Sara Mingardo...

...was wonderful, last night, as the contralto voice in Pergolesi's Stabat Mater, in the Duomo. Quite, quite stunning. Not only her voice - which was perfect - but also her presence; a Hermione-like stillness gave to her delivery a calm gravitas. Incomparable.

The first of this year's Anima Mundi programme, the Duomo was packed. As ever, for the first concert, the nave was a sea of fluttering programmes, as people fanned themselves against the heat - and I know that by the time we get to the last in the series, several weeks from now, it will be a question of sweaters and coats, and even then the likelihood of cold feet by the end of the evening.

Tonight's Dinner:

Ravioli with fish stuffing

Guinea Fowl in champagne sauce; swiss chard stalks, in butter & garlic.

Crepes, filled with lemon cream; walnut and honey sauce.

Recipe: Braised Fennel

More of a technique than a specific recipe, this method of cooking fennel works just as well with celery, or swiss chard stalks or leeks...or, in fact, with any of the green vegetables that could be considered 'fibrous'.
I came across the recipe a couple of years ago, buried deep in the pages of one of Anna del Conte's works. I forget which one, and equally I forget now who she quoted as her source (as I'm sure she did, generally being extremely scrupulous about provenance). Vastly superior to simple sauté or baking, the end result from this method is silky and luxurious, with the vegetable meltingly soft, in a sauce which combines all the best elements of the cooking medium and of the vegetable juices mixed in.
It can also be cooked entirely in advance and gently reheated in a warm oven, under foil.

For four:

Ingredients: 2 medium Fennel bulbs, trimmed; 1 oz Butter; 1 tsp Salt; 2 cups Stock (Duck, Chicken, Veal...anything, really, as long as it has flavour).

Method:

1. Melt the Butter in a pan which has a lid and is large enough subsequently to hold the Fennel.

2. Cut each Fennel into 4 lengthwise and add them to the pan; turn the pieces so that they are covered in melted Butter. Sprinkle with Salt, and cover the pan; cook gently for about five minutes.

3. Add the Stock to the pan, raising the heat underneath so that the Stock starts to bubble, then lower the heat again to a low simmer.

4. Cook, partially covered for about half an hour, until the liquid has reduced to a couple of tablespoons or so of thick sauce. Adjust seasoning as necessary, and serve.

We've been denounced...

...to the Commune! Although, since this isn't soviet Russia, the manifestation of authority wasn't snow-covered jack boots and a thunderous knocking on the door at four in the morning, but instead the arrival as we sat, drinking coffee on the terrace, of portly and avuncular Signor Martini, from the planning office, accompanied by his younger and only slightly less portly assistant. Whoever our denouncer was, they got off to a poor start, since we go back quite some way with Signor M...in fact, he was even present on that memorable winter's afternoon in Architect Scarpellini's office, some years ago, when somebody closed the door rather too firmly, and the ceiling fell in. There's nothing like shared adversity to create bonds...

As soon as he recognised us, officialdom relaxed into jocularity, and even before he'd visited the scene of the supposed crime, there didn't seem much to worry about. It turns out that we'd been reported for 'building with cement' without a permit, and there was also some reference to our using 'rete', which is the italian name for the metal grids that form the inside of reinforced concrete. Except, in our case, the rete are being used as trellis for climbing roses, and the walls of the lily-pond (apparently the subject of the 'building with cement' complaint) are held together entirely by their own weight, without a slather of cement to be seen. A vague glance from several feet away was enough to satisfy Signor M, while the four-footeds clamoured for attention round his feet...and after fulsome exchanges of civilities, he went on his way, and that particular bit of bureaucratic nonsense headed for deep filing in the basement of Palazzo Gambacorti.

I couldn't help but wonder who'd been behind it, though, and who might even now have been watching from behind their curtains. There are only six possible culprits, which it was pretty easy to whittle down to two, and then (I think) to one. And whatever their motive, since the Commune won't be reporting back to them, they'll just be left wondering why nothing appears to have happened. This being Italy, of course, it won't occur to them that they'd just got it wrong, and instead will decide that we must have 'influence' at the Commune (which seems to be the italian explanation for everything; 99% of the time, I think it's complete nonsense). Useful, though, even if untrue, to be thought to have friends in high places...

Tonight's Dinner:

Tagliatelle Alfredo.

Pork, pot-roast in Milk; braised Celery.

Egg-white Chocolate Soufflé.

A 'Zero' Birthday.

Mine.

I don't generally take much notice of birthdays, but the change in decade seems to get people's pulses racing, and expectations all round are raised. Inevitably, the event was marked.

Fortunately, the barn was (practically) finished - albeit with an interesting pile of lumber offcuts, arranged tidily across one end; but at least lunch amidst scaffolding and cement mixers was avoided.
In fact, we started the celebration the evening before, as the Belforte group were staying for the night out at Locanda Sant'Agata - Anna and Luca's new restaurant-with-rooms out in the countryside on the way to the lower slopes of Monte Pisano - and we joined them there for dinner. Sunset over Gello, and splendid food (an absolutely excellent gnocchi with coniglio!), and, later, watching the evening mists rise as the heat of the day receded. The season is already changing, and soon that wonderful period will begin of soft autumn mists in the mornings, as the sun gathers strength and decides that perhaps summer isn't quite over, after all.

And the day itself. In the morning, the four-footeds gave me a beautiful air-twist stemmed georgian wine glass for my collection, which took pride of place in one of the display cabinets in the Pranzo - and then, it was sleeves rolled up, and on with lunch. Experience dictates that, on such occasions, unless 99% of cooking has been sorted out before the first guests arrive, and the first corks are popped, then the whole process risks descending into chaos. Fortunately, I just about made it, and by the time everybody was standing around in the kitchen emptying jugs of kir, and crunching fried sage leaves, all I had to do was stir things gently, whilst clutching a glass in the other hand.

The weather was beautiful; the day was perfect. The theme for lunch was 'champagne': champagne risotto, followed by guinea-fowl in champagne sauce, before champagne sorbet with fresh raspberries. And to drink, there was either Roederer or Piper Heidseick.

The Brancolis and Belfortes had plotted, and between them all I received a set of gardening tools worthy of Mr Macgregor himself, half of which were handmade in Tuscany, and the rest came from a venerable manufacturer in Holland. Mouth-wateringly splendid! And an additional gift from the Brancolis was a chinese fir tree, to go at the far end of the lily pond, with which I can christen my new tree-planting shovel.

Lunch over, we drifted through the rather short afternoon, until it was time for the Technical Department to produce tea, along with the cake he'd made (one candle only!) which was filled with limoncino-flavoured cream, and decorated with frosted limoncino leaves. A perfect end to the celebration, as the Brancolis then had to wend their way back up the hill in order to spend the evening strimming their vineyard...

During a post-prandial lull people sat, quietly chatting or reading, and I wandered round, watering roses, as the evening shadows lengthened, and the background sounds of clearing up were faintly discernible from the direction of the kitchen. The sun went down, many candles were lit in the barn and around the lily pond, as a beautiful full moon rose behind the romitorio; we finished the day with a late supper of smoked salmon and chilled pinot grigio, with the sound of the fountain gently splashing, and the moonlight shone through the pigeon-house tiling to make a cheese-grater pattern on the end wall of the barn. The four-footeds were stretched contentedly on the gravel, and all was well with the world.


Tonight's Dinner:

Tiger Prawns in Garlic.

Double-roast lamb shanks; buttered cabbage (we're in London for three days)

Peach and Redcurrant Tarts.

Recipe: Blackberry Sorbet

Creamy, rich on the tongue, and completely delicious! Recently, I came across a copy of Gaston Le Notre's book on ice creams and sorbets - the companion volume to his magnificent and practically exhaustive work on pastry, which I can't recommend too highly for its technical precision. I see from the small print that there was a five year gap between the two books, however, and I suspect the delay was because Le Notre felt slightly embarrassed about presenting a whole collection of recipes the vast bulk of which merely follow the same simple formula: liquidize and sieve the fruit, and then freeze it in an ice cream machine along with sugar syrup to the ratio of 2:1 (twice as much fruit puree as sugar syrup). The syrup itself is made by combining a kilo of sugar with a litre of water, bringing it to the boil, whilst stirring, and then leaving to cool before use (or, half a kilo sugar to half a litre of water...the proportions work, whatever amount of syrup you want to make).
It's as simple as that. And if, as I now do, you keep a quantity of syrup in the fridge ready for use, then the whole process of making a new batch of sorbet whenever you want is remarkably quick and straightforward.

Enough for two generous servings:

Ingredients: Blackberries (about two cups - enough to give you 300 ml of purée, once the fruit has been liquidised and sieved); 150 ml of sugar syrup; a slug of Crème de Cassis (optional, but I think it makes a difference).

1. Liquidise the fruit, then push it through a fine sieve. Add to the purée exactly half as much again sugar syrup (i.e, if you have 300 ml of purée, then add to it 150 ml of syrup; if you have more or less fruit purée than this, then adjust the syrup quantity accordingly).

2. Add to the mixture a generous tablespoon of Cassis. Freeze in an ice cream machine until firm, then leave in the freezer for an hour or so. When you take it out of the freezer, if it is too hard to serve immediately, let it sit in the fridge for twenty minutes or so until it has softened sufficiently to scoop easily.

You'd have thought, by now...

...that we'd be entirely au fait with the plethora of public holidays which are scattered throughout the Italian year. On so many occasions, entirely without warning, have I been surprised by midweek empty streets and shuttered shops (either in honour of the obscure miracles of Saint Euphemia, or else the commemoration of a military or political event from several generations, or even several centuries ago) that I thought I had them all committed to memory. But, no...

Yesterday was Ferragosto. Since it was Sunday, it turns out that today is the holiday instead - although I thought they didn't do substitution in these things (or maybe they do, if it isn't an overtly religious holiday? Although, again, I've never been clear whether or not Ferragosto is religious - in Greece, it's celebrated as the birthday of The Virgin; and if this isn't supposed to be connected with that, then I don't really understand where it comes from.) In any event, I wasn't alone in being surprised, as I spied a smattering of white-haired Nonnas hovering uncertainly round the door to the Post Office, this morning, when I took the four-footeds down to the piazza for their constitutional. The door stayed resolutely closed, as we did a leisurely circuit of the otherwise deserted lawns. If the Nonnas can get it wrong, too, then I suppose I needn't feel too much of an innocent abroad.

August is an odd month here. Particularly this year, because of 'the crisis'. Businesses that would normally shut for weeks on-end seem to be taking it one day at a time, depending on the weather and on the possibility of any customers. Gian Carlo is working (sort of) but most of his suppliers are either closed or only open at odd hours; the Brazilians are working (sort of...but then, that could be said of them at any time of year); Signor Faschi, who said he would be in to polish the ex-loggia floors in Via Fucini 'after the holiday' could be turning up any day now, or perhaps not until the end of the month; our lawnmower dealer is now closed for two weeks, but it wouldn't make any difference if he were open anyway, as the machine importer he needs to speak to won't be open again now until September (our machine has died, well within its warranty period...but, fortunately, the Brancolis have been able to loan us one of their surplus ones).

The new rose pergola is finished, as is the entrance walkway. Half of the coping stones have been positioned around the edge of the lily pond, visible across its bed of newly-planted escallonia. It all looks a bit raw at the moment, but should look weathered and overgrown quite quickly. The interior of the barn is still a building site...despite the fact that we need it for a large lunch party next week. Which will be fun, in amongst the cement mixer, heaps of old plaster and discarded hard hats!

Nature carrries on whatever, and the apples are now ready to be picked. Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of them.

Tonight's Dinner:

Tortelloni of Ragu, with a Tomato-Cream Sauce and Chives.

Sole in Parmesan and Marsala, with braised Celery.

Individual Tartes aux Pommes.

Recipe: Pear Soufflé

A recipe from Anne Willan, I first tried this in the early eighties, when I was dipping into her 'French Regional Cooking' as my project over Christmas in St. Michel one year (which reminds me ... her version of Pintarde aux Choux from the same book was also particularly good, and long overdue to be dusted off; definitely one for the colder months toward the end of the year). The pear recipe re-surfaced in Willan's 'French Recipes' from the Books for Real Cooks series - a gem, if ever there was one - and the current household glut of pears prompted me to make it for dessert a couple of evenings ago.
It isn't the easiest of dishes to get right - it must have been a fluke that it came out well the very first time I made it, as I didn't have a lot of experience with soufflés at that time - but it repays the effort of trying. Light, creamy and delicious. The secret, I think, is to stick absolutely unwaveringly to the recipe, with regard both to quantities and cooking time. Willan's version was for one large soufflé, which I never particularly like, as the process of serving has a tendency to ruin the whole effect, and so I've re-worked it for individual soufflés instead (made in 10cm diameter ramekins).
Twelve minutes and a few seconds of cooking, exactly!

For four individual soufflés

Ingredients: 4 large ripe pears (approx 1 1/2 lb); 2 tbs lemon juice; 3 tbs brandy; 3 eggs + 3 egg whites; 3 tbs sugar + 2 oz sugar; 6 fl oz milk; 2 tbs flour; 1 tbs cornflour. Icing sugar, to sprinkle.

Method:

1. Peel and core the pears, and liquidize them along with the lemon juice. Heat in a small pan over medium heat for about 10 minutes, until the purée has lost most of its liquid, and will keep its shape on a spoon. Set aside to cool.

2. In a double-boiler or simmertopf, heat the milk; in a bowl, whisk the egg yolks and 2 oz of sugar until they are pale yellow, then mix in the flour and cornflour. Pour onto this the heated milk, and mix together, then return the contents of the bowl to the double boiler, and cook, stirring for five minutes or so, until the mixture (which is in fact a pastry cream) has become quite thick.

3. Fold into the pastry cream the cooled pear mixture, along with the brandy; cover with clingfilm, to prevent a skin from forming, and put in the fridge for up to three hours.

4. Heat the oven to 220 degrees C. Butter, or Trennwax, four individual 10 cm ramekins, and place them in a deep roasting pan.

5. Beat the egg whites until stiff, adding the 3 tbs of sugar for the last ten seconds or so of whisking. Mix a quarter of the beaten egg white into the pear/cream mixture, then fold in the remaining egg white.

6. Fill the ramekins to the brim with this mixture, smooth the surface of each one with a palette knife, and then run the tip of your thumb around the rim of each ramekin, leaving a shallow indentation around the inside of each one.

7. Fill the roasting pan with hot water about halfway up the ramekins, and bake in the pre-heated oven for twelve minutes.

8. Remove the soufflés from the oven and sprinkle with icing sugar before placing each ramekin on a dessert plate. Serve immediately.