Italy and cooking schools

Part One

I spend time on my roof top garden every day, either to water or with the ridiculous amount of rain that has fallen out of the sky recently, to check for slugs, just after sunset. It’s not pretty. I use the light on my phone to hunt for the killer slugs which chomp through my precious plants I have lovingly grown from seed. All our combined work - on mine and the seeds part - is not allowed to be eaten by those ##??@@ slugs. They have their place of course, but I really don’t where. Perhaps it’s to make me cherish my garden even more! Tenderly tending the self-sown descendent of the Calabrian basil plant threw me straight back to south-west Italy (in the toe of the boot), where I spent two weeks at an Italian cooking school this time last year. I smuggled in a basket full of basil plants - not smuggled as it’s all perfectly legal in Europe, but as an Australian I felt like a mule. All the Italians (they spoke Italian so I assumed they were) on the plane flashed large smiles of approval at my carry-on basil, they know just how good this stuff is, French basil but a pale copy, a poor cousin, of the sun drenched Italian original. I bought the plants at the local market in Calabria, near the cooking school. The market is full of local farmers and artisans, complete with older gentleman just selling baskets woven from local woods. Of course I bought one and the basil was placed in it to carry home.

The cooking school was such an unexpectedly fantastic experience. I had never done anything quite like this before throughout my cooking career, Normally if I want to teach myself something, I hit the books and “read” the internet and then as with most things with cooking (and with life, really), practice, practice practice! And then do it some more. Hosted by the Italian Culinary Institute, it was a two week course that took us through base ingredients, pasta - no suprise there - specialty breads, desserts including the best Italian meringue recipe that I have ever come across (you can keep it over night without it deteriorating), pizza and because they like to feed you, a million recipes and experiences inbetween. I was super fortunate to have shared the course with a really fun disparate gang of people. Everyone from instagram influencers, a retired trolley dolly with a passion for Italian food, to the brothers who got their start in cooking because they were of Italian heritage and …. on the very first iteration of Love Island (the English edition)! Let’s just say everyone wanted to chat to them! But what I really took home was not just the recipes or tricks like how to make a proper northern Italian risotto, it was that cooking is a genuinely sharing experience. It’s not easy to learn on your own. When you are in a place of learning, coupled with great enthusiasm and a shared love of cooking, stuff happens! As our teacher chef John said, one should never cook alone - share - give your knowledge to someone else. And to be honest, that was what I took home with me. That and the Calabrian basil, in my basket from the market. Oh and perhaps some cured meats made their way back to Paris too, and a great knob of parmesan. It somehow seemed to be the perfect Italian lesson, share and share some more.

The school was built on top of a bluff and every morning I looked down from my balcony into the clearest sea. And I swam each day before class, which was well, incredible. No large ships are allowed into the straits of Messina in the Tyrrhenian sea, which helps keep it pretty much pristine. And the learning never stopped. It could have been anything from how to make Calabrian chili oil to a basic Italian chicken stock to, let’s face it - how do you make a proper spaghetti bolognese? And there was a day just devoted to making the squishiest elastic focaccia, ciabatta and other breads; another to making mozzarella and ricotta, how to make Roman pasta dishes such as caccio e peppe - which we then had for dinner that night. And for every dish that Chef John showed us, there were another three that he just threw together. He had his team of course, the queen of dessert Chef Rachael and Jimmy from New Jersey who was the living embodiment of every generic Italian American, you know - like a character in The Sopranos or The Godfather without the gunslinging. And our sommelier chef Vlodomir. who was a calm and gentle, the perfect foil to the others. But what Chef John really excelled at was controlling two massive pasta pans, enough to feed the 20 of us with such ease and deftness.

There was a day trip to Sicily, so we could be stars in our own version of White Lotus, although the Four Seasons wouldn’t let us in unless we were guests. We arrived after a ferry trip during which we munched on pyramid shaped arancini which were quite yummy, normally I’m not a fan. We were then let loose to do what we want and it was just lovely to wonder around Tramortina. I found an outrageously expensive Italian dress shop where everything was made with silks in glorious patterns. I wanted everything, but alas, they were made for statuesque women which I am not, so that was that. I found my treasures in the food stores instead - rich chocolate and fennel liquors, jams and tea towels and finally stopping to take relief from the heat by having a lemon flavoured gelato, Sicily in a cone.

The weekend break allowed me and my partner in crime, who had cajoled me into taking the course, to go to Matera. This medieval village, three hours drive from our school, is tucked into a deep canyon where most of its residents lived in caves up until the 1950s at which point the Italian government, so embarrassed by the level of poverty in the area, built new houses for the cave dwellers. We did a two hour hike in the early morning up to the the old caves, some still had paintings of Jesus and the lives of the saints. Italy being Italy, there were churches dotted throughout the network of troglodyte villages and they were all amazing. It was something that I will never forget, I embraced the stories that emanated from the walls of those most basic of dwellings, imagined families gathered together after a church service, grinding flour for their bread, foraging for their herbs on the side of the hills that provided their most basic of shelters. Perhaps sacrificing an animal that also called the caves home, for a special feast or celebration. I sigh with awe in memory of that trip.

On the drive back to the school, we stopped at a road side stall that was in true kitsch fashion covered in strings of Calabrian chillies and tropea onions, those native to the area and found all over the region. My friend did a mighty swerve into the carpark, such was her thrill at finding the stall. What we found upon venturing inside was a sandwich shop.

With sandwiches made to measure, my dream! We joined the queue and taking cue from those before us I chose a sliced coppa, scamorza, fresh tomato and basil filling on crusty ciabatta. It was beyond delicious, I couldn’t believe I was eating it. Friends who had been to Italy many times had told me about these places, I was so happy to have finally tried one. No photos, I was too busy eating.

And all of these memories because of the slug on my Calabrian basil!

There was so much more but I’ll save that for part two.

All the remembering gave me a great desire for pizza! And so one year later almost to the day, I schlepped across town to Oobatz, the ultra hyped new pizza joint in the 11th, set up by Dan Pear. His start was a pop up at Le Rigmarole and such was the buzz that he decided to go it alone. The lemon and white asparagus pizza was to die for - the lemon worked so well with the minerality of the asparagus and a fabulous crust to boot! Just as fun and so befitting the area was the street scene out the window, the best dressed beer chugging louts you’ve ever seen: it could have been a Gucci commercial !

Fun things HEARD in Paris :

At Oobatz whilst waiting for the bathroom I overheard one guy saying to another “ so I hear you did your PHD in HIV - but what are you doing now ?

The reply was oh malaria - the question came back - which was more depressing ?- oh definitely HIV !

Set the table:

Because with the coffee and the pattern of the napkin, it reminded me of Italy.

Spaghetti Bolognese ( how could it not be ? )

I had to share this recipe from the book that I took home with me from the course. All the notes and tips that I learnt during the time that I was there are in here. So the recipe for you all is the simple one of spaghetti bolognese, Italian Culinary Institute style ! Hope you can read my scribbles !

See you soon,

Kathx