Olive Bread, with Onion filling

One from Ursula Ferrigno - a writer about whom I haven't yet come to a firm opinion. Her writing is on occasion tiresomely mannered (which I suppose is another way of saying 'silly'), but the recipes appear to be more-or-less sound...stuffed squid with potatoes was a little bland, but with some amendments to the stuffing (like adding some ingredients which actually have some flavour, like reconstituted porcini, or pancetta, or anchovies....rather than the deeply unremarkable combination of parsley and breadcrumbs which she proposed) the dish works well; her version of potato ravioli is good; and the combination for an aperitif of limoncello and chilled prosecco, with a couple of mint leaves in the bottom of the glass, is a complete winner!

This bread is easy to make and freezes well - although I think it is marginally better if eaten fresh - and the onon stuffing, I realised after having made it a couple of times, is nothing more nor less than a standard chutney... which is useful, since I have just inherited a large number of jars of the stuff, and it is not something which is normally served in this household.

Served recently in conjunction with chilled pea soup as the first course for a garden lunch, on a sweltering summer's day, this particular recipe was absolutely perfect...

For two loaves, each serving four.

Ingredients:
Bread: 15g yeast; 275 ml tepid water; pinch sugar; 500g flour (for this, in Italy, I use 'Manitoba'; any high gliuten flour will work well); 5g salt; 2 tbs olive oil; 70g stoned black olives, sliced thinly.
Filling: 2 bs olive oil; 2 large onions, finely chopped; 2 bay leaves; 1 large sprig rosemary; 2 tbs red wine vinegar; 50g soft brown sugar.

Method:

1. Make the onion filling:  stirring constantly, sauté the chopped onion in oil, along with finely chopped rosemary and crumbled bay leaf, for five minutes or so until thoroughly browned; deglaze with the vinegar, then add the sugar, stir to incorporate, and cook over low heat for thirty minutes or so. The mixture should be dark brown and quite dense by the end of this process.

2. Crumble the yeast into the water and leave for five minutes or so, to prove. Add the pinch of sugar to the water to encourage the yeast to get to work.

3. In a large bowl, mix the salt with the flour; add to this the Olive Oil and the yeast/water mixture. Knead for 10 minutes, until smooth, and then add the olives, and continue kneading until thoroughly incorporated.

4. Cover the bowl with a damp cloth and leave to rest in a warm place for 40 minutes.

5. Knock back the dough, divide into two and shape each into a round ball; cover, once more, and leave to rise again for a further ten minutes.

6. On a floured surface, roll each ball into an oval shape about 15" x 12". Divide the onion filling betweeen these two, putting the mixture in the centre of the half of each oval nearest to you, leaving enough exposed edge for the bread oval to be folded over and sealed.  Once sealed, put the semi-oval breads onto a greased baking tray, cover them again with a damp cloth, and leave to rise for a further 40 minutes.

6. Pre-heat the bread oven to 200 degrees C; brush the bread with olive oil, and sprinkle with a small amount of finely chopped rosemary. Bake for 25 minutes.

After a day of downpours...

and gloriously dramatic thunderstorms, we're now back to the intense heat we've been having for the past month or so. Apparently, the hottest summer here sunce 2003....which makes up for the dreary and miserable non-summer we had last year (the worst since 1911). As the thunder grumbled and cracked and roared overhead, we threw open all of the windows as wide as they'd go, to allow the cool air to flush through the house and get rid of the increasingly sticky atmosphere that has built up as the temperature has built and built and built in the course of July....

The lane, from the door to the Cantina, after the rain

The mosquito population was decimated (temporarily, at least) and the dust was firmly settled (ditto).The Cats watched, with sanguine nonchalence, from the Barn, and the four-footed watched us watching the rising level of the water in the courtyard (it came up, it went down, it came up again, and went down again...but on this occasion, at least, it didn't come close to coming in). Then, once the rain had stopped, he ran around in the long grass, getting gloriously wet, and giving himself the equivalent of a much-needed blanket bath.

Four-footed, posing, while Grey Cat attempts ineffectually to flirt with him

And for a few hours, while the temperature was lower, and the air fresh and clear, there were sounds from around the place of people actually engaging in activity...voices, and far-off hammering, and the sorts of noises that suggest movement and things in-train. All of which has now stopped, and the more normal sense of exhausted silence has descended once more.
Which reminds me, that it's about time to retrieve a book and a glass and find an appropriately placed deck chair.

The agrumi garden, looking lush, as the sun comes out again

Tonight's dinner:

Pissaladière Nicoise

Pork chops, with wine & sage sauce; sautéed potatoes

Crème Brulée

Crab & Salmon Ravioli

This is a re-working of something the TD found and printed off for me, and which I then amended to be more user-friendly for a busy kitchen. The original used sea bass in the stuffing and had a rather complicated sauce, using diced squid and lemon grass, and it all seemed much more than a person wanted to be bothered with at this time of year, with temperatures every day somewhere in the mid thirties, and food something of no interest whatsoever before the sun has gone down at around 9.00 in the evening...

For four (makes around 25 or so ravioli)

Ingredients:  Black pasta, made with 1 cup '00' flour, 1 cup semolina, 3 medium eggs, 1 tsp olive oil, half a tsp salt, and 1 sachet of squid ink; 2 tbs diced carrot; 2 tbs diced onion; 1 garlic clove, minced; 2 tbs olive oil; half tsp chili powder; 1 small salmon fillet, skinned and diced; 3 crab sticks (approx 6-7 tbs, when diced); salt, to taste; fish broth (to serve); chopped parsley (for garnish).

Method:

1. Heat the oil in a small pan, and in it sauté the onion, carrot and garlic, until softened - about five minutes.

2. Add the chili powder, along with the diced salmon and crabmeat. Cook, stirring, for another three or four minutes, just until the salmon has lost its raw look.

3. Allow to cool, and then process briefly in the food processor. At this point, check the flavour and add salt, to taste.  (This can all be done much earlier in the day, and the stuffing then set aside until needed)

4. Roll out half of the pasta dough into sheets (reserve the other half for a different pasta dish on another night - it will be fine in the fridge for up to a week; it isn't practical to try and make only the right quantity of pasta dough for this recipe, and I always make up a full batch and then use it up over time). Using a coffee spoon, place small amounts of stuffing over one of the sheets of rolled pasta, and then carefully lay another, slightly larger sheet over the top; press the two sheets together, trying to leave as little air as possible between the sheets and around the stuffing, and then use a pasta cutter to cut the layered sheets of pasta into individual ravioli. Each pair of sheets should produce about 12 ravioli each - so, you need to repeat the entire operation twice, in order to make sufficient ravioli for four servings.

5. Heat the fish stock gently, while the water for the ravioli comes to the boil. Cook the ravioli in boiling salted water for three minutes exactly, and then use a slotted spoon to transfer each serving of ravioli to a heated soup plate; ladle about half a cup of stock into each plate, over the ravioli, and garnish with chopped parsley.  Serve.

Summer pictures

Arborescens Annabelle, in their 'enclosure', in the Old Orchard

The travellers palm, in flower in the courtyard - except, from the flower, we find it isn't a travellers palm after all, but is something called a Strelitzia Nicolai...

Nectarines, in the North Garden, about to be harvested...

White peaches, ditto, from the tree Sarah gave us that came from Wisley, via the garden in Via Fucini...

The pot, at the end of the lavender walk, in front of the romitorio

Hemerocallis, and Dietes Bicolore, in the West Border

The view behind the church, looking across the camellias

Tonight's dinner:

Chicken Foo Yung

Swordfish, with a parsley and pepper sauce; braised celery

Blueberry and almond clafoutis

Tarte Bordaloue

I had thought I had posted this recipe on here ages ago - it having long been in my repertoire - and was surprised to find it not there recently when I wanted to check on the quantities I generally use for the ingredents in the almond cream filling (the recipe was originally based on a version from Michel Roux, but I know I don't use his quantities, as his are for a much larger tart than I would normally make). Anyway, I realised that I hadn't ever committed it to blog, which seems a sad failing on my part. The tart is delicious, and using this method it could not be simpler to make.

When adding the almond cream to the shell, don't bother trying to spread it evenly, or to make it look neat - the amount of butter in the mixture in practice means that as it cooks it sorts itself out and levels automatically, and if you heap the mixture on top of the pears, in the centre of the tart shell, and put it in the oven like that, as it cooks, the cream adjusts itself to fill all parts of the tart shell, and puffs evenly all over.

For one 8" tart.

Ingredients: 1 8" shortcrust tart shell (I make three such shells from shortcrust made from 8 oz butter, 10 oz plain flour 1 generous pinch salt, and 50 ml water....yes, I know, it's a hybrid of metric and imperial; that's what happens when a person's long ago schooling bridged the changeover between the two systems...anyway, the three unused shells go into the freezer, from where they can be baked from frozen as and when they're wanted); 2 large pears, of pretty much any flavourful variety; 2 tbs sugar, for sprinkling; 100g butter; 100g sugar; 100g ground almonds; drops of almond essence (optional, but I think necessary, since ground almonds these days have negligible flavour of their own, and need all the help they can get); 3 eggs; 2 tbs rum; apricot glaze (again optional, depending on how much of a perfectionist you are, and on how long before serving you have finished baking the tart; if it is to be left for several hours, it will look better for being brushed with glaze).

Method:

1. Pre-heat the oven to 180 C and then blind bake the tart shell until the base is partially browned but not completely baked.

2. Peel, quarter and core the pears, then cut each quarter into two lengthwise, so you have 16 pieces in all.. Lay the pieces in the partially baked shell, making an outer and an inner circle. Sprinkle with the 2 tbs of sugar. Put the pears in the shell back into the oven for ten minutes or so, to soften the flesh and to concentrate the flavour of the pears.

3. In a food processor, work together the butter and the sugar, then add the ground almonds (and optional almond essence), followed by the eggs and the rum. The mixture should be fairly dense.

4.  Out of the oven, spoon the almond mixture into the centre of the tart shell, over the top of the pears. It doesn't matter if the mixture doesn't go anywhere near the edge of the shell - trying to get it to do so will only mess up the arangement of the pear pieces and in any case isn't necessary, as the cream will sort itself out during baking.

5. Bake the tarte in the oven for about forty minutes. By the end of this time, the cream will have covered the entire tart, and should have puffed and browned.

6. Remove the tarte from the oven, and leave it to cool. At this stage, if using it, brush the surface with apricot glaze. Delicious either cold or still warm.

Richard Olney

...has been my reading material for the past few days. Mostly his memoirs, unfinished at the time of his death in 1999, but with forays also into 'Simple French Food' and into 'Lulu's Provencal Table'. The memoirs have been a complete pleasure, despite - or perhaps because of - their unedited and somewhat formless delivery. With little attempt to shape the events of his life into stories with clear structures, the result is a patchwork of anecdotes and memories, many of which lead to nothing beyond themselves and are merely what they are: recollections of events which occurred and people he met and things people said from time to time. Julia Child and James Beard don't emerge from it particularly well - although both seem diminished and mean as a result, rather than impressive and monstrous - and Nico Ladenis and Simone Beck and Elizabeth David, amongst others, shine brightly.
From the  inclusion of  numerous menus of lunches and dinners he produced over the years, I can see where I've gone wrong with him in the past - with both of the other aforementioned books, I dived straight into the dessert sections. Bad idea. Desserts are not Olney's thing, and were presumably only included at the insistence of his publisher. From SFF - before consigning the book for years to the unreachable and dusty upper shelves of a bookcase - I remember unwisely trying an apple dessert of some kind  the recipe for which he said had come from his sister-in-law Judith .....only to discover that said sister-in-law ('ex' by the time of writing) had, in Olney's opinion, neither any interest in nor any skill in cooking or any knowledge whatsoever about food. Equally, from his many mentions of dinners chez Peyraud, there is no mention anywhere of dessert being served, and one assumes that Lulu's attitude towards them was significantly the same as his, i.e that any meal should finish with a good selection of cheese (and another bottle of something appropriate). Dessert wine was something of which he was very fond, but it seems that he often foreswore the accompanying dessert, on the basis that the food might interfere with the character of the wine.
Odd lacunae remain, even after having finished the memoirs - called 'Reflexions' , by the way, which is an unfortunately 'cutesy' title, and presumably intended to suggest instinctive reactions to what has happened in his life rather than a considered analysis of them; the latter, he certainly doesn't go in for...things happen, you observe them, react as appropriate (or not), record them (maybe), and then move on.   But, where and how did he learn to cook? From where did he develop his abilities and knowledge about wine? And where is any suggestion of the breadth of knowledge and practical experience behind the twenty seven volumes of the Time-Life 'Good Cook' series which he so famously edited in the eighties? His spat with Julia Child over the best way to make pastry (apropos of which, he declared that just because she was on TV did not make her a good cook...) suggests that he was practiced in the art - but, apart from a passing reference to an apple pie, made in Clamart sometime in the fifties, pastry appears to have formed no part of his repertoire. In fact, on the basis of lunches and dinners recorded in the book, he seems to have lived largely on fish soup, salads, and cheese, with the occasional roast bird chucked in for good measure. Oh, and wine. In  quantity.
Significantly, he remains an enigma. And seems destined to be so for evermore, since it seems unlikely that anybody will ever now be inspired to write his biography, and anyway many of those who knew him well enough to be able to give a fair picture of the man are no longer around to tell the story.
I was pushed to read Reflexions by Charles asking the other week if I'd ever heard of 'some chap called Richard Olney', since he never had but had recently come across a reference by somebody else to the greatness of the man.  Which suggests to me that Olney seems destined either to disappear entirely without trace, or else to be resurrected as some kind of obscure but sanctified holy man of food. Neither of which I think would be entirely deserved.

Tonight;s Dinner:

Bouchées à la reine

Bass en croute, stuffed with fennel & pernod; braised cucumber

Chocolate meringue vacherins with strawberries & creme chantilly

And more camera...

Dundee Rambler growing through Trachelospermum, in a corner of the Old Orchard

The Old Orchard, looking towards the Well-house

Emerging from the Old Orchard into the main garden

Roses, under the SE Pergola

Entrance to the Old Orchard, under the Weeping Poplar

Tonight's Dinner:

Terrine of Foie Gras with toasted brioche

Saltimbocca alla romana; zucchini sauteed in butter and thyme

Apple Croustades with Crème Frâiche