In this neck of the woods...

they call this weather 'African heat', and you can understand why, as everybody gently wilts by mid-morning, and the idea is unthinkable of doing anything in the garden before the evening shadows start to lengthen, at around six o'clock. Even the junior four-footed inclines to the idea that the cool of the kitchen floor is a better option than trailing around outside, in these temperatures.

TD is in the middle of installing our mega-effective (I hope) garden-wide watering system....or, rather, is in the middle of starting to install etc...We gave up on hoping that Tatiana's husband was going to come and do it (the attractions of the beach are too much to withstand, I imagine, now that summer is here)  and since we don't want to get overtaken by the sort of heatwave we had last summer, when some of the garden got a bit touch-and-go, it seemed better just to bite the bullet and get on with it. Half of the woodland garden was linked up yesterday - and I must go and do an audit of which bits of the setup are working and which need attention. Well, when it's a bit cooler, I will, anyway...  

The fruit harvest continues apace. White peaches are now being picked, and the plums, and whilst there's a lull in the strawberry yield, the raspberries have started, as have the gooseberries...apples are looking good, blackberries ditto, and we risk being overwhelmed by the onset of the pear harvest. Peach sorbet (200g of puréed peach flesh, churned along with 150 ml of sugar syrup, and the juice of half a lemon) was excellent, a couple of evenings ago, and we even managed a macedoine of strawberries, peaches, and raspberries in chilled prosecco, with chopped mint leaves and grated lemon zest, where everything (apart from the prosecco, sadly) had been home-grown. It does my scottish blood good to think of the economics of it all!

Tonight's Dinner:

Fettucine, with a sauce of leeks, pancetta, and cream.

Baked salmon fillet, on a bed of braised celery, with tarragon beurre blanc.

White peach tarts.

Summer's Here....

We dined outside, in the Courtyard, last night for the first time this year! The strawberry glut is upon us....already, strawberry jam, strawberry sorbet, strawberries with balsamic, strawberry tarts, strawberry mousse...and we've invited all of rabbit's friends and relations to come and pick, as well, in order to stop the crop from entirely overwhelming us. The oldest of the new apricot trees fruited spectacularly well, a couple of weeks ago, and the jam that came from that is positively ambrosial! Our white peach tree - the one that Sarah got for us from Wisley, about eight years ago, and which she was sceptical about, when I proposed to transplant it from Fucini - is heavy with fruit, and will be ready to be harvested shortly. The fruit from that is so platonically perfect that there's no point in doing anything with it apart from to eat it exactly as it comes. Summer is definitely upon us...

And, after slightly more than two years of 'elements of refurbishment', Santa Caterina is back in action. The bells, which have an old fashioned, rather flattened and sonorous tone, rang out again last weekend, after a long silence. I image they must date from around 1560, after the big fire at the church (as the result of which, this house was built on a part of the church building which hadn't been restored - when we were installing the kitchen, under the plaster, we found walls which had been blackened in that fire). The junior four-footed, who was busy minding his own business in the garden when the bells went into action, was suddenly assaulted by the sound, looked entirely astonished, couldn't work out where the noise was coming from, and put back his head and howled. Fortunately - unlike San Francesco, which is far enough away for it not to be an issue - Santa Caterina does not ring on the hour every hour, but only on more specific and rarified occasions!

The University Choir is limbering up for a grand 'Welcome Back!' concert inside Santa Caterina, this coming Wednesday, and has been belting out rehearsals every evening this past week of Mozart's Te Deum and associated  liturgical pieces. With the french windows open from the dining room, we've been sitting through dinner, night after night, with the music washing over us, in true heavenly-choir style. I think they sound rather good; the Technical Dept, on the other hand,  thinks the thickness of the church walls probably enhances their performance immeasurably.

Tonight's dinner:

Salmon, Celery and Basil 'coupes' with spicy Gazpacho.

Pintade au Chou

Strawberry Ice Cream (!)

Pork Loin, stuffed with Frittata

Pork loin has appeared increasingly frequently on menus in this house in the past few years - something to do with its amazingly low price in Italy (presumably a reflection of the fact that after they've made all of those haunches of prosciutto, they then have an awful lot of the rest of the animal to get rid of), but at least as much to do with the range of great things that can be done with this particular cut: pot-roast with vinegar and peppercorns, or else in milk; 'larded' with vanilla and garlic, and cooked in coconut milk; wrapped in prosciutto and roast in the oven; stuffed with mustard, butter, and herbs; stuffed with swiss cheese... The list goes on. And now, this one: stuffed with prosciutto and a herb frittata, and then pot-roast in white wine. It might sound like a lot of work, but in fact it isn't. The frittata is an excellent way of spreading the flavour evenly throughout the loin, and also holds the whole thing together excellently when sliced (which, let's face it, doesn't always happen with stuffed cuts of meat, which can fall apart quite depressingly when it comes to slicing them to serve). The whole thing can be prepped to the point of roasting several hours in advance, and since the process of cooking it requires no concentration on the part of the cook, then this is a dish which lends itself well to entertaining.

For a 500-600g loin (probably enough for four servings)

Ingredients: Pork Loin; 3 Eggs; 2 tbs grated Parmesan; 2 tbs chopped Basil; 4 tbs Olive Oil; 2 tbs Butter; 4 or 5 thin slices of Prosciutto (or Speck);  1 generous glass of dry White Wine; Seasoning.

Method:

1. Slice open the loin so that it can be 'unrolled' to make a flat piece of meat, about 14" x 5". Season the meat lightly.

2.  Heat half of the oil and half of the butter in a 10" frying pan. Beat together the Eggs, Parmesan, and Basil, along with salt and pepper to taste, and pour into the pan. Cook over medium heat for several minutes, tilting the pan, to make a thin, flat omelette. When it seems pretty much cooked, put the pan under a hot grill for a couple of minutes, just to cook and brown the top. Allow the frittata to cool down in the pan for several minutes.

 3. Lay the slices of prosciutto over the flat piece of meat, to cover it entirely. Cut the frittata so that it it is the same size and shape as the meat, and place it on top of the layer of prosciutto. Eat any leftover bits of frittata, whilst contemplating the general lot in life of the busy cook. Roll the meat up, swiss-roll fashion, and tie with three or four pieces of string. (At this point, you can leave the stuffed loin in the fridge for up to half a day, if you want.)

4. Heat the remaining oil and butter in the bottom of a heavy, metal casserole. When sizzling, brown the loin all over, and then pour over it the white wine. Keep the heat high as the wine comes to a boil, and then reduce to low, as you place the lid on the casserole. Cook for an hour, covered the entire time. 

5. Five minutes before serving, take the meat from the pan and reduce the sauce over high heat, until it has clearly thickened. Slice the meat for serving, and spoon the sauce over the meat, once plated.

Excellent also next day, sliced cold for lunch.

Respite...

...from the rain. Days on end of it. And yesterday, being May Day, and a public holiday, it redoubled efforts, and bucketed down the entire time. So, of course, this morning (not a public holiday) dawned clear, bright, and sunny.

The rain must have carried on late into the night, as the garden was still dripping when I took the four-footeds out first thing, and drops of water glistened in the sunlight across the shrubs and the lawns. And the garden, of course has loved it....in general, I think I've never seen it happier, after the cold weather in February despatched hordes of evilly-intentioned bugs, and then weeks on-end of glorious rain has soaked into the ground. There are thousands upon thousands of buds on all of the roses...

..the bearded irises all fat with promise..jasmines already heavy with blossom, and trachelospermum about to break out in carpets of flowers...

                                                                                                                                                                                

  

We think (for which read 'fingers crossed') we've found a prodotto which deals with rose chafer beetles, those little b******s which last year chewed most of the roses into tatty oblivion as soon as they flowered. I freely admit I am not a green gardener, although I'll happily try the 'green' option as a first go at any garden blight. But thereafter, if the problem persists, I'll reach for the industrial product with no hesitation whatsoever. Which is why I dutifully watered nemotodes into the lawn last year, as the politically correct method of dealing with chafer bugs. The Technical Department thought it the extreme of emperors-new-clothes, as in fact it was difficult to see that there was actually anything inside the nemotode container before dutifully adding water to the watering can and carefully watering diluted air into what I thought were the affected areas. Complete waste of time, of course, as we came across our first chafer bugs several weeks ago - exactly at the time one would expect them -  and so sought help from that nice chap with the limp who runs the vivaio up at Gello. Bingo! Or, so it turned out. After last year's failure, I was sceptical, but dutifully made the first application to the entire rose population in the garden about ten days ago. And for the past week, the only chafer bugs we've been picking off the blooms are either dead or very nearly so. And not a shredded rose bloom in sight!

Oh, and it isn't entirely un-pc, as, used carefully, it apparently shouldn't have any harmful effects on the bee population either. Which matters.

In Italian, the stuff is called 'Axoris Concentrato', and the active ingredient is something called thiamethoxam. Having been in despair about these foul pests, this time last year, and found many other people on the web similarly at a loss, this has been a major discovery!

So, we're now due several days of sun, which will mean weed-pulling on a grand scale. The noxious things sprout prolifically in the rain, but with the advantage that as long as weeding takes place soon afterwards, they pull out of the wet ground as though from softened butter.

And the other thing at the moment, of course, is the scent. For several weeks, as the barn was garlanded with wisteria, we had that heady smell wafting over the terrace....and as that has passed, the smell now is of orange blossom, both from our own trees outside the office window, as I sit here at the machine, but also the scent which wafts in downstairs from the trees which hang over the garden walls on the other side of the lane. And the scent of jasmine coming in from the courtyard, outside the dining room windows.. and the heady smell from the roses, which are starting to bloom thickly on the entrance pergola ...

OK. Weeding summons...

Tonight's Dinnner:

Phyllo Tarts with Chicken Livers and Mushrooms, in Marsala Cream

Veal Chops, grilled with Onions, and garlic-roast Tomatoes

Bitter Orange Soufflés

Spiced Kumquat Ice Cream

An adaptation from something I tried first of all with some chinotti in syrup that the Pauli gave us at New Year - chinotti are a small citrus, which I think one is supposed to spear with a cocktail stick and eat carefully (beware heavy drips of syrup!) along with a cup of coffee, but which in fact are too sweet for modern taste to do anything of the kind. Much better to cut a couple of them into fine dice and add, along with a spoonful of syrup, when churning some homemade vanilla ice cream. The end result is delicious. As it is with the spiced kumquat version. The Brancolis gave us a bag of kumquats from their tree when they came to dinner, several weeks ago, to which I decided to give the same treatment. Simmered  for twenty minutes in syrup (for one pound of kumquats, use two cups of water and one of sugar) to which has been added five cloves, three crushed star anise, half a tablespoon of cinnamon and a teaspoon of vanilla, the kumquats should then be bottled; reduce the syrup by about half, until noticeably thickened, then strain and cool slightly before pouring over the bottled fruit, along with a quarter cup of brandy. Seal, shake to mix the syrup and brandy, and refrigerate for a fortnight before use.

To make the ice cream:

For four servings:

Ingredients: 6 egg yolks; 250 ml milk; 250 ml cream; 50g sugar; half a vanilla pod, or a teaspoon of good vanilla essence; 2 kumquats, preserved as above, along with a tbs of their syrup.

Method:

1. Heat the milk and cream together in a bain marie or simmertopf. If using vanilla bean, then carefully scrape out the innards and add them, along with the scraped bean, to the combined milk and cream.

2. Beat together the egg yolks and sugar until light yellow in colour, and thickened. To this, add the heated milk and cream, mix, and return to the simmertopf. If using vanilla essence, add it now. Cook over gentle heat, stirring constantly,  until thickened sufficient to coat the back of a spoon, then return to the mixing bowl to allow to cool down.

3. Once cooled, remove the vanilla bean (if used) and churn in the ice cream machine. At the start of churning, add the kumquats, finely diced, and their syrup. Continue as for making any ice cream.

Enough Rain (Ed.) !

January was great....perfect for pruning and getting the garden in order. February was The Big Freeze, when I sorted out the attic. In March, it was warm and sunny, and we thought about dining al fresco very soon. And in April....it has rained. And rained, and rained, and rained. 

The garden has loved it. Now looking verdant and lush....and in the odd rain-free moments, when it's been possible to get out there and do something, the weeds have pulled out of the wet soil perfectly. But, really...after thre weeks of almost daily deluge....it's enough!

Ok, there have been moments of blue sky and sunshine. From time to time. Which has also been good news for the garden. In fact, the garden is having a fine old time of it. I could just do with a little lazing-in-the-sun opportunity, book-in-hand, from time to time. Which doesn't seem too much to ask.

We managed coffee on the terrace this morning, and in fact today's forecast was - unusually - for no rain at all. Ha! As if! The sun has just now emerged once more, after yet another short, sharp cloudburst.

Oh, well....

Tonight's Dinner:

Bouchées à la Reine

Bass, with Pancetta; Spinach with Lemon.

Coffee Soufflés

Salmon Mousse with Tarragon Sauce

Simple, quick, reliable (as long as you respect the proportions to the letter, otherwise it won't unmould properly, but will merely collapse dispiritedly onto the plate!)...on its own, this mousse is perfectly serviceable, but a little one-note-ish; with the addition of a chilled tarragon sauce, though, it is lifted to a whole other level. The original for the mousse came from Evelyn Lauder's rather alarmingly day-glo pink 'In Great Taste'...which actually has a number of  good things inside, if you can make it past the front cover.

For four individual mousses:

Ingredients: 450g Salmon Fillet; 2 sprigs of Dill; 8g powdered gelatine; quarter cup of tomato puree; 2/3 cup of Sour Cream (or creme fraiche); 1/2 cup plain Yoghurt; half a medium onion; zest and juice of a medium lemon; seasoning. For the sauce: 1 cup of fish stock (from powder is fine); half a cup of white wine; half a cup of cream; a handful of finely chopped tarragon.

Method:

1. With a sharp knife, remove the skin from the salmon, then cover the fish with water in a shallow pan, add the dill, and poach gently for about six minutes until cooked through. Remove the fish, to cool, and discard the poaching liquid and dill.

2. Add the gelatine to about 50 ml warm water in a simmertopf, or a bain marie,  and stir whilst dissolving over medium heat.

3. Put all of the ingredients (apart from those for the sauce) into a food processor and blend throughly. Adjust seasoning as appropriate. Then divide the mixture between four ramekins, and chill in the fridge until set - probably four hours or so (or longer, if you want to be on the safe side).

4. Combine all of the sauce ingredients, apart from the tarragon,  in a small saucepan and reduce over medium heat for fifteen or twenty minutes until the consistency is like thick cream. Taste for seasoning and adjust as necessary (you won't need any if using commercially made stock), and stir in the sauce the chopped tarragon. Allow to chill.

Unmould onto cold dishes, and spoon the sauce over the top to serve.