A Tuscan Kitchen

But first, thank you!

Many, many thanks for all the good wishes that came to me after my surprise holiday in the local hospital. I was cheered immensely by the kind and thoughtful messages here, on Instagram, and email. As I mentioned in my last missive, I had no food or water for five days, and am still on a lighter diet. But I’m well, and with the return of energy, I find my thoughts veering toward the kitchen. The most bountiful season begins—cherries, plums, all the charming lettuces, greens, peppers, fava beans—followed by the mounds of tomatoes and peaches. I’ve been dreaming over this Sicilian cookbook and tagging recipes for caper and almond pesto and the little almond pastries I enjoyed once at the bakery of Maria Grammatico in Erice. Not to mention her lemon tarts! It’s a cookbook to read, as well as cook from, as it immerses you in the culture and fascination of Sicily.

I’m ready for the big salads of summer—cannellini bean with tomatoes, celery, parsley, mozzarella balls, croutons; panzanella, that unlikely wet bread salad with basil and tomatoes; and the tender baby green mixes of lettuces only, with the best olive oil and a squeeze of lemon juice. And, of course, caprese—the ubiquitous Tuscan salad which depends entirely on the quality of the three ingredients: basil, mozzarella, and tomatoes. If one isn’t primo, the whole salad is let down. The kitchen is calling!

When I first came to Tuscany, I liked my neighbors’ kitchens. They looked like rooms to live in, with a table—chop marks all over the top—usually in the middle, and random counters and chests. Often I’d admire a walnut madia, with a coffin-like top where the bread rose. Not at all the sleek utilitarian, streamlined and efficient design which I’d thought ideal before. My last North Carolina kitchen, where I never like the backsplash but didn’t get around to changing it! Great kitchen but it could be anyone’s, not necessarily mine.

The Tuscan kitchen was lived in—homework at the table, a game of cards, a pause with a coffee. When we first lived here, we had a small kitchen but I was able to hang plate holders on one wall, and a brick ledge let me display my Tuscan platters. A checked curtain hung below the sink. I was able to have a little of the warmth of the traditional Tuscan kitchen.

Traditional kitchen at a friend's house, the fireplace at Bramasole, where the cooking was originally done, next two Signora Italiani performing miracles, last two Giusi and Gilda in our first kitchen at Bramasole.

A few years ago, we were able to move the kitchen to the former limonaia, trippling the size. Since both Ed and I cook and often get into excessive preps, we needed counter space and two workspaces not that near each other. In came our marmista friend Stefano with matching sinks made from one piece of marble and acres of pristine counter. To make a large kitchen have the atmosphere I like so much, I incorporated furniture, paintings, the necessary table, and a few of the old aluminum colanders from the 1930s, which I use to store onions and potatoes.

(The stove looks almost black but it is cobalt blue. I love a bright stove! )

Ways I tried to make a functional kitchen a room to live in:

No space for the charming traditional plate racks with open bottoms, which in the old farms were hung over the sink so they could drip dry. I found places for two in other rooms:

For a dinner tomorrow night, we’re serving the apple and celery soup I found in the NYTimes, chicken breasts simply rolled with prosciutto and tallegio and sautéed, a pot of the fantastic new green beans I could make a whole meal of, and a creamy panna cotta with strawberries from our garden. If it’s warm enough, we’ll be dining outside under the waxing moon. Summer begins!

Note: Next post: the recipes mentioned above, with variations.