Uova d'Oro

I love my new girls, Lina (Lina Gallina) and Penny (H.Penny)! They greet me with coos and clucks when I bring them out little treats of melon seeds and pulp, lettuce, or bread. They let me pet them...I won't say that they like it, but they let me. And they are so soft!

Everyone is surprised at how quickly they have acclimated to their new home. One of them gifted us with a perfect little brown egg the first day, and someone contributed again the second day. Today, Day Three, is no different... a little present awaited me this morning when we let them out of the coop. I am starting to amortize the costs of the coop, and right now the value of each egg is roughly Euro 100...Golden Eggs...keep working, girls.

Sublime with toasted country bread, drizzled with my organic extra-virgin, and sprinkled with my Tuscan Herb Salt, a blend of parsley/rosemary/thyme from the organic kitchen garden.
It really doesn't get better than this.

Lui has been dubbed by one of our guests as
'the dog who stares at chickens,'
it's just hilarious how fixated he is on them!

Hen Party, short story long

It only took ten years to get this Hen Party started.

The stopping point was finding time to build a coop. Recently, while browsing Italian eBay (yes, it's indispensable!), I came across a kit for a precious little pollaio (chicken coop). I took the measurements outside to my potential chicken zone and decided it would be perfect. To be honest, it didn't register just how big (or small) it would actually be...

Once I saw the actual size, I began to define what I really might be able to do. Two or three chickens at the most! This called for careful selection. First, to consider the breed of said hens. And, yes, only girls. The nearest neighbor's rooster offers plenty of farm ambience without another one chiming in from under my bedroom window! And hens will produce eggs without a guy, that much I knew.

I started researching local antique breeds and found several interesting varieties, including the Razza Valdarno from the Chiana valley just below us. However, with more in-depth reading, I learned that this is a breed prized for its meat more than its eggs. Stop. We're simply not going to eat our pets (just their unfertilized embryos...).

I found a charming association of people interested in special breeds of poultry, Il Pollaio del Re, in Grosseto. I hope to visit there at some point, but as time is short during this busy season, that will have to wait. I did find several resources for these nice old breeds, hearty stock with good eggs, but most, with good reason, wanted me to buy a breeding pair to keep the breed thriving. Stop. No boys allowed at our Hen Party...

My Italian friends asked me every day, when will you get your chickens? This was taking me a bit longer than necessary due to my obsessively detailed decision-making process. I still needed to find organic feed! When our guests see the intense color of egg yolks here, they are always surprised. In Italian the word for yolk is tuorlo, but is also called the 'rosso,' or red, for the intensity of color (actually more of a dark orange, to my eye...). This is really determined by the feed, and carotene from carrots and corn give it that color push. But, as we know, corn is the probably the most manipulated food products on the planet, and if I'm to follow the rules for my organic certification (if I want to eventually sell eggs), the regualr corn on the market will not be acceptable. Clearly, if I want to use corn, I'll need to head up to visit my friends in Garfagnana for some of that nice Otto File corn that is still the original variety that was brought from America hundreds of years ago.

In the meantime, I bought some good cracked seeds and grain from the miller in our village (with some regular corn in it), just to get started.

Back to the breed decision, I had become a bit infatuated with the Araucana breed, originally from Chile (or at least South America), but quite well-settled in Italy. Their eggs have a pastel green to blue shell, and I thought it would be fun to have those in our breakfast room. Several breeders were willing to ship me eggs, but that required an incubator and...well... time...

Eventually I decided that I would get a couple of nice hens who, once they started laying, might not notice a little blue or green egg under them waiting to hatch (would solve some broodiness as well). But, then my brilliant daughter pointed out that the eggs could turn out to be males. Stop. The idea of just getting a couple of nice hens was sticking, though, and I was getting a bit tired of my own dawdling...

"Just get them at the Thursday market," everyone said. And, I knew this. For ten years I've been looking at those poor birds and wondering if I could save some of them, henpecked and scrawny and crowded in a stinky box. Everyone knows I am a Rescuer, but this time I wanted something healthy and clean to start my new chicken environment. I remembered that early in this adventure, a friend with an organic property offered me a hen or two from her abundant flock, and I suddenly realized this was exactly what I wanted.

So, yesterday I set out in the little Fiat for my friend's place in Montisi, about 30 kms from home. Putt...putt... it's slow going in this little car, but finally I arrived, snagged two little ladies and put them in the wicker basket I use to take the cats to the vet (imagine the next ride for the cats with the strange and wonderful smell of chickens inside). They sat on the seat next to me, cooing and calm, for what turned out to be quite an eventful ride with an unexpected thunderstorm and an even more unexpected loss of brakes. We arrived home (very slowly, hand on the emergency brake) to a downpour and got the settled in their new home with fresh water and their kibble.

This morning, I could see that they slept in their nests, but didn't leave any treasures.

They surely need some time to acclimate.

When we let them out into their fenced area we noticed that they have a personal guard...

I hope to have some egg news soon!!

Nocino

Nocino

Walnut Liqueur

The best nocino I have ever tasted comes from my friend Maura in Modena. Her secret is aging it in small oak barrels that are handmade by her barrel-maker husband, Francesco Renzi. The walnuts are picked on June 25, the holy day of San Giovanni. It is the moment when the pulp is still green and the walnut forming inside has not hardened. Once cut and exposed to the air, the green walnut and everything it touches turns dark brown, including your hands. Work on a surface that won’t stain, and consider wearing gloves. Your nocino should be ready to drink by Christmas.

3 litres grain alcohol (190 proof or 95%)

6 cups sugar

5 dozen green walnuts

3 cinnamon sticks

In a large bowl, stir together the alcohol and sugar until the sugar is dissolved. Set aside. Quarter the nuts with a heavy bladed knife or cleaver. Place in a jar and cover with the alcohol. Add the cinnamon sticks and cover the jar tightly. Place it in a warm, dark place for forty days, stirring it every two or three days.

Strain out the walnuts and discard. Then, using a coffee filter, strain out the sediment and put the nocino into bottles (or a small oak barrel, if you are so inclined), and age for at least six months.

Makes 3 litres

Summer has arrived, and to finish an absolutely wonderful spring, I made the best of the abundance of roses that pepper my property, from the ones at the end of the vineyard rows, to the small rose garden in front of my house. I'm not sure what variety these are, but the pink ones remind me of the Charlotte Armstrong of my childhood. Fragrant and long-lasting, and free of pesticides, they are perfect for the rose petal syrup or rose liqueur I make every year. A spoonful is heavenly in a glass of prosecco or drizzled over aged cheese. I also use the rose petal syrup to make a sinfully aromatic rose petal sorbet in my Gelato! book.

All of the color you see in the bottle above is natural from the roses themselves; red or pink work the best. This year I used only pink.

Rose Petal Syrup

175 grams (6 oz) of fresh, fragrant rose petals (pink or red)

7 cups granulated sugar

Juice of one lemon , including the seeds and some pulp

Pick the rose petals from an unsprayed rose bush in the morning when they are most fragrant. Grasp the tips of the rose and cut near the center, removing only the colored petals, not the white tip at the base or the base itself.

Place in a non-reactive bowl and toss with 1 ¾ cup of the sugar to macerate. Coat well, squeezing the petals to bruise slightly. Cover with plastic film and let stand in a cool place overnight.

Next day, in a large saucepan, combine 3 ½ cups spring water and the remaining 5 ¼ cups sugar. Bring to a boil, stirring, until the sugar dissolves. Add the lemon juice and macerated rose petals with their sugary liquid to the pan and return to a boil.

Reduce to a high simmer and cook for 30 minutes, until a candy thermometer reads 100° C (212°F).

Remove from the heat and let cool to room temperature.

Strain, removing the rose petals and lemon seeds.

Place in sterilized bottles.

on vacation...

If you live in Italy, where do you go for vacation? The funniest answer, it seems, is California, which we try to do every December for 2 weeks.

However, even though the summer is our busiest season for Bed & Breakfast and cooking classes, I usually try to find a few days for my daughter and I to have ‘girl time.’ In the past we have taken trips to England, Barcellona, or Paris, or to one of the amusement parks in Italy, but this year we scaled back and had our trip closer to home.

Our first few days were camping. Well, maybe that’s exaggerating a bit, as we did stay in a campground, but in a bungalow with beds and a kitchen. Not exactly roughing it! And campgrounds in Europe are quite different from the US in that, besides the essential swimming pool, they have a lot of services such as a restaurant, night-time entertainment, and fresh pastries and cappuccino in the morning. Of course, there are spaces to bring your own tent, but for such a short stay, I was happy to just bring sheets and towels.
The campground was Barco Reale , the same name as one of my favorite wines from Tenuta di Capezzana, the estate where my friend Rolando Beramendi and I started the culinary workshops in 1992.

Part Two of our trip was at the seaside. I had the good fortune to have some credit with a small hotel chain for a translation I did. We ended up at the tiny Sette Archi hotel in Bocca di Magra, a small port at the end of the Magra River, just south of La Spezia. From our room, we looked over the docks and up to the marble quarries of Massa/Carrara… splendid views. From here we drove to the Sarzana train station and took the train to the Cinque Terre to visit friends for the day, so easy and so perfect.

But, the thing that pleased me most was the feeling of stepping back in time. This family-run hotel was full of mostly Italians, and all of us on mezzo pensione, which included dinner in their restaurant. In a few days you knew everyone, greeting them in the morning and saying good night after long evening walks along the waterfront. No WiFi, no public computer without a drive of at least 15 minutes. Imagine that! Forced vacation! We rode our bicycles, walked, swam, and read books.

Ironically, at the campground book exchange, I picked up the only English book on the shelf, one I had never read (some of you know my habit of adopting any stray books in English that I find): Dona Flor and Her Two Husbands. This book once belonged to Minni from Boulder, Colorado, and I thank her for leaving it behind. It opens with a letter from Dona Flor to the author of the book, and her comment about how she learned to cook by cooking: “Was it not by loving that I learned to love? Was it not by living that I learned to live?”

Let us cook, love, and live, then!