Meat & Fish

Ossobuco alla Milanese (à la Anna Del Conte)

ossobuco alla milanese - life love foodossobuco alla milanese - life love food ossobuco alla milanese - life love foodossobuco alla milanese - life love food

“The main lesson you have to learn is simplicity,” is Anna del Conte’s warning to whoever wants to approach Italian food. “For what you leave out is just as important as what you put in”.

These few words have been resounding in my head for days. I have surprised myself thinking about them a lot. Not just in relation to food, mind, but to other aspects of living, too. What we leave out of our kitchen, of our home, of our lives matters as much as what we put in. Aren’t we who ultimately decide what to include and what to leave out, just like in a recipe? We choose which flavour our life is going to have at any given time. Except, perhaps starting over isn’t as easy as a round of washing up. Or is it?

Anyway, my cooking (and, consequently, this blog) went through a similar scrutiny lately. Some things went in, many others were stripped back. It’s now clear to me, at the dawn of my thirties, what it is that I just don’t care to eat, cook, or write about. Likewise, I’ve finally learnt what keeps me inspired, happily glued to the stove, and, well, hungry. This ossobuco alla milanese from Anna del Conte is one of these things. Not just because I love to eat it, but because it envelopes many of the traits that I find attractive in a recipe: culture-richness, humbleness, sustainability and straightforwardness. It just makes sense.

Yes, this ossobuco is here to stay, at least for as long as winter lasts. And I’m thinking now, as I type, as I spy a shy spring-like sun shining through my windowpane, that I better drop the chatter and tell you more about it, for winter doesn’t have much time left under its belt. So let’s.

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Ossobuco with Gremolata

Ossobuco with GremolataOssobuco with Gremolata Ossobuco with Gremolata

There were a couple of nights a few weeks ago, before the heat decided to come and make itself comfortable, in which the air sweeping from the harbour carried an unusual chill. One night, on our usual evening walk along the water  – the ritual that separates the working part of the day from that of leisure, contemplation and unrushed time in the kitchen – we had to put an extra layer over our t-shirts. We walked hugging ourselves the whole way, wondering where such breeze was coming from, dark clouds gathering swiftly over our heads.

We rushed home just in time before the first downpour started. Another followed shortly, and then another, at seemingly regular intervals, as if the sky was emptying itself by the bucketload, taking a break between each. We thought it a good night for a robust bottle of red and for lingering in the kitchen and around the table while waiting for a warming dinner.

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Chicken with Peppers

‘So you don’t even eat…chicken?’

Grandma’s inquisitive, bewildered eyes were moving slowly between my brother – who appeared to be shielding himself behind a tall chair – and the pot warming up on the stove.

Our casual visit had turned into a lunch invite. It had been a while. Far from being the weekly recurrence it once was, lunch at grandma’s had become more of a special occasion reserved for New Years and Easter. We visited often, of course, spent some time and chatted for a good while, but we rarely stopped for a meal. We liked to tell ourselves the reason was that grandma was getting old, and that we didn’t want to give her any extra work in the kitchen. We knew in fact that her hearty food was something to be had in moderation. That day, though, she convinced our reluctant selves to stay.

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Holiday Gifts + Cod Brandade Recipe

We are going to Venice for Christmas this year, the first Christmas with my family in three years. I am excited and happy beyond words. We are flying on Christmas Eve and landing just in time for dinner. The plan is to get a gin tonic as we fly high up in the sky while watching an episode or two of Boardwalk Empire, just to kick off the holiday season with the right foot.

I am ready to be covered in hugs and fed well and copiously. There will be bigoli in salsa for dinner on the 24th, I am sure, and lots of panettone. There might be cantucci too – now an official threat to my first ever tooth filling as of this week (not proud of that). We’ll take small day trips here and there – perhaps Venice and Padova, or who knows Bologna, or even Milan, or just some small villages in the beautiful Veneto hills. I’ll make sure to report back about any of these, but more about them in a few weeks.

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