A foodie friend passed away over the weekend. He cooked at a demo session for charity and on his way home, lost control over his vehicle. He loved Italian food with all his heart and cooked it with such gusto that even the most disinterested of cooks quickly became entised to join in the Italian fun.
Last night I was thinking about all things Italian and what I love about it. What is not to love. And it seems all the magazine editors agree with me. There are no less than three food magazines on the shelves this month with Italian as it main theme and on the cover. Winter food with hearty meat dishes and beautiful photographs of warm bowls of minestrone and butternut ravioli. In this household, few dishes excites the kids as much as simple home-made pasta with a pesto sauce. Except for warm pizza straight from the oven, that is. My little one always insists on kneading his own piece of dough (only he eats it all before the proofing even begins).
But my own favourite has to be biscotti. I love it. The soft-hardness of macadamia and pistachio nuts with just a hint of lemon zest and a few soft chewy sultanas has to be the perfect combination for a biscuit. No choc-chip, mocca-coffee, mint-crisp versions for me.
And as I was reflecting on a friends' life full of Italian feasts and my own blessings, I crawled up under a blanket in front of the fire. I sipped on some sweet port and dunked my biscotti every few sips.
Salut to life and indulgences!
