The joys of pasta


When I was younger I was not a big fan of pasta. I could still finish a 1 kg Fiorentina t-bone steak (Medium rare, please) and eat two-three servings of wild boar stew that had bubbled for hours on a stove and literally melted in your mouth; but pasta left me unimpressed. Lately my taste buds are experiencing a copernican revolution because I would eat pasta even for breakfast. Which, incidentally, is one of the best cures for hangovers.

If  the French have a cheese for every day of the year, Italians follow their european cousins with a similar number of shapes for their pasta.*

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Cooking therapy and gallette aux tomates


Have you ever noticed, as the holidays approach, reality increasingly resembles the season finale of the walking dead?  It’s almost like the stars perfectly align with Saturn just to p**ss you off for free. Today, in the midst of a review of the office work plan, while I was trying to make sense of complete and utter chaos, a vein on my forehead started to pound and I seriously thought this might happen.

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Swordfish Roulade and the pains of plating


I need to make a confession: I am a sucker for cooking shows. I love them all, even those that have nothing to do with actual cooking and only explore the neurosis of Michelin star chefs. For some, cooking the perfect plate of food can become an unhealthy obsession. So much drama can be hidden in a crunchy pavlova or in an innocent caramel sauce.

I am, for instance, in a ‘complicated relationship’ with plating. I stubbornly practice with piping, I experiment with different textures and colors and I recently even bought a food tweezer. But then, I open this instagram account and my plating fantasies deflate like a chou pastry that I forgot to puncture.

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Antonio, fa caldo…


It’s hot. I am not sure why I picked summer to inaugurate a food&more blog but I never chose the easy path. Moving to Switzerland from Italy, I thought, would have meant cool summer days, green meadows and happy cows but it’s official: It’s desert- freaking hot and I am melting.  

I am longing the holidays: lazy days, the sound of cicadas, a swimming pool and a pile of books lined up on my kindle. This summer, we’ll go to Tuscany, to a tiny village close to Siena. After that, I will travel alone down south to see my family and come back home well fed and with at least one bag full of food.

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Estati inglesi e zucchine al forno

Anni e anni fa i miei decisero che dovevo imparare l’inglese. Ogni estate, per qualche settimana mi mandavano a studiare in Gran Bretagna. Ricordo il piacere della frescura di agosto, l’odore dell’erba umida, la necessità impellente di mettere un maglioncino di cotone, quel verde quasi neon che si scorgeva dall’ oblo’ dell’aereo quando in Calabria l’estate sapeva di giallo e polvere. L’Inghilterra era un regalo che puntuale arrivava ogni estate e mi salvava dai 40 gradi all’ombra.

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