never eaten such delightfully beany, hearty pasta or bread enriched soups so regularly until I came to Italy, they have become a cornerstone of my diet and the savior of my delicate purse-strings. In essence, this family of full bodied soups, pasta ceci,  pasta e fagioli or white bean soup, are purees of beans with just enough oil and the trinity of onion, carrot and celery to help the beans express themselves fortified with pasta or bread, dribbled with raw oil and maybe topped with some Parmesan. STOP.

Every region and corner of Italy has a version of this kind of soup, a true everyman soup, the simplest soup, which transcends class and season, a soup to nourish and sustain all, the Steve Buscemi of soups, a bit of a legend, oh so low key you take him for granted, but love him so much more than all the fancy pants hogging the limelight.

The only tricky part of making pasta ceci is remembering to soak the chickpeas, which if you are me, can be quite tricky, but is most satisfying when you have the foresight. Then you need to remember to cook them, a gentle simmer for at least a couple of hours while you twiddle your morning away reading every bodies latest posts. You can use tinned chickpeas but then you will miss the water the chickpeas were cooked in which provides a great stock with which to make your soup. Once the soaking and bean cooking is over it’s all very easy, you are basically making a soup and then cooking some pasta in it……..

You prepare your soffrito of finely chopped onion, carrot and celery, sauteing them gently and slowly in oil until soft and floppy and translucent. Then you add a squeeze of tomato concentrate and a sprig of rosemary, stir, and then 2/3 of your cooked chickpeas. You stir again and then cover everything with stock or water, throw in a Parmesan rind. bring the pan to a happy boil, reduce to a simmer and then leave the pan to bubble away gently for about 20 minutes.

Now, remove the rind and sprig of rosemary and then pass everything through the mouli or give it a blast with the hand blender to create a smooth gloopy soup. Now you add the rest of the cooked chickpeas.

Now you have two choices (I am sure Italian purists might quibble at this but fortunately they are not reading, they are busy quibbling) you can either add some more water or stock to the soup, bring it to the boil and cook your pasta directly in the soup or, you can cook your pasta separately in some fast boiling salted water and then add it to the soup, let things rest for about 5 minutes and the serve.

If I am using fresh pasta which cooks quickly, I cook it in the soup  in which case some attentive stirring is in order or the pasta adheres itself to the bottom of the pan. If, like today, I am using dried pasta – this ditalini is prefect – I cook it separately and then add it to the soup. I probably prefer the separate cooking as you don’t have to worry about adding more liquid or sticking problems.

Sorry, I said this was simple and yet I seem to be making it all terribly complicated when it just isn’t.

Are you still with me ?

You need to let the soup rest for a few minutes before you serve it, if things are too hot, the flavours are impossible to find.

Pasta ceci

serves 4

• 250g dried chickpeas soaked overnight and then simmered for 2 hours until tender or 450g tinned chickpeas
• 6 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
• medium carrot peeled and finely diced
• stick of celery finely diced
• mild onion peeled and finely diced
• 2 tbsp tomato concentrate
• small sprig of rosemary
• 500ml vegetable or chicken stock or water the chickpeas were cooked in with more plain water added to make up the 500ml if necessary.
• optional -  500ml extra water or stock for if you cook the pasta in the soup.
• Parmesan rind
• salt and freshly ground black pepper
• 225g small dried tubular pasta
• your nicest oil for on top

Prepare your soffrito of finely chopped onion, carrot and celery, sauteing them gently and slowly in the oil in a large heavy based pan until soft and floppy and translucent.

Then you add the tomato concentrate and a sprig of rosemary, stir, and then add 2/3 of your cooked chickpeas.

Stir again and then cover everything with stock or water, throw in a Parmesan rind. Bring the pan to a happy boil, reduce to a simmer and then leave the pan to bubble away gently for about 20 minutes.

Now remove the rind and rosemary and pass everything through the mouli or give it a blast with the hand blender to create a smooth gloopy soup.

Now you add the rest of the cooked chickpeas and season to taste with salt and freshly ground black pepper.

Now the two choices

1. you can either add some more water or stock to the soup, bring it to the boil and cook your pasta directly in the soup

or

2. you can cook your pasta separately in some fast boiling salted water and then add it to the soup, then let things rest for about 5 minutes so the flavours mingle. Serve dribbled with more extra virgin olive oil and some freshly grated Parmesan..

Goats cheese, pea and lentil salad with pesto.

The jar of pesto I was so happy to have sitting in the fridge, the green and basily one, the one Vincenzo patiently pounded in the pestle and mortar  is – as Alison Krauss sings so beautifully- gone gone gone.

Of course it has.

The last spoonful was maybe the best.

It was the final dollop on something which would have been perfectly delicious without it, a plateful of earthy, nutty lentils with a handful of sweet green peas, some fragrant basil leaves topped with 2 and a half slices of soft, creamy goats cheese.

It all looked very nice and then I remembered the pesto, the last spoonful.

I put it on top and everything was even nicer.

There is something about this combination, the lentils are soft and hearty, the peas pop with fresh sweetness. the cheese is creamy, fudgy and just a little acidic, melting and softening just a little with the warmth of the peas and lentils and the pesto gives everything a velvety, basil filled kick.

This is Nigel Slaters recipe which caught my eye a while back and then buzzed around my head nagging me to make it every-time I saw a pea – which was pretty much a daily occurrence now the market is full of delightful green pods at this May moment.

Nigel recommends a straightforward boil for the lentils, but I cooked them as I usually do with a carrot, a stick of celery, an onion, a bay leaf and several whole black peppercorns because I love the depth of flavour that emerges when you cook lentils this way.

I fear I am always declaring my new favorite lunch – which is by far my favorite meal – and today is no exception.

Nice bread is nice with this

It is even nicer with a glass of Verdicchio dei Castelli di Jesi.

Goats cheese, pea and lentil salad with pesto.

Adapted from Nigel Slater’s recipe

Serves 2 for lunch or supper or 4 as a starter

150g small green lentils such as de Puy
200g shelled peas
a small bunch of fresh basil
olive oil- 2 tablespoons and a little extra

pesto
12 slices goats cheese

Rinse the lentils in a sieve under running water and then tip them into a pan of
boiling, lightly salted water (with or without the addition of a carrot, celery, bay leaf, onion and 3 peppercorns). Leave them at an enthusiastic simmer for
about 15-20 minutes until they are tender, then drain, tip into a bowl and
stir the 2 tbsp olive oil through them.

Boil the peas in lightly salted water till bright and tender, drain
under cold running water and mix with the lentils.

Tear the basil leaves into small pieces and stir them into the lentils

Dribble over more olive oil and season  a little salt and pepper.

Divide the goats cheese and salad between 4 plates.

Put a blob of pesto on each plate.

Eat.

Pesto

It would be nice if there was always a jar of homemade pesto sitting in the fridge… or sitting on the table.

A jar of the deliciously green amalgam of basil, pine-nuts, pecorino sardo, garlic and extra virgin olive oil waiting patiently to lend it’s aromatic deliciousness to everything it touches. A generous spoonful stirred into some linguine or trofie,  a dollop in a bowl of summer minestrone, a little with some warm lentils or as topping on a steaming baked potato……dribbled over some warm grilled vegetables, perking up a bruschetta…….

Of course we don’t always have a jar of homemade pesto in the fridge.

I have been thinking alot about pesto recently, so much so, that I was beginning to believe I had actually made some, a bit like when you tell a little fib so many times it starts to feel true. I know what started my pesto daydreams, it was this nice little film – go and watch it and then come back and you tell me you don’t want to make and then eat some pesto.

I really like it when I get a real food bee in my bonnet, an idea, something you really really want to make buzzing around in your head, distracting you from from other much more mundane tasks. Inspired by the film, food bee buzzing and with long weekend time on our hands we decided it was about time we made pesto. Then, I decided that Vincenzo should try making it in the pestle and mortar,after all his drummers arms are much more adapted to all that pounding. We struck a kitchen deal, I would do the shopping and washing -up, he would pound.

Whilst buying the basil at the market Vincenzo - the other one my fruttivendolo – showed me something quite wonderful. He picked a tiny delicate basil leaf from its stalk and rubbed it between his fingers, the delicate little thing dissolved into green paste and released the most extraordinarily powerful aroma. Then he took a handsome but larger more fibrous leaf and rubbed it between his big fingers, not alot happened, the big leaf remained pretty much in tact, maybe a little bruised releasing a wonderful but rather more modest scent. ‘That‘ explained Vincenzo ‘is why you need to pick the smaller more delicate leaves for pesto. Tiny sweet basil leaves like those found in Liguria, delicate, without dense thick fibres, more highly scented than their larger relatives, leaves which willingly crush, dissolve almost, into a more sublime and smoother pesto.

3 bunches of basil, some nutty, waxy pine-nuts, a bottle of mild, minerally Ligurian olive oil and a piece of Pecorino Sardo, two Gin and Tonic’s and Dr John’s let the good times roll on repeat, we were off.

I have used several recipes over the last few years, flirting unfaithfully with them all until I found one I wanted to settle down with for a while and more importantly, a recipe which really worked. The recipe in question is Giorgio Locatelli’s one from Italian Food, producing a beautifully well balanced and fragrant pesto- just a little garlic and the right amount of cheese for my liking-. I usually make this recipe with the hand blender but it is also well suited to a more traditional, labour intensive pestle and mortar treatment.

Making pesto with pestle and mortar is a little labour of love. No brurr, brurr, hurhh of the electric blender here, this is a slow, deep, thwock, pound and twist of a recipe. First the pine nuts and salt, ground into a fine, dry but almost creamy flour in the mortar. Next the garlic, gently pound and pummel it into the coarse pine nut flour. Now the washed and dried basil leaves, drop them in a few at a time and work them into a paste as quickly as you can and then go a little dizzy as the pervasive scent of basil whirls around your nostrils. Now add the cheese and the oil gently stirring until you have a bright green paste.

How long did it take ? Quite a while…..I seem to remember.. although the gin and tonic, longweekendness and fact I was merely observing, it made it a very pleasurable while. Was it worth it ? Well, it was some of the nicest, deliciously basily, fragrant pesto I have ever eaten – I know I am biased.

We ate some stirred into some fresh Linguine cooked with fine green beans and matchsticks of potato.

This could become a habit.

Pesto

makes a small jar

Adapted from Giorgio Locatelli’s recipe in his book Made in Italy

• 2 cloves of garlic peeled
• 2 Tbsp of pine kernels
• 250g fresh, small, sweet basil leaves. Washed and gently, gently dried.
• 3 tbsp freshly grated pecorino or Parmesan
• 250ml extra virgin olive oil – preferably Ligurian or another lighter, softer, minerally oil.
• tiny pinch of salt

Either in a food processor with a sharp blade or using a pestle and mortar grind and crush the pine-nuts and salt into fine flour. Add the garlic and pummel into the flour.

Drop in the basil leaves a few at a time and work them in as quickly as you can.

Add the cheese and then finally the oil, stirring until you have a bright green paste.

The quicker you work, the less heat you generate and therefore the brighter the green of the pesto will be.

Pesto will keep in the fridge for about 6 months if you top each jar up with a thick layer of oil.

Peas, broad beans, asparagus, rocket and a green lunch.

Apart from some outrageously red, ribbed tomatoes which will be perfectly delicious by tomorrow and some slightly less delicious looking potatoes sprouting away in the basket since I hate to think when, the kitchen is all very green at the moment.

Peas, broad beans, asparagus, artichokes, peppery spring rocket, spring spinach…..Vincenzo is convinced he is just a little green of skin tone at present.

Actually, he is a little green, but that’s nothing to do with all the green vegetables and everything to do with the fact his dark Sicilian skin is protesting at the long, wet, cold Roman winter by looking just a little green. My freckles and I find his skin tone endlessly amusing, nearly as amusing as he will find my pinkish tones when we go to Sicily in the summer.

I wish I had some impressive recipes for you but the truth is it has all be very very simple around here lately. But then with vegetables this green, young, tender and fresh, simple feels the only way.

We made this again but otherwise a very large proportion of the peas were eaten straight from the pod or steamed with some mint and then doused in butter and piled generously beside some thick slices of roast chicken. The broad beans met with a similar fate, some in that and the rest liberated from their furry pods and enjoyed with lumps of salty Pecorino Romano. We will be enjoying this combination again today as it is traditional in Italy to celebrate the 1st of May over vast, abundant picnics which include tender fave (broad beans) straight from the pod with chunks of piquant Pecorino Romano

These handsome asparagus spears were bought with a risotto in mind, but never even sniffed so much as a grain of Carnaroli. A good steaming and good dousing with olive oil before being devoured with bread and a really lovely pinot grigio was their tasty fate.

We paired the rocket in all its peppery brilliance with soft, earthy, cannellini beans and dressed this neat pair with extra virgin olive oil, lemon juice and coarse salt.

Delicious combination. I think this will make a fine sidekick for my next big fat juicy bistecca Fiorentina.

I did make something nice pea soup inspired by a this lovely recipe, it fitted my weekly criteria perfectly in that it was green and simple, delightful is the right word I think.

It is a pretty straightforward recipe in that you shell your peas and then make a stock by simmering the pods, a courgette, on onion, and carrot and plenty of parsley stalks for about 20 minutes. You then saute a finely chopped onion in generous blob of butter, add your peas, stir and then cover with strained stock and let everything bubble away for about 5 minutes. Finally you season and then wizz the soup up into a thick, velvety creamy gloop (adding more stock if necessary.)

I ate some of the soup just so for lunch yesterday and then we had the rest for lunch today. I added some fresh tiny ditalini pasta and plenty of freshly grated Parmesan, it was deliciously green.

We ate more asparagus with slivers of pecorino to follow.

Then we turned green..

Not really. All in all it was a lovely green week and sunny to boot.

Quite looking forward to the red tomatoes though.

Red.