ten.6 good starts

The preface to this series needed to go something like this: Not for a minute do I believe that Italians hold the copyright to good sense in the kitchen.   I should have started by saying that the Italians in these ramblings are like a placeholder for all those authentic culinary traditions that derive from what grows well in local soil and is raised on local pastures. Factors as pivotal … Continue reading ten.6 good starts

ten.5 harvest, or cooking with what’s just off the trees

The late summer harvest season has been wonderfully satisfying in its very humble way on our little patch of volcanic soil at Lubriano.  Apart from the tomatoes and (Lebanese) cucumbers, we have had blooming amethyst like plums and our own crop of hazelnuts from the tree that rose from the shrubby bush inherited three years ago.  There have been trips to collect blackberries and baskets full … Continue reading ten.5 harvest, or cooking with what’s just off the trees

ten.4 about the oil

What I have learnt from the Italians Not all oils are created equal I started writing this post from Beirut, part of a recent roll of finding time to put words together only whilst on planes, trains or in hotel rooms.  I was back in the Lebanese capital on another baba ghanoush junket; that is working on a TV commercial for a nutritionally dubious food product for … Continue reading ten.4 about the oil

ten. (and a recipe for broccoli pasta)

It is May 7 2015 and I am on an early morning train bound for Milan, on my way to a rather special book launch and to have a look at EXPO, the Universal Exposition running with the theme ‘Feeding the Planet; Energy for Life’.  I go with a pinch of skepticism and a handful of hope;  I think the theme is a worthy one … Continue reading ten. (and a recipe for broccoli pasta)

mother’s love

A couple of days ago a gentleman asked me whether I was British.  I replied ‘No, I am Australian’.  He suggested that this was the same; making me essentially British.  I repeated that I was Australian, and that did not make me British. 2015 marks the centenary of the landing at Gallipoli, the start of the bloody campaign where the ANZACS; the Australian and New … Continue reading mother’s love

about my father, seville oranges and making marmalade

I don’t often write about my father on my blog, unfairly so, because I am, and I think you can say this at 44 years of age, as much my father’s daughter as I am a replica of my mother.  Our real shared love is for the Australian high country, a special sort of bond built over years of camping and walking; of long drives … Continue reading about my father, seville oranges and making marmalade