A Tuscan View - from Umbria

Ex Voto

Surely the best day out you can have at this time of year has to be the Arezzo antique market. I know I have raved about it before, but it never fails to thrill me.  It's the mix of clear blue skies and thin autumn sunshine, the Italian fashionista out in throngs displaying the new seasons ‘look’, the marvelous spectacle of all that junk and religious paraphernalia, as well as a chance to strut my stuff in new skinny jeans and boots.

Russian dolls and icons

One of my favourite things on offer is the Ex Voto.  The word comes from the Latin, meaning ‘from the vow made’.  These votive offerings were traditionally left to a saint or divinity, placed on the altar of a church, expressing a wish or desire or to give thanks for the fulfillment of a prayer. 

How we regard illness and healing has changed drastically throughout the ages but our abiding hope that all will be well is wonderfully expressed by the ex voto.  They were often left to give thanks after a successful operation, or survival of an accident and, although usually left anonymously, they are a touching mix of both public and personal faith.

Ex votos

Beginning in this form in Italy in the 15th Century, they slowly spread to the new world and, although most prolific in the early 19th Century, they continue to be used as an expression of thanks for healing, even cats and dogs get a look in.

Out of their religious context, these tarnished pressed tin likenesses take on a silvery and tactile allure.  I find their naïve symbolism strangely compelling.

Jumbled together in damp cardboard boxes or haphazardly displayed amongst all the other tawdry tat, they glint temptingly.  I can never resist them and can spend endless time deliberating over body parts, often returning home with several comforting little packages containing disembodied limbs, eyes and torsos.  

Best thing I ate:

Porcini 

We are coming to the end of the porcini season here, so I thought I’d better get a move on before the first hard frost arrives.  I wish I could tell you that I’d been foraging in the woods for them, but I am far to fearful to trust my own judgment in the poisonous funghi department.  Luckily, at this time of year, there are porcini stalls at every local market as well as those randomly placed by the side of the road, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, just waiting for a some porcini crazed motorists to pull up, and sure enough we did.

Piled into a wooden crate, the porcini look so plump and appealing with their chestnut bronze and chocolate caps.  I think the best way to cook porcini is to roast them, either whole or thickly sliced.  Place them in a single layer in a shallow roasting pan, douse them with a generous slug of olive oil, sprinkle with sea salt and a few sprigs of thyme, and roast until the flesh is slightly shrunken and the tops a little wrinkled.  The 'bosky' flavour will be sublime, intense and earthy.  I served mine, dark and glossy, piled on top of a basic white risotto, to which I had added the sweetness of a little marsala, and finished by stirring in a big creamy dollop of mascarpone. Heaven.

Where to get them:

In the woods, if you dare.

La Foce

For anyone struggling to make some kind of garden out of the baked clay soil of this area, the gardens at La Foce are an inspiration.

But it's not just the gardens that appeal to me, it's the spirit of Iris Origo which seems to have seeped into the old stucco walls of the villa.

You can sense her quiet, overseeing presence everywhere and, looking out at the incredible view from the gardens over the surreal and almost lunar landscape of the Val d'Orcia, you feel the passion and love that she must have felt for this wild and beautiful countryside.

On 4 March 1924, Iris married the charming Antonio Origo. They moved together to their new estate at La Foce, near Chianciano Terme in the Province of Siena. It was in a state of bad repair; the land around it arid and barren and the tenant farmers nearing starvation. But with great insight and a feeling for the landscape, and after much hard work, care and attention, they succeeded in transforming it.

Now the gardens are a truly magnificent mix of Italian formal garden and English country garden, gradually loosening up to meet with the surrounding wooded wilderness. I love a bit of box hedging, and the smell of an 80 year old wisteria in full bloom...

During the Second World War, the Origos remained at La Foce and looked after refugee children, who were housed there. Following the surrender of Italy, and the confused mayhem that swept through the country, Iris also sheltered or assisted many escaped Allied prisoners of war. Sometimes up to 30 people a day would arrive at La Foce; all on foot, many starving and ill, all seeking to make their way through the German lines, or simply to survive.

Her intellligent and level headed account of this time is recorded in her war diary, 'War in the Val D'Orcia'. It is one of my favourite books about this area.

As part of our recent Botanical Illustration courses we have visited Iris's gracious gardens at La Foce and it's a trip that really is balm for the soul, both uplifting and inspiring. So, with thanks to the lovely ladies on our recent Botanical Course 2nd to 9th May, I have included some photos of our wonderful day out there.

The best thing I ate:

Fresh Garlic

At the moment, bunches of fresh, wet garlic are heaped on the market stalls, their skin is moist and beautiful, blushed with purple and pale green and, as the garlic gets older, the skin drys to the palest ivory and becomes dry and brittle. The flavour changes too.

New garlic is mild and sweet, the plump cloves beneath the skin are the brightest white and full of juice. The taste is subtle and, for those with no romantic rendezvous lined up, it is delicious eaten raw, sliced thinly into a fresh green salad. In fact I would encourage you to convince you lover to partake with you in an orgy of fresh garlic-eating - that way you can enjoy the fleeting moment together. Or rub a cut clove over a toasty piece of griddled bread, drizzle over the ubiquitous olive oil and enjoy the simplest form of bruschetta.

Long time no blog

Goodness me, it’s been a month.  I have no excuse except that real life seems to have stepped up a pace since the art courses started.  Life at the moment seems like one big learning curve as each of the courses runs for the first time.   It’s an exciting period, but not without a bit of nail biting too.

Now that the overall renovations of the apartments and studio are finished (nearly), it’s the details that begin to come into focus.  This corkboard has been re-commissioned to organise our keys.  My father made this board for me years ago out of the corks left over from bottles of wine that he had drunk, he only used the ones that he felt were particularly memorable, either because the wine or the company he drank with had moved him. He made one for me and one for my sister. Of the few things I have that were my dad’s, this is one of the most precious. The corks in the centre are from bottles of Cava that we drank together, to celebrate the stuff that families celebrate, each other.  Now, it’s in use everyday and I think my dad would have liked that.

This is another detail that shouldn’t go unnoticed, the amount of wonderful artwork that has been produced in the studio, by visitors on the art courses.  This table full of work is by one of our first ‘students’, I love looking at all these vibrant images and somehow it makes sense of what we have been doing for the last two and a half years.

The other thing that is prevalent around here at the moment is the sheer greenness of the landscape, so green and full of sap, it makes me want to sing and make soup.

Best thing I ate;

To celebrate the full on juicy lushness that is Umbria at this time of year, I made this verdant soup for the students on our recent botanical illustration course.  They weren’t complaining.

The idea of this light soup is to keep it very fresh and green I like to make it, and eat it, within the hour as that is when the colour really zings.  The clean, sweet taste of the zucchini (courgette) works really well with a pungent splash of basil oil, and a crunch of charred bread from the griddle.

Zuppa di Zucchini con Basilico or Courgette Soup with Basil

For the soup (serves 6)

1.5kg firm, shinny skinned medium sized zucchini, trimmed
Olive oil, large glug
50g butter
3 gloves garlic peeled
1ltr good vegetable stock, a cube will do
Sea salt and black pepper

For the basil oil

1 large bunch of fresh basil
150ml olive oil
Sea salt

Soup
 Heat the olive oil and butter in a large stock-pot and sweat the garlic gently without colouring it.  Meanwhile chop the zucchini cross ways into coins and add to the pot, cover with the stock and bring to a simmer and cook for about 20 minutes or until the courgettes are just tender.  Blend the soup with a hand help blender, until smooth and green.  Check the seasoning and add salt and pepper to your taste.

Oil
Take your bunch of basil and remove any coarse stems, puree the basil with the olive oil and a large pinch of sea salt until smooth and intense dark green.

Serve the soup with a large splash of the basil oil floating on top and a slice of coarse country bread charred on the griddle.  Perfetto.

Quite a blow

The last week or two have been a bit hectic around here as our first group of artists arrived.  The last minute panic to get things ready gave way to a steady rhythm of activity as the workshop got underway.  It seems, at last, we are beginning to do what we came here to do which is, of course, run painting holidays.  After all the graft that has gone before, this seems somehow incredible to me.  There is still, however, so much to be done that it seems there will be no time for resting on our laurels, at least not in this lifetime. 

The most amazing thing to me was how the studio was transformed by the addition of the students. What they brought to what is, in fact, just a large, light space was all the atmosphere and vibrancy that made the place hum.

The start of the art courses seems to have shaken things up around here and change is definitely in the air, good change.
Despite my being one of those irritating people who appears to suffer from unusually high self-esteem, I have been left reeling from the fact that my eldest daughter, recently and at surprisingly close range, mistook me for one of the builders.  It’s not that I have anything against the builders, but still it was quite a blow.

The last two years of living in rural Italy on what can only be described as a building site seems to have turned me from someone who used to look like a relatively well put together urbanite into, well, let’s be honest, someone who looks like a builder.

A Winter spent huddled by the stufa mainlining Gorgonzola hasn’t helped me much either and after an honest self-appraisal I think I have to call time on this particular look, it’s obviously not working for me anymore.  Spring is here and I need to ‘re-glamourise’. 

This afternoon I quit the building site, donned my Ipod and my running shoes and hit the white roads.  I haven’t been running for a couple of weeks and the first kilometer felt so bad I almost gave up but, after a while, the music got to me and the old euphoria began to kick in.   Anyone who runs regularly will tell you that it’s very addictive, in a good way. I came home on a high with plans for extensive surgery and a whole new wardrobe, or at least to go running regularly from now on and to stop wearing marito’s old clothes in public. 

It occurs to me while writing this that if you ever see a woman in the supermarket, here in Italy, with dusty hair and paint splattered clothes, or a frazzled looking mother covered in cement at the school gates you can be 99 per cent certain she’s not Italian. They just don’t do ‘sloppy’, in fact most of the mothers at the school pick-up could give Victoria Beckham a run for her money.

The best thing I ate;

You would think that given my new regime I would be nibbling on a leaf or something, but actually I’m back on the bruschette.  My latest addiction is bruschetta with cannellini beans and rosemary.  There is something wholesome and comforting about creamy cannellini beans, here they are mashed into a coarse puree and perked up with the pungent oily taste of rosemary, a spritz of balsamic vinegar adds a slightly acid bite and the drizzle of good virgin olive oil transports it to sublime.  Top lunch-time treat of the moment.

Bruschetta with Cannellini beans and Rosemary

1 tin or jar good quality cannellini beans, drained
Large spring rosemary
Balsamic vinegar
Extra virgin olive oil
Sea salt and black pepper
2 cloves Garlic
Coarse country style bread, sliced

First grill your slices of bread. While they are still hot drizzle them with olive oil and rub them with a cut clove of garlic.

Pull all the spikey leaves from the rosemary spring and chop very, very finely until almost a powder.  Fry one clove of chopped garlic in a little olive oil but be careful not to let it colour.  Add the drained beans and continue to cook for about 5 minutes, add the rosemary, a little more oil and season well with salt and pepper and a spritz of balsamic vinegar.  Mash everything together using the back of a wooden spoon until you have a coarse puree.  Heap the beans onto the grilled bread and drizzle with more of the olive oil.  This is delicious with a sharp green salad on the side and a glass of rough red wine to wash it down.

 

Exhale...

After a frantic week of lugging furniture around, painting, panicking and waxing and panicking again we can finally exhale. 
The back apartment is finished and furnished, our first guests have come and gone and here are the 'after' photographs we promised.  Sorry to have kept you waiting for a week but, to be fair, we have been waiting for nearly 2 years!

The sitting room and kitchen

The small bedroom

The big bedroom

The details

Of course we can't afford to slow down yet as there is still the front apartment and the studio to finish but they are oh-so-nearly there. 
I'll post the results as soon as they are ready with maybe a little break for carnevale inbetween. 
Have faith, we'll get there in the end...

The best thing I ate today:
You must be joking! No time for cooking, eating or sleeping!

Mr Woodworm

The hidden junkyards of Umbria are not really a secret, but I always feel a kind of furtive excitement whenever I come across one, as if somehow I have outwitted the wily dealers at the antique markets and found their precious source.  My favourite is on a scrappy bit of farmland nearby, former barns and pig stys stand full of treasure whilst chickens peck amongst the remnants of a much harsher rural life. The owner is locally known by the nickname ‘il Tarlo’, the woodworm.

 It may look like an unkempt jumble of damp wood and rusting metal but if you have ‘the eye’ it is so much more.  ‘The eye’ is a term that causes much bickering between me and marito as each of us would be loathed to admit that the other one has ‘it’ if, indeed, either of us does. I suppose it simply means seeing potential in something that even Mr Woodworm would be hard pressed to understand, and even harder pressed to try to charge you much for.

 As marito points out a beautifully worn metal tabletop, I nod in agreement.  It is round and mottled with the oxide colours of rust like an August moon.  “That would look great on the wall” he says, I nod again, then he boasts (and I know it’s coming), “You see, I’ve got the eye!”

Of course he may think he has ‘the eye’, but not for long.  In one of the dimly lit, corrugated iron sheds, behind a pile of peeling white1960’s hospital doors I glimpse something interesting. We lug it out and, in the light, can see it’s an old red door, the pigment faded to a glorious rosy orange, its bolted together with metal straps and to me seems like the perfect find.  “That would make a fantastic table top”, I venture. Marito nods and, quick as a flash, I claim back ‘the eye’!  

It’s sad, I know, but we can play this game all day.

I love the junkyard; the old handmade tools, no longer useful, the ripped out shutters and broken ladders. 

I love the way that things can be salvaged, that they can evolve and a door can become a table and a table become a piece of art.

Sometimes, of course, it goes completely wrong and Il Tarlo has the last laugh. I imagine he thinks he's got 'the eye' too.

 
The best thing I ate today;

Pici
Once you have eaten pici, all other pasta seems to pale.  The thick, chewy, almost nutty strands of pasta rather like a superior kind of fat spaghetti can carry almost any sauce.   It is as good slicked with oil and  peperoncini as it is with something more robust. 

I think it may be a Tuscan/Umbrian thing but every local menu seems to boast a ‘pici al ragu’ or a 'pici all'anatra' or 'pici al pomodoro' and so on.   Traditionally it is made without the addition of egg and I’m sure the very best is hand rolled on the thigh of an ancient Italian Nonna, but luckily there are some surprisingly good varieties available in the local supermarket too!

Where to get it:
 At every restaurant in the region of Tuscany and Umbria, also available in most supermarkets and ‘alimentari’. Especially good, both fresh and dried, from COOP Castiglione del Lago.

Solomon Soddon

It has rained for 3 weeks, 5 days and 8 hours - almost non-stop and almost biblical - and the sound of ‘rain on roof’ is becoming strangely hypnotic. However, despite flood warnings from our Italian neighbours and the sight of the eco warriors on the hill building what looks like an ark, we decide to pop into Arezzo to look at the Christmas lights and do a spot of shopping.  We put a bucket under the drip that’s coming in from the bedroom ceiling and head off. 

It’s late afternoon and Arezzo is ablaze with festive cheer and, despite the rain, a good old-fashioned Christmas passeggiata is in full swing.  White lights are strung across the narrow streets leading up to the main Piazza Grande and, while the lower town is buzzing with activity, Vasari’s loggia and the beautiful square up in the old town are strangely deserted. The flagstones gleam wetly in the lamplight and footsteps echo in the chilly dusk. 

Traders, who have spent the day setting up for the weekend’s antique fair, have bundled up their treasures under drab tarpaulin wraps and gone to ground. The last, and most conscientious, check the ties and straps for security before heading silently to the bar.

That this vast array of antiquities is left untended overnight is amazing, but there is something quite forlorn about it too, with the empty darkening square and the unattended tables waiting, solemn and sodden, in the rain.

Back on Corso Italia, gifts are carefully chosen and lavishly wrapped. Little hands clutch warm paper cones of roasted chestnuts and, although the rain comes and goes in fierce gusts, all seems well with the world. Unless the bedroom ceiling’s fallen in, that is.

Best thing I ate:
Chestnuts roasting on an open fire

I have to say that there is something wonderfully ‘winter wonderland’ about buying roast chestnuts from a street vendor’s blazing brazier, although the ones we bought were mighty expensive. Far cheaper and much more fun is to invest in a traditional chestnut roasting pan (a frying pan with holes in the bottom) and then, providing you have an open fire or wood burning stove, you can while away the cosy winter evenings roasting your own.  

Cut a little slash in the skins of your chestnuts, fill the pan with a single layer and roast them amongst the glowing embers. They will take approximately 10-15 minutes, depending on the heat of your fire.  Remember to give the pan a good shake every now and then to avoid too much charring. They make a fantastically seasonal fireside snack or a fine dessert, paired with a slab of Gorgonzola and a glass of luscious Vin Santo which seems to intensify the sweet, smoky flavour.
Let it rain, let it rain, let it rain…

With a little help from our friends…

During our time in Italy focusing on this project, we have had a lot of help from a lot of people. We know we’re really lucky to have some wonderful friends, people who have been extremely generous with their time and their talent.

 This week, just after we decided we needed to make a promotional video without spending any money, who better to turn up from London than Rupert; old friend/editor/producer and film maker who was willing to give up a week of his time to help us.

Rupert, our hero.

The hastily assembled crew, which consisted of me (tripods, umbrellas, dialogue coach, hair and makeup), marito (a star is born!) Martyn (another old friend on stills) and the girls (annoying sound effects) were unflagging despite the rain and the wise words of yet another old friend ringing in our ears, “you should have done it in the summer”. We think we got enough film ‘in the can’ for a four minute video (with marito secretly hoping for a mini series!)

Working with a professional filmmaker was a fascinating experience; someone who can walk down an unfamiliar street and instantly see ‘the shot’, who can judge light and atmosphere with a glance.  The creative process that goes into making a short film is astounding, the ability to encapsulate and distil all that visual information. 

So, although marito may think he was the ‘star’, the real star of this whole production was Rupert, he even managed to coax ‘Big Al’ out of the butcher’s for a cameo role!

 Now we have to wait for the final cut but, rest assured, the ‘premiere’ will be right here for your amusement.  Until then, it’s back to the daily grind for marito I’m afraid, apart from the occasional starry tantrum!

The star, struggling with his lines...

The best thing I ate;

Penne con zucca et salvo arrosta
(Penne with roast pumpkin and sage)

Well, goodness me, in honour of Halloween, marito brought home quite the most enormous pumkin I have ever seen.  Extremely beautiful it was too but, waste not want not, I have risen to the challenge and we have been feasting on it ever since.  With a nod to Judith in Umbria, my fellow blogger and culinary muse, I have been refining my recipe for roast pumpkin and penne, quite delicious in a very savoury, sweet, ‘pumpkiny’ kind of way.  It’s quite a rich dish and would go well with an astringent green salad on the side, not the Italian way, I know, but here goes anyway…

About 1kg pumpkin skinned and cut into small chunks
3 or 4 whole cloves of garlic (in their skins)
2 peperoncini, finely chopped
a teaspoon of fresh thyme leaves
a large handful of sage leaves (left whole)
150ml of good olive oil
Sea salt
Ground black pepper
400g penne
freshly grated parmesan cheese

Pre-heat the oven to 200 degrees.  Put the pumpkin, garlic, peperoncino, thyme and sage into a bowl, then pour over the olive oil and season generously with the salt and pepper.  Mix the whole lot together (being careful not to break up the sage leaves). Tip into a roasting tin and roast for about 30 minutes or so.  Different types of pumpkin (and there are many) have different cooking times so it’s best to check after half an hour, what you’re looking for is a melting texture with slightly caramelised edges.

Meanwhile cook your pasta until ‘al dente’.   When your pumpkin is cooked, remove it from the roasting pan with a slotted spoon and keep it somewhere warm, while you pop the garlic out of it’s skin and mash it into the sweet oily pan juices.  Tip the pan juices into the pasta and mix thoroughly.   Pile the pumpkin on top of the pasta making sure everyone gets some of the lovely crispy sage leaves.  Add a grating of parmesan if you wish.  Serves 4 to 6 people depending on the ‘greed factor’.

Where to get it;
Make it yourself

Wine heaven

There comes a time when the wine finally runs out.  That doesn’t necessarily mean that you are the one who drank it all, but it does mean that you have to get some more.

Around here the best (and most economical) way to buy wine, from ordinary table wine to the posh stuff, is to buy it from a ‘cantina’ (cellar or winery). You can buy it by the bottle, and in many cases you can also buy it ‘sfuso’ or loose.  A visit to one of these places is a treat in itself, especially if it’s one near the wine heaven, Montepulciano.

There is something rarified about this noble little town, high on it’s ridge, midway between Florence and Rome. Flurries of classical music escaping from the Accademia della Musica echo through the alleyways and the air is diffused with the aroma of fermentation as thousands of barrels ‘cook’ gently in the vast cellars below the streets. 

I grew up around wine.  My dad was a wine importer and it was both his business and his pleasure.  Most of our family holidays were based around the wine regions that interested him, be they France, Spain or Italy. It was normal for us, as children, to play ‘catch’ amongst the vines or hide-and-seek down in the musty cellars.  I remember my sister and I giggling and lunging at each other from behind the barrels as my mum and dad talked earnestly with wine producers, sniffing and slurping, dad taking notes and swapping cards, loading the samples and freebies into the back of the car.  Later, as surly teenagers, we were allowed to join in those exquisite tastings, a privilege that was always guaranteed to lighten the mood.

 
The smell and atmosphere of a wine cellar, whether full of ageing oak or shiny stainless steel is intrinsically woven through my memories of my father.  As with so many things, I wish I had listened more intently and asked more questions.  My knowledge of wine is now, sadly, missing my ‘personal expert’ but my enthusiasm, which I inherited from him, remains undimmed.

One of the things my dad was best at was sniffing out a good affordable wine. He wasn’t a wine snob, he loved it all.  During the 60’s and 70’s it was buyers like my father who expanded the English palate for wine by importing drinkable, but inexpensive, table wines from France, Spain and Italy and gradually pushed the ubiquitous sweet German white wines to the back of the supermarket shelves.   He liked to buy wine from small, creative, independent producers who grew wines with ‘personalities’ imparted by a combination of climate, soil and grape variety.   “Wine”, he liked to say, “is alive”.  One of the only things we can consume after 200 years, still changing and evolving, waiting for the pull of the cork.  In one sense it’s just a drink, and yet it is capable of engaging our senses and imagination, it’s depths and complexities can communicate something intense and beautiful.

The ‘cantina’ that we visited was Ercolani located just outside the walls of Montepulciano. We tried some wonderfully plush vintages of Vino Nobile di Montepulciano before opting for the youngest (and cheapest) one which we bought ‘sfuso’ in large 5 litre demijohns.  We also tried their deliciously sticky Vin Santo and some mind-bending Grappa, but that’s another story.

 
The best thing I drank today;
see above...

Someone else's life

The hills around here are full of ruinous houses, sometimes complete hamlets have been left to rot, organic beauties, slowly changing with decay.  Remote and isolated, choked with brambles they stand at the end of rutted tracks, their vacant windows gaping.  They may be wrecked and wretched but to me each one seems like an opportunity.
 

To celebrate my birthday earlier this week, marito took me out for lunch not, as you might expect, to some ‘fancypants’ expensive restaurant but on a picnic jaunt high up in the Umbrian hills.  The sky was clear, hard enamel blue and the sun low and hot, a runaway Summer’s day.

One of my favourite things to do is drive the rough white roads, with no particular destination in mind, looking for things.   Maybe another Madonna or an unexpected view but, as we drive, I am always aware that just over the hill or around the corner might be the thing that thrills me most, an abandoned house.

Usually, my curiosity is restricted to a brief glimpse and a craning neck but it was my day and I got to choose the picnic spot.  This time I was going in.

Crouching amongst ragged grasses was a small stone house.  I felt the baked dryness of the door and the old wood split and broke away as I forced it open to reveal a single square room.

Weeds billowed in through broken shutters and hazy dust clouds hung suspended in slants of sunlight.  Rubble covered a floor of crude terracotta tiles that were laid directly to the earth, in the centre was an up turned wormy table blanched to the colour of ash and along one wall a row of empty bottles.

Old sacks, parts of a broken iron bed, some kind of sieve and a long handled spade were all that remained of someone else’s life.  In the heady silence of the afternoon I felt it would be easy to inhabit that room. To clear away the rubble, right the table and mend the bed, to spend an evening drinking rough red wine with the ghosts, as bats swooped in and out of the open rafters and cold moonlight crept into the corners.

I would sleep in the old iron bed and wake to put my feet on the parched floor, warmed through by heat rising from the earth, worn and rough like calloused skin.

Luckily marito is not so romantic.  ‘What do you think’? I asked, as he blundered in with the dog.  I won’t repeat his answer in its entirety but the phrase ‘totally insane’ featured prominently.

Best thing I ate today:

Calming, comforting carbonara; basically a pasta sauce made with eggs, cream and parmesan.  Soothing and somewhat soporific, it’s a delicious supper dish now that there’s a faint chill in the evening air. You can make endless variations on this theme by adding handfuls of this or that.  Just make sure that you don’t overwhelm the creamy sauce.  Some of my favourite additions are: small chunks of crispy pancetta, or crumbled Italian salsiccie and a few green peas, or maybe a scant handful of pre-cooked purple sprouting broccoli.  Here it is in a simple form with just the added heat of peperoncino.

Kinda carbonara con peperoncino

Pasta – Penne is good, approx 300gm
4 large organic egg yolks
2 large handfuls of freshly grated parmesan cheese
Olive oil
100ml thick cream
2 small peperoncini, chopped
2 gloves of garlic chopped
Sea salt and ground black pepper
1 small handful of finely chopped flatleaf parsley

Cook the pasta until 'al dente' and, while its cooking, make the sauce.  Put the egg yolks and cream into a bowl and mix together with half the parmesan.  Season with salt and pepper.

Then in a heavy based frying pan gently sauté the garlic and peperoncino for about 5 minutes and take care not to colour the garlic.  As soon as the pasta is done drain it and put it back into the, still hot, pasta pan, then mix in the garlic and peperoncino followed by the sauce.  Toss it all together until the sauce is glossy and silky looking, you may need to heat the pan up a little bit more but be careful not to scramble the eggs.  Add the rest of the parmesan and the parsley and give it another stir.  Heap it into a bowl and serve.

In Italy they sell a lovely mix of peperoncino, garlic and herbs called, 'Erbe piccante per spaghetti' in little packets at the supermarket. They don't cost much and last for months...

Where to get it;

You've probably already got it all in the fridge, waiting.