Recipe: Peach & Marsala Cream Tart

In the garden at Santa Caterina is an old late-fruiting white peach tree, which produced several weeks ago a crop of small and rather hard fruit - not exactly ambrosial, and although perfectly edible in their natural state, they benefit significantly from being cooked in some form rather than just eating them as they come off the tree. Combined with apples to make the purée base for an apple and peach tart, for example, or used in this recipe, which is an adaptation from a classic Tarte Normande.

For one 8" tart.

Ingredients: Shortcrust pastry, made with 150g '00' Flour, 120g Butter, and approx 40ml Water; 2 large or 3 medium peaches; 2 oz plus two tablespoons of sugar; 1 Egg; 1 oz Flour; 5 fl oz Cream; 3 tablespoons Marsala; Icing Sugar.

Method:

1. Roll out the pastry, line an 8" false-bottomed tin, and leave to rest for thirty minutes before blind baking in a 200 degree C oven.

2. Stone, quarter and peel the Peaches, and cut into thin slices (you want to be able to lay them flat in the tart shell, such that they can be subsequently covered with the Marsala Cream, without it overflowing the rim of the pastry). Sprinkle over the Peach slices the two spoonfuls of Sugar, and return the tart shell to the oven for a further fifteen minutes.

3. Meanwhile, whisk together the Egg and Sugar, then beat in the Flour, and finally the Cream and the Marsala.

4. Remove the tart shell from the oven and reduce the temperature to 150 degrees C.

5. Carefully pour the Marsala Cream over the Peach slices, and bake in the oven for 25 - 30 minutes, until it has puffed slightly, and the top has begun to brown.

Serve warm, and dust the top with Icing Sugar before you cut into it.

Fragola Grapes

We have an abundance of them at Santa Caterina, and the strawberry-heavy scent in that area of the garden is quite splendid right at the moment. The vines are heavy with plump black fruit - literally thousands of the things - and to walk beneath the grape arbour is an intoxicating experience.



I've always understood that the wine made from fragola grapes is illegal - although like all things in Italy, it isn't quite as straightforward as that. There's a rather disgusting sweet and fizzy red wine, sold in great quantities in most supermarkets, which calls itself fragolino, but which I suspect is made with some sort of flavouring agent rather than from the fragole grapes themselves. Otherwise, it appears that there's no law against making wine from the grapes, but there is a law against selling it commercially, once made... so, at least self-harm is acceptable!


We first came upon a white dessert fragolino at a restaurant in Seravalle (which shall remain nameless, in order to protect the guilty) one rainy lunchtime about eight years ago. We were with the Brancolis and the Belfortes, and it was one of those occasions when it was raining chairlegs outside and there seemed little point in finishing lunch... and so we just extended it lazily for the entire afternoon, with the owner every so often suggesting something else we might like to try. Finally, a label-less bottle of fragolino was uncorked, and we all had several glasses of the exquisite (if slightly syrupy) contents. The end result was that we all bought a case of the stuff, and it remained a staple house delicacy for quite a long time thereafter. In fact, it even had a renewed lease of life after the Brancolis were told that fragolino causes blindness or infertility or something, and so we said we'd happily take their remaining stock off their hands (since it does neither thing, but the evil rumour seems to have been put about some years ago by some disgruntled Austrian wine-producers, and the Brancolis weren't keen to risk either eventuality).

I doubt we're going to start wine making any time soon, and there are only so many dozens of bunches of grapes that one can plough through in the course of the season, so I've been researching other options. There is a method of using them to make a fruit jelly, which is ok, but frankly, jelly never exactly resonates with me - really, it's food for invalids or for people with no teeth...in both of which cases, sufficient unto the day. Valentina Harris has a recipe for a grape-studded schiacciata (a first cousin to a ciabatta, in many ways) which is very moreish and would be excellent with fragola grapes, and I've just come across a recipe that uses them in a rather dense cake. Definitely worth trying.

Watch this space...

Tonight's dinner:

Fresh Tagliatelle with Ragu.

Saltimbocca alla Romana.

Peach and Marsala Cream Tart.

Recipe: Veal Stew with Lemon & Rosemary

Loosely based on Bugialli's recipe for Ossobucco alla Novese, this is an excellent 'white' stew, where the combination of lemon, garlic, and rosemary is absolutely first class, and the finished dish is substantial without being heavy. Diced veal is a relatively cheap cut (at least in Italy it is), and so this recipe has the added merit of economy.

Since duck makes frequent appearances on the menu in this household, I generally have available duck fat and duck stock (both of which are used here); if you don't have them, don't worry - just substitute olive oil for the duck fat and chicken stock for the duck stock.

If you have any stew left over, then it can be ground up and used subsequently, mixed with a little grated parmesan and some fine breadcrumbs, as a filling for ravioli (which is what we'll be having as this evening's first course...)

For four.

Ingredients: 1 kg diced veal; 2 tbs duck fat; 1 lemon (peel only); spines from 4 sprigs of rosemary, chopped finely; 2 cloves of garlic, minced finely; 2 teaspoons of capers; dry white wine - approx 15 fl oz; 2 cups duck stock.

Method:

1. Melt the fat in a heavy casserole. Finely slice the peel from the lemon, and along with the garlic and rosemary, add it to the melted fat. Sauté this mixture over medium heat for a few minutes, until it has visibly softened.

2. Add the diced veal to the casserole, turn up the heat and colour on all sides, stirring the whole time. Add salt.

3. When the veal is all coloured, add the white wine, to cover the meat, and allow the wine to come to the boil, and then simmer to reduce the liquid by about a third - this should take five minutes or so.

4. Add the capers to the mixture, then the stock. Again, bring the mixture to the boil, then reduce the heat, cover the pan and let it cook over a very low heat for two hours or more (I always place the casserole over a heat diffuser for this process, to reduce the heat to a low enough level).

5. Just before serving, remove the meat from the liquid, and turn heat to high and boil vigorously for several minutes, stirring constantly, to reduce the liquid to a coating consistency. When it has reduced sufficiently, turn off the heat and return the meat briefly to the pan, to heat through again. Check and, if necessary, adjust seasoning before serving.

Catching Up...

It's been a busy ten days! The journey down to Italy with the two four-footeds was long, but uneventful - the mini four-footed reclined palanquin style in his cage in the back of the car, and regarded Europe with a sanguine air, as it passed by on the other side of the window; the senior four-footed merely slept and ignored the whole thing. Dinner en route, for a change, was very good indeed. A prix fixe menu at the Hotel aux Terrasses at Tournus, which included, amongst other things, an amuse gueule of truffled foam and another of a leek custard; very good roast pigeon; foie gras; excellent cheese; and a dessert of ginger sorbet and poached greengage which was spectacularly good. The mini four-footed was introduced to the concept of fine dining, and behaved impeccably by curling up and sleeping under the table the entire time - not bad for exactly three months old - and something he's subsequently repeated at Bandierine in Via Mercanti. (so, I think we can take it that he's got the general idea).

It was raining pretty much all the way from Calais, and the final stretch, along the ligurian coast south of Genoa was fairly torrential, and stayed that way on and off in Pisa for the following three or four days. Very good for gardens, but depressing and impractical otherwise...muddy canine footprints everywhere, and lots of damp doghair. Some of it made even damper by the fact that the puppy went through the usual rite of passage and managed very quickly to fall into the lily pond not once but twice (clearly, the first time wasn't a sufficiently salutory learning experience!).

For the past few days, however, we've had a return to high summer, with clear skies and bright sunshine, and temperatures in the high twenties - but combined with a stillness in the air and a general calm which somehow only happens here during the autumn. Since the weather improved, the dogs have been racing around the grounds at Santa Caterina every day - which they think is amazing, and tire themselves out so efficiently in the process, that they crash out for much of the rest of the time.

Santa Caterina itself has been a lot of work!We've plugged holes in the perimeter fences in the orchard, and at the end of the walkway behind the church, and then removed other fences within the property which no longer serve a purpose, as well as uprooting and removing a very scrubby little pine hedge, the absence of which opens up the land to the east of the church. The end result is a combination of aching muscles and (already) much improved vistas. Still vast amounts to do, needless to say...

Anima Mundi concerts are now almost a third of the way through, and we've managed to catch two of them so far, the second of which was Viktoria Mullova in the Camposanto, playing Bach sonatas. Stunning. As she always is, pretty much. This evening, the Vienna Boys' Choir are performing in the Cathedral: Bach, Brahms, Byrd...

Pre-concert Dinner:

Celery Risotto

Spezzatino, with artichoke hearts à la crème

Nectarines baked with cream, brown sugar and cinnamon.

Recipe: Lamb Shoulder, roast with Anchovy & Garlic

Decent cuts of lamb are definitely one of the good things about being in London! In Italy, versions of Lamb appear fairly often on restaurant menus, but it's rarely to be found on the butcher's counter - and when it is, it tends to be as cutlets, and never in the hearty trencherman's-fare form of whole legs or shoulders. For a dish like this, I have to wait until we're back in the UK.

In fact, the combination of lamb and anchovy seems to be thoroughly french - I can specifically recall versions from both Albert Roux and Paula Wolfert (who took hers in turn from Lucien Vanel) - and it isn't a million miles distant from Julia Child's recipe for Lamb Mentonnais. Anyway, whatever the provenance, the dish is delicious, and the smell that pervades the house beforehand as it cooks is almost as sublime!

For six.

Ingredients: one boned half-shoulder of lamb (not difficult to do yourself, or else have it boned by your butcher); 6 Anchovy fillets; half a teaspoon of dried Thyme; 2 cloves of Garlic, peeled and minced; 3 tablespoons of Olive Oil; Salt & Pepper; one and a half cups of good stock (veal, duck or chicken will do perfectly); half a cup of white Vermouth; 1 tablespoon of Dijon Mustard; one third of a cup of Cream.

Method;

1. On the work surface, open the boned Lamb out to make as close to a rectangle as you can; carefully trim off as much of the fat as possible and dispose of it.

2. Chop the Anchovies finely and combine in a small bowl with dried Thyme, minced Garlic, and Oil. Add half a teaspoon of Salt, and mix altogether. Spread half of this mixture over the Lamb, and then roll and tie it tightly with string before spreading the rest of the Anchovy mixture over the outside.

4. In a small pan, combine the Stock and Vermouth, bring to the boil and then reduce to an 'enthusiastic' simmer. Stir in the mustard and Cream, and continue to simmer as you roast the Lamb. (The sauce wants to be reduced to a coating consistency, and there should be about half a cup when finished - enough for a spoonful over each serving of Lamb).

5. Heat the oven to 240 degrees C, and roast the Lamb for about twenty five minutes (if you like it on the pink side, as I do - for 'medium' lamb, roast for a further ten minutes), and then remove from the oven to rest for ten or fifteen minutes before serving. If serving onto hot plates, then the Lamb can be left to rest in the open; if the plates aren't likely to be very hot, then 'rest' the meat in a warm oven.

6. Serve a couple of slices of Lamb per serving, along with a spoonful of sauce.

Richard Olney...

...is someone to whom I owe an apology. Several years ago - having known his name for ages, but never actually having read anything he'd written - I finally got round to investing in one of his earlier books 'Simple French Cooking', and was so underwhelmed by the first recipe of his I tried that the book went straight onto the unreachable upper shelves, and I think I wrote rather a scathing blog-post at the same time, in which I consigned him to Outer Darkness.

I shouldn't have done.

The Technical Department recently referred me to an article Olney once wrote on the subject of Bouillabaisse, in which he so perfectly captured the essence of his experience ('memory distilling the limpid blue sky and the intermingled scents of the sea air, the bouillabaisse, and the cool fruit of the wine into an abstract symbol of well-being') that we spent the next half hour reminiscing about lunches of grilled fish and sea urchins consumed in clifftop tavernas, and endless wine-filled afternoons in the Greek islands of thirty years ago, before the terrible influx of cement-mixers and mass tourism.

And so, 'Simple French Cooking' was brought down from the shelves, dusted off, and I gave it another go. Quite apart from the recipes, Olney's writing is a real pleasure...and there's a splendid section on 'improvisation' where he acknowledges the value of recipes committed to print, but at the same time says that the point of understanding the rules of cooking is so that you can make it up as you go along and work, to good effect, with whatever you have to hand (leftovers, that week's bargains in the market, whatever happens to be at the back of the fridge..). Reading between the lines, I suspect that Olney was one of that tribe of bons viveurs who lived on the smell of an oil-rag, but did so with a richness and appreciation of the truly good things in life that escapes many people who have never had to worry about how to pay the next fuel bill!

The reason for my earlier disappointment, it now seems clear, was my own fault - I'd made the mistake of choosing a recipe from his dessert section, and in practice Olney (much like Pierre Franey, and in fact probably also like Dr Pomiane himself) was not a man for desserts. His preference was clearly for some decent cheese and another bottle of good claret, and the grudging and awkward appearance of desserts in the book at all was almost certainly against his better judgement and at the insistence of of a stubborn editor.

An example of his skill can be found in the perfection of his version of scrambled eggs with cheese: 6 eggs, 3 oz grated Gruyère, and 5 fl oz of vermouth which has been simmered with 2 minced garlic cloves for half an hour beforehand, and then strained before being added to the eggs and cheese; seasoning to taste; whisk gently, whilst cooking with 2 oz of butter for ten minutes or so in a double boiler, until it has the consistency of lightly whipped cream. Serve, garnished lightly with chopped parsley.

Not grand, probably not dinner-partyable, but ye gods, is it delicious!

Tonight's Dinner:

Basil Risotto.

Lamb, stuffed with Anchovies; Fava beans à la crème.

Roast Figs and Raspberries in Port.

Recipe: Burnt Lemon Cream with Blackberries

Derived from a recipe by Bruno Loubet, this comes with an unassailable guarantee of quality! The original, I think, used blackcurrants (and in fact, outside blackberry season, you can substitute raspberries to equally good effect) - and this was also a rare occasion when Loubet wasn't thinking properly, and his version went to the unnecessary and laborious lengths of making italian meringue to mix in towards the end of the recipe, when in fact all you need is some beaten egg white. On one level, I suppose it's reassuring to know that he didn't always get it right.

Beautifully light, this still manages to be rich and delicious, and is perfect after any rather substantial main course.

For two:

Ingredients: 150g Blackberries; 3 tablespoons of Sugar; 100 ml Milk; 2 Eggs, separated; 2 tablespoons of Cornflour; juice and grated zest of 1 Lemon; half a tablespoon of powdered Gelatine; Icing Sugar.

Method:

1. Put the Blackberries and half of the Sugar in a small saucepan, and cook over medium heat, stirring frequently, until they have entirely collapsed into a jam (about seven or eight minutes). Set aside to cool.

2. Whisk the Egg yolks with the remaining Sugar, then stir in the Cornflour. Heat the Milk to simmering point in a double boiler or simmertopf, and then stir this into the egg-sugar-flour mixture. Add the Lemon juice, stir well, then return the mixture to the double boiler or zimmertopf and cook, stirring, for five minutes or so until the mixture has visibly thickened.

3. Transfer the mixture to a bowl, then heat approx 50 ml of water in the zimmertopf and add to this the powdered Gelatine. Stir over a gentle heat until the Gelatine has entirely dissolved, then add, stirring thoroughly, to the Lemon custard. Leave to cool for a few minutes.

4. Beat the Egg whites until stiff, then fold into the Lemon custard, along with the grated Lemon zest.

5. Heat the oven to 180 degrees C.

6. In two greased (or Trennwaxed) egg dishes, divide half of the lemon mixture, and then add a layer of stewed Blackberry (half of the Blackberry mixture for each dish) and then cover the Blackberry layer with the remaining lemon mixture. Lightly dust the top of each dish with Icing Sugar.

7. Put the dishes into the pre-heated oven for about eight minutes - just enough to heat them through - and finally, brown the tops either briefly under a hot grill or else by using a small blowtorch.