A Skink in Cullen

One of the things that fascinate me the most are the names of dishes. They don't simply describe what you are eating but tell you how they are cooked, where they come from, who was behind their original recipe. Most Scottish dishes have ancient origins - despite many of you  probably think there are no culinary traditions there! 


And a lot of the names derived from Gaelic give something magical and distant. 

Autumn has made its appearance and a blanket of multi-coloured leaves have carpeted the road just outside the cottage. However, to my surprise, the weather has been really good. And so a day at the beach could not be missed. The sun is still warm enough to sit on a bench and doze off wrapped up by a pleasant touch. 

The oriental origins of Churros

It might be the Autumnal chill that is now in the air, the dew of every morning, the days that are gradually shortening up but every night I feel the need to melt under my tongue a nice and chunky piece of dark chocolate. Or even better! to lick the spoon of that silky dark coat that only hot chocolate can create.

But rather than having a simple cup of cocoa, and limiting the calories, what could be better than a crunchy, lightly greasy and sugary churro generously dipped in chocolate?

The war of the custards

It is certain that food is the number one (or maybe number two) cause for deadly wars and bitter disputes. I am not talking about the obvious fights over resources or price peaks, but about the ownership of recipes.

Who owns mousaka, Greece or Turkey? Or hummus, Lebanon or Israel? Or canard a' l'orange, Italy or France (actually I know the answer to this one...)? Book and books will tell you one or the other story. Depending on the preference.

The many saveurs of Camargue

I had never believed that Camargue was really such an enchanting and magic place. White horses, pink flamingos, wild sea coasts and remote lagoons. It all sounded too much as coming out of a Duran, Duran song. But last time I was down there I had to bite my tongue. Camargue, the land of olives.

An octopus in a pie

Since my office has moved to the south of France many have asked me when I am going to move; some are even convinced that I have moved already. I suspect there is a self interest in that. A free trip.

And I must admit it, it would not be insanity to think that. Sea, mountains, rollings hills with grape vines and shimmering olive trees, stunning medieval villages, Spain and Italy at a stone throw, good weather all year round and excellent food and wine.

Why staying in England?!?

Skye - the infinite

If you were afraid of suffering the heat in Italy during the Summer, you can be sure this won't happen in Scotland. Never. I left the laundry to dry outside on a sunny day and three hours later it was still wet. Scary.

But of one thing you can be sure. The breathtaking views. The complete quietness, almost stillness, that embraces you; and the simplicity of every day activity.

A Panzanella in Chianti

Every time that I go back home (my other home, in Tuscany) I find myself astonished by the beauty of my birth region. Everything is drawn together in such a harmonious way that one cannot doubt the presence of a divine painter brushing colour with care and skills.

Unexpected Livorno

It is really true: never judge at first glance. This applies to people, food and places. And this is what happened to us in Livorno. I suppose that wandering in the rain without a map and dragging our luggage did not help...

Liguria - Food Heaven

Except for its pesto, many people may not know that Liguria is a real gourmet place. At every corner you find a bakery with the most inviting delicacies, both sweet and savoury. And patisseries that crop up almost at every street with alluring cakes and pastries...ah! I really don't know how locals keep fit. Or perhaps I do... the hills!

The true pesto "alla Genovese"

It is really true that secrets can only be discovered with the locals.

I have always loved pesto but often found it difficult to forget (= *digest*). It was all that raw chopped garlic that you could not even to dodge (having become invisible in the mix) that only "les Gaulois" or Vampires could enjoy.

It took me a trip to Genoa to find the answer.