A public showcase where to display a private passion for elegant food, something between innovation and inspiration, tradition and what is inside the fridge. Sharing is the only mean through which solitude, insane competition and egoism may be tamed.
Hogmanay is an
odd cheerful word and so its pronunciation, Hug-mê-nay.
Except for the Scots and some enclaves in North America, this term might sound
obscure. And it may appear exotic both to the English neighbours and to the
linguists, since the origin of the word is still widely debated. I choose it
for a reason. Hogmanay includes several inner sub-traditions, among which that
of exchanging gifts, an idea I fancied since I heard of it: if you wish to
learn more, have a look at
I have to divide gifts in two stems: the private gifts and the public ones. This year I was particularly lucky. It is difficult to receive only things you like, with no exception, and I tried to reciprocate this overflow of kindness with the same spirit! Here, I would like only to witness the experience of the public ones.
Salvator Dali, Sacrament of the Last Supper: incredibly visionary
Last supper, Byzantine Museum, San Giorgio, Venice: a byzantine view
What my friends
and I actually did was simple: each of us had to buy a present, maximum price allowed
5€. In the end, the idea of gifts is that of giving, right? Subsequently, each
anonymous gift was marked with a number and put into a straw basket. Then
numbers were distributed to guests. Far from being a gourmet basket gift, it
was, nonetheless, reach of delightful ideas. And it was truly mirroring the
people who made the presents, since honey soaps and candles were there too,
cohabiting along with origami, chocolate computers and chocolate candies from
Butlers. None of these gifts appeared on Ebay the following days: what a
success! At midnight, we prompted the gift distribution and it was a positive
moment: excitement was fused with expectations and casually everyone received
something matching her/his own taste:
Three weeks
passed already by since my Hogmanay! Three hectic weeks of crossed tasks,
filled of bureaucratic deadlines, study organization, gatherings (few yet
positive) and frantic scheduling for the close future. This is frankly insane:
aren’t we supposed to hibernate during winter? Someone may easily contest me saying this, since what I am describing is the adult life effect. Fair
enough. Yet my perception of these three weeks is sincerely different and
deeply nostalgic. Hogmanay for me is just there, round the corner of Time, so the
logs creeping their whispers in the fire, so the laughter is still echoing, so
the food is steaming and songs and jokes reverberate, as a bee trapped into an
empty box:
Hogmanay this
very year has been intense and new. We were many people, nested in an Apennine
hut on the hills surrounding Bologna, yet already on the hill-slop pointing to
Florence. The house belonged to a different epoch and mentality. It grew up in
height like a tree, and chambers and rooms where on the sides of the main hall
way as branches. Since different families use to dwell during summer time
there, every corner of the house display a unique personality. And again since
these people, connected by various links to the same family tree, infuse new
lymph to the mansion only in summer, people are able to feel a sense of
desertion and neglect:
Donald Duck family tree
Lady Oscar's eyes: nothing can be so blue!
The stars, since
woods and nothingness surrounded us,
were as blue as the eyes in Japanese cartoons. The chill was pretty biting and the
contrast between the fireplace area and the rest of the house procured a
significant temperature leap. Paradoxically, even if we ate consistently - and
even if the food was really the double in relationship to what we needed - at
the same time, it was interesting the way, my friends and I, coordinated the
evening. The majority of us agreed it would have been better to cook all
together. Then someone suggested we shouldn’t spoil all our energies cooking
and we opted to prepare something there and bring some courses from home. The
result was we had to cook there even if we had already a great deal of food
brought from home.
The rolled out dough cut in rhombus
Crescentine
(those that rise) were the Queen of the party. They are made out from a pizza
dough, they have to rise, then you can roll it out in pieces with the rolling
pin, create several rhombus and fry them in lard (old greasy unfashionable way)
or sunflower oil (modern lighter crispier way). As soon as they inflate, you
can take them out with a skimmer and serve them with salami (mortadella,
salame, coppa), ham (cooked or crudo), stracchino (a creamy cheese) or
squaquerone (an creamier cheese), antipasti, and – why not – spreadable
chocolate! How morally corrupt we are!
Frying the rhombus in abundant sunflower oil, using an aluminum pan.
Then we had a
quiche: I brought back from Scotland a Bleu
d’Auvergne, a French blue cheese, which conveys the taste of the Stilton
and the creaminess of Roquefort. Worth eating. Michelle suggested me to add an
egg to the pastry and the result was unexpected. I reduced the amount of water
needed and the texture of the dough turned out fabulous. 200 gr of white
flower, 100 gr of unsalted butter, 1 egg, 20 ml of ice-cold water (instead of
80 ml), and a pinch of salt. All the rest is appearance: yet the idea of the vegetables disposition derives from the animation movie Ratatuille:
Golden, rich, irresistibly perfumed!
Cutting the quiche into a wheel of taste
This was
followed by a courgette and Shetland potatoes omelette, which should have been
a home-made mayonnaise sauce. Unfortunately Isabel could not achieve her aim,
possibly because of the heat of the room and we turned the attempt into an
omelette (frittata), closer, perhaps, to a Spanish tortilla:
4 egg yolks, 2 spoon of apple vinegar, the juice of 1 lemon and salt and
pepper. We had to incorporate the egg whites since they weren’t needed for the
mayonnaise, but it would have been a great loss and a pity to dismiss them.
Not a bad attempt, Isabel! Your food is cheerful as your character
Then, I regret
to say this, in the morning cotechino
with lentils and antipasto piemontese
and oven baked aubergine parmigiana
and a couple more things that I cannot remember.
Here you can find the antipasto piemontese recipe, unfortunately in Italian only! Piemonte is a wealthy italian region at the borders with France, Turin is its county seat. On the other border there is Lombardy, whose major city is Milan. Above there is the tiny region of Valle d'Aosta with the Mont Blanc and below Liguria, where Genoa lays and where pesto is done!
Perhaps I kept myself out of the blog for
too long, but I have a series of good alibis. In fact, I received countless inputs from my last
stay in Italy, so now it is knotty to recollect them
all. It would have been wise to mention them only through a list, I thought: a
sort of skeleton-memento then came out and it describes both the pleasing commitments and the fortnight’s food gratifications. Later, from this rough top-hat-list, it is going to be easier to bring out some magic!
BA is one of the best ways to fly: comfortable airports and reasonable prices
are the major two virtues of this flag company.
28th December. Flying back to
Bologna with British Airways. I ordered a Twinings Green tea (on request), apple juice and a cookie, followed, on the
second flight, by an Urban Eat Hoisin duck wraps and a glass of still water. I
discovered Heathrow Terminal 5. I found thinking when you are detached
from the ground highly productive: height makes you high with no chemistry
involved. You are sitting on an armchair in the skies: what a therapy. This day
has been the most difficult of my life. In fact, I decided to cast some light
on my deepest shadows, I was able to confess them to the person I love: usually
we wish to highlight our merits to convey an image of success! On the contrary,
confession is a sort of rudimental form of (psycho)analysis, but it works,
since it forces you to acknowledge our flaws.
Decent: one would perhaps expect something more,
they could actually switch to organic stuff,
with a shorter chain of ingredients.
Entertaining: but the presence of palm oil in the ingredient list is a turn off.
29th December. My father
explained me how the new Fiat Panda Natural Power he bought was working because
of the new methane engine employed. Fascinating and environmental friendly!
Panda Natural Power: handy, innovative,
intelligently middle class, and park-able.
With the brand new car, still smelling of dealer warehouse, we went to Natura Sì (Nature yes) an organic
supermarket that magnified my perception of quality food: conceptually it is
very close to Real Food in Edinburgh.
Natura Sì in via della Repubblica, Bologna:
unfortunately no shopping online is yet available.
Real Food on Broughton Street, Edinburgh.
There is another shop in the Tollcross area,
in Brougham St, 10 paces after the Meadows.
And they deliver food at home.
30th December. Aperitivo at Antica Bologna in via
Marconi 71, Bologna: have a look to the patisserie http://www.areamarconi71.com/gallery/ Two dear friends joined Michelle and I from Modena, Harriett and Fabrizio, a
wonderful and well assorted couple: I spent a day with them in London (and this is definitely another story) and I always regret our meetings are too quick! Campari Spritz was Michelle’s choice http://simonfoodfavourites.blogspot.co.uk/2012/01/cocktail-aperol-spritz-6-jan-2012.html,
along with my refreshing Mimosa or Buck’s fizz: prosecco + freshly squeezed
orange juice:
31st December. New Year’s Eve: a
splendid hogmanay party in an
Apennine hut, a friend’s family house, where the dinner lasted for two days in
a row. The party came out after an elaborated brainstorming it is my intention
to describe soon, since too many dishes need a proper description:
The ritual burning of the old year (Vecchione/old man)
in Bologna, Piazza Maggiore
1st January. Some people left
the hut, some other stayed over for the night. The stars were so bright that
you felt the crispy air of the night less cold. We had breakfast at noon and
eat cotechino (cooked pork sausage)
with lentils: I usually eat it once a year, but it is worth trying, although it
is a bit anachronistic. Before leaving, we tasted some just milked cow nectar:
an experience of farm-life.
A clay pot bubbling with lentils came out really nicely, unfortunately
it was more difficult to measure the saltiness.
2nd January. A carefree promenade took place in the wintery park next to my house: the plants were
naked, but several types of birds accepted less reluctantly than other days the
grains given to them by petulant children.
Called Parco dei Giardini that is to say Gardens Park,
a bit redundant, but it is incredibly relaxing and
located next to Via dell'Arcoveggio, Bologna.
3rd January. I encountered my neighbor's hens, of which I shall speak! Cooking at
Michelle: while she was out, I managed to prepare different vegetables in the
oven (peppers, courgettes and Jerusalem artichokes), served with brie cheese and some under-oil asparagus.
Honey roasted cherry tomatoes completed the meal: how much brie I happened to eat!!!
I know it might be politically incorrect,
but the contamination of languages is brilliant!
4th January. Lucy, an artist, a
friend, a great chef and bright flamenco dancer, hosted a dinner, where we
listened to a Bach’s cello concert, eating a chickpeas soup with egg pasta and
honey fungi, bresaola wraps and two
desserts (a chocolate pie and a pear crumble). I must admit, although the
desserts were fine, I was not satisfied by the result of my attempts: in the pear crumble the biggest variation was given by the employment of some nuts in the pastry! Lucy, Simone, Michael, Fabriz, and, of course, Michelle provided not just entertainment, but the warmth of friendship and some incredible gifts: a Valverbe infusion scented by licorice and fennel, a Leone milk chocolate tablet with whole pistachio nuts, and some hand made biscuits.
Bach proved an incredible entertainment,
the cello notes did not interrupt the conversation
and ennobled our spirits.
Leone is the only milk chocolate brand I am able to eat.
