Saturn Peach Gingersnap Tartlets

No, I'm not baking, are you kidding?! Italy is suffering the worst heatwave in 135 years. Nope, not a typo: one-hundred-and-thirty-five years. It's so hot I hardly have the energy to cook, let alone bake.

But every now and then, I allow myself a small digression from the "eating plan" and make something sweet. I make dessert, even in the middle of this crazy Italian summer (See what I did there? I called it an eating plan, I didn't use the D-word).

Plus, taking advantage of the season's amazing fruit, I convince myself that these desserts don't even constitute a danger for said diet eating plan. A great solution for eating sweet yet healthy in summer is making large batches of fruit smoothies. The best employment of the smoothie? Mixing in 1 tbsp of sugarless jam (of the same fruit you pureed), pouring it in plastic cups and stacking them in the freezer. Hello, healthy homemade popsicles.

If ice lollies are not your thing, and need something a little more substantial to chew on, you could always make my failsafe "tartellette alle pesche saturnine". Saturn (or donut) peaches – also locally called tabacchiere because they resemble tobacco snuff boxes – are my favorite stone fruit. If you've been reading this blog long enough you may remember how I even made tiramisu with Saturn peaches. Today's recipe is an ode to sloth and laziness. No cooking, no baking, just putting together great seasonal ingredients for a sweet summer cuddle.

These particular tartlets combine the aromatic, succulent pinkish flesh of the Saturn peach, with the spiced kick of ginger contained in the base, and the cold, creamy middle. I use ricotta, but you could use mascarpone, gelato, cream cheese, Greek yogurt or – if you're feeling particularly sinful – gorgonzola. Or even burrata.

Yes, I said burrata, stop salivating.

There's no need to turn on the oven to enjoy these Saturn peach tartlets. Just start with a great cookie to begin with, and assemble your way up. I'm using Pepparkakor biscuits, known outside of Sweden as ginger snaps, or ginger thins.

Quantity of units is up to you. I put out all the ingredients and eat as I build, while binge-watching my favorite Netflix series.

Ingredients, in liberal amounts
Ginger thins
Ricotta cheese (or gelato, mascarpone, cream cheese, Greek yogurt, gorgonzola or burrata)
Saturn peaches, rinsed and sliced

Slather your dairy cream of choice on cookie. Top with sliced peaches. Devour.
Repeat.

Buon appetito!

Ossa dei morti recipe

My Nonna Titta raised me like a mother; like all grandmothers do in Italy–even before it was customary for working moms to leave home to bring income to the household.

Yet Giuditta–Titta for her friends and immediate family–was not your average granny. She told fairy tales, baked cakes and occasionally knitted; but in her youth she had been a talented, successful and beautiful theater actress. And with a childhood worthy of a novel.

Born into a theater family, she began touring around the world with the Ermete Zacconi theater company along with her parents and brothers from when she was old enough to stand (as a small child she was forced to play only boys' roles, a female child in theater was not happy news). The kids (four boys and one girl, Titta) were the younger thespians acting opposite turn of the century celebrities, while my great-grandfather was the "trovarobe," in charge of painting backdrops, collecting furniture, set dressing, props, etc. Nowadays this role is called Production Designer. His wife, my bisnonna Luigia, was a seamstress. She designed all the costumes for each production, and was in charge of cutting, stitching and fitting all.

This wild assortment of talent traveled away from Italy each summer, headed to South America, where the company performed mostly for immigrant patrons in theaters all over Paraguay, Uruguay, Argentina and Chile. Italians didn't only land in Ellis Island…

My nonna Titta didn't speak a word of English, but thanks to these annual 6-month tours, she was fluent in Spanish and grasped the rudiments of Portuguese.

Once the season ended abroad, the company would pack the staging equipment and navigate the Atlantic on steamships back to Europe, just in time for winter in the northern hemisphere. Titta loved the summer, because for so many years of touring, she said, summer was not an option.

Later, as she grew into a teen and then into a young woman, her talent and sophisticated flair put her in the limelight. She soon became leading lady in many popular 1920s stage productions, and her repertoire spanned from the Greek classics, Shakespearean drama, to humorous, intelligent and ironic contemporary pieces. In 1930 she met my grandfather, whom she formed a company with, and eventually married seven years later. My mom was born the following year, and this gave Titta the chance to finally retire from the theater scene at age 42.

Nonna and Nonno in Venice

Despite her separation from my grandfather (divorce didn't exist in Italy at the time), the hardships of WWII Italy, and being a single mother in the 1950s, Nonna managed to keep it together, and star in 25 films between 1933 and 1966. One of the last roles she played was in 1962, as Marcello Matroianni's mother in the Fellini masterpiece 8 1/2.

As I said, like many nonnas, mine was a key figure during my childhood, she was there for me while my mom was working full time, adjusting to divorced life, and mourning my grandfather's premature death. Nonna Titta was great company, a playful, unconventional, tender and witty companion. She and I produced wonderful role games, during which I'd introduce her to my latest child (I owned many dolls at the time) and we'd chat and gossip like ladies over teacups of sugared tap water. Nonna spoiled me like only grandparents can (and are allowed to). And she taught me to appreciate good food through her virtuoso cooking skills.

Me and Nonna, 1970

My son didn't get a chance to meet his great-grandparents, one of my biggest regrets. It's important that he learn about his extended family, here in Italy and the one abroad. I can start by introducing him to his great-grandmother Titta, by telling him her wonderful stories, showing him photographs and paintings, reproduce her recipes and replicate those everyday gestures of love I grew with.

Halloween is a recent celebration in Italy. The related observance we do honor on the other hand is i morti: an Italian two-day festivity bridging November 1st (All Soul's Day) and November 2nd (Day of the Dead). This is not a morbid or mournful holiday, rather a celebration of life. Ossa dei Morti, or "Bones of the Dead," are among the numerous traditional (and almost always almond-laced) Italian cookies commonly enjoyed on this occasion. There are many different regional recipes for Ossa dei Morti, these particular hard and crunchy meringue ones are from Piemonte, where nonna Titta was originally from.

She was very superstitious, so I hope she won’t mind if I associate her to this rather disturbing, sepulchral recipe name. If you hear thunder tomorrow, it’s probably her, complaining from heaven.

250 g (1 cup) flour
100 g (1 1/4 cup) hazelnuts (ideally from the Langhe region, in Piemonte), shelled and left whole
100 g (1 1/4 cup) almonds, coarsely ground (I put them in a freezer bag and pound the heck out of them)
400 g (2 1/4 cups) brown sugar
2 egg whites, beaten
Juice of 1/2 lemon
Pinch of ground cloves
Pinch of cinnamon
Butter and flour to grease and dredge the cookie sheet

In a large bowl, combine the flour, sugar, egg whites, and lemon juice. Work in the nuts and spices, and continue kneading until you have a fairly firm dough. Roll the ball of dough out with your hands forming it into a rope. Cut the rope into 2-inch sections.

Preheat oven to 180° C (360° F).

Butter your cookie sheet, dust with flour, and lay the 'bones' on it distanced form one another, and bake for about 20 minutes. Let the cookies cool to jaw-breaking hardness before serving with a glass of Moscato or Vin Santo. Amen.

Image © savoringtimeinthekitchen.blogspot.com

Ciambelline al Vino recipe

I like finishing dinner with something sweet. But sometimes dessert is too much, especially after a hearty meal. In that case, dipping dried biscuits in the leftover red wine in my glass is the best way to end the evening.


The most famous dipping biscotti are the Tuscan Cantucci, known for their jaw-breaking hardness and their toasted almond surprise. Cantucci's liquor of choice is Tuscan vin santo, an auburn sweet dessert wine made with Trebbiano or Malvasia grapes. My thing are instead ciambelline al vino. Dry, crunchy sugar biscuits made WITH wine, and made FOR wine. The recipe to prepare them is absurdly easy, and the result is obscenely tasty. Try it.
800 gr (4 cups) all purpose flour, sifted

300 g (1 1/2 cups) sugar
250 ml (1 cup) good red wine
200 ml (7 fl oz) olive oil
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
1 teaspoon pastry yeast
A pinch of salt

Preheat oven at 180° C (350° F).

In a bowl, mix the liquids and the sugar with a wooden spoon. Add the sifted flour, yeast and vanilla extract with the salt little by little, to obtain a firm and slightly wet, yet not sticky mixture. Knead into a soft, supple dough and allow it to rest for about 30 minutes, covered. Cut the dough and roll into foot-long ropes, about 1/2 inch thick. Cut each rope into 20 cm sections and shape them into rings, clasping the ends with a little pressure. You can also use a cookie-cutter to form your ciambelline (which is a diminutive of ciambelle–"life savers").

Press the ciambelline in the sugar to coat, and bake in the oven on a greased cookie sheet for 20-30 minutes, or until golden.

Cool completely before serving after dinner, dipping them liberally in your wine glass. Sucking on the ciambelline, making noises and moaning while eating is encouraged. Kids are allowed a taste too, but only on special occasions.

Images courtesy of Forchettina.it, Gnocchettoalpomodoro.it

Biscotti brutti ma buoni recipe

A biscuit is a small baked morsel of love. The exact meaning varies markedly in different parts of the world. In the United States and Canada, a cookie is what the same small, flat-baked treat is called. It is usually round, containing milk, flour, eggs, and sugar, etc. In most English-speaking countries outside North America, the most common word for this is biscuit. In many regions both terms are used, while in others the two words have different meanings – a cookie is a plain bun in Scotland, while in the United States a biscuit is a kind of quick bread similar to a scone.

The origin of the English word "biscuit" is from Latin via Middle French and means "cooked twice," hence bis-cotti in Italian. Whatever their name, origin or exact meaning and shape, biscotti rock. Some harder than others.

Brutti ma Buoni recipe

The term brutti ma buoni means 'ugly but good,' and is quite apt, because these traditional drop cookies don’t look too attractive, but vanish off the serving plate in minutes. They take a little effort to make, but are well worth it.

250 g (1 1/4 cups) powdered sugar
100 g (1/2 cup) blanched peeled, and toasted almonds
100 g (1/2 cup) toasted hazelnuts, shelled
6 egg whites
A healthy pinch of powdered cloves and powdered cinnamon
1/2 tsp of vanillin or a few drops vanilla extract

Grind the nuts to a powder, ideally using a mortar and pestle (the toasting of the nuts makes this operation much more successful). If you don’t have a mortar and pestle, either chop the nuts very finely by hand, or pulse them to a powder in your blender.

Beat the egg whites until stiff peaks form, and carefully fold in the nuts, sugar, spices, and vanilla.

Turn the batter into a saucepan and heat it, stirring gently, over a low flame until it thickens and just becomes golden in color; this will take about a half hour.

While doing this, preheat your oven to 160°C (320°F) and butter a cookie sheet.

Take the thickened batter, and drop it, less than a tablespoon (about half a walnuts' worth) at a time, onto the cookie sheet, leaving some space between drops. Bake the Ugly but Good for about 40 minutes. Let them cool thoroughly and enjoy with a glass of robust red wine and a good book.

And if you simply cannot bake, head over to Biscottificio Innocenti and ask Stefania for the best brutti ma buoni in Rome.

Salame di Cioccolato, chocolate and cookie cake

Photo © Alberto Blasetti/Cibando

For this week’s What’s Cooking Wednesday, I've decided to go with something soul stirring. This typical Roman winter dessert uses two of my favorite sweet ingredients, chocolate and cookies. I made it as a reward after a long and intense day at work today. Nothing like winding down with some serious cioccolato action, a glass of red wine and some vintage R&B. The decadent delight I want to share with you today looks quite like a salami, and it is served sliced, which explains its name.

100 g (1/2 cup) milk chocolate, broken into pieces
100 g (1/2 cup) black chocolate (not more bitter than 70% pure cocoa), broken into bits
100 g (1/2 cup) butter, softened
50 g (1/4 cup) brown sugar
1 egg + 2 yolks
200 g (1 cup) Petit Beurre or Osvego-type biscuits (can be substituted with graham crackers or shortbread), coarsely crumbled

Melt the butter and the chocolates over a very mild flame, stirring to make sure they don’t stick or reach a boiling point. 

Beat the eggs with the sugar and melted chocolates, and stir in the broken biscuits to obtain a thick, ‘gluey’ dough (for want of a better term).

Once the mix is cool, place it in a loaf tin or plum cake mold lined with foil and pop it in the freezer to harden.

Serve at room temperature, sliced. To be mandatorily eaten with your hands, in order for the chocolate to melt sensually both in mouth and at your fingertips, provoking a wide multitude of pleasurable sensations.