My birthday was Dec. 3; I turned 69. I didn’t want a cake. I didn’t want presents. I wanted to cook with people I love. Our experience reflects what I learned in Tuscany.
The whole concept of cooking like the Tuscan women was about economy, wasting nothing, and making delicious things from simple ingredients. Some of the ingredients I’d planned to use, such as boneless, skinless chicken breasts, turned out to be so expensive I decided not to buy them. I bought some Italian sweet sausage instead.
My friend Drew showed up at 8:30 a.m., early for him. I picked up my grandson, Ben, about 10:30 a.m.
Like any high school senior I’ve known, Ben was happy to start with the sweet stuff ó making truffles. When he shaped the chilled mixture of chocolate and cream into small balls, the chocolate tended to get gooey from the warmth of his hands, which required finger licking. And when he was done, no way Ben was going to rinse that chocolate pan under the tap. He cleaned the pan, a finger lick at a time.
Drew thinks dessert is a good way to begin, too. He started by making an apple pie with whole wheat pastry. We decided they have apples in Italy, so it was an Italian apple pie.
Then my older daughter, Dana, drove in, hugged her son Ben, and set to slicing some stale bread to make crostini ó the little toasts with toppings for antipasto.
Lee, my other girl, called several times on her way from Asheville for directions. Mine weren’t helping, so I passed the phone to Drew. We were relieved that she showed up when we expected her.
She made a theatrical entrance, carrying a box with pillows, a sleeping bag, and her two teddy bears, gear for spending the night.
Then we did a lot of seat-of-pants cooking. I gave Ben the sausage, some sweet peppers and onions and invited him to do whatever he wanted with them. He found some dried porcini (mushrooms) I’d brought back from Italy, softened them in the hot water in which he’d simmered the sausages. Next, he sautéed everything in hot olive oil.
Lee assembled the minestrone, stale bread, and grated cheese, to make ribalita ó a baked soup, bread, and cheese concoction.
Drew stirred up tomato bisque from a recipe he’d learned at the Italian restaurant where he worked last summer in Boone.
We’d have kept cooking but we ran out of space for all the finished dishes. So instead, we had a little guitar playing, some by Drew, who’s really good. He and Lee played together until she got self-conscious. We tried a threesome, “Blowing in the Wind,” my current guitar lessons project. It wasn’t awful, but I wasn’t prepared with any other songs. How many times can you play “Blowing in the Wind?”
Besides, we wanted to eat.
We gave new meaning to informality ó food on the counter, dishes, silverware, and a roll of paper towels on the table, along with assorted glasses, red and white wine, and fizzy mineral water.
During the meal, the girls started their favorite story lines, going back to childhood ó bathroom emergencies, etc. (not a dinner table topic in most families, but a typical one in ours). Everyone ended up laughing so hard we had to tear off pieces of paper towels to wipe our eyes.And after we ate, cleanup was interspersed with things like Dana cutting Lee’s hair and Lee calling her boyfriend and Drew splitting wood and bringing in kindling.
When Lee started to sweep up the hair on the floor, Drew said, “Hey, where did you score a broom in this house?”
I don’t think any Italian could’ve done it all better.