MA SSIMO BO TTURA LARA GILMORE SLO W F OOD FA S T C ARS MA SSIMO BO TTURA LARA GILMORE CASA MARIA LUIGIA STORIES AND RECIPESMA SSIMO BO TTURA LARA GILMORE SLO W F OOD FA S T C ARS MA SSIMO BO TTURA LARA GILMORE CASA MARIA LUIGIA STORIES AND RECIPES2BREAKFAST RURAL EMILIA 006 THE BEGINNING 010 A GIRL ON FIRE 014 CHRISTMAS ALL YEAR LONG 018 HOTEL CALIFORNIA 042 GREEN SHUTTERS 046 4TH OF JULY 048 I LOVE YOU 052 SOMETHIN’ ELSE 054 TRUTH IS ... 058 APRI IL FRIGO 063 FRANKIE AND ROSE 086 OOPS! SPLASH! VROOM! 090 FAST CARS 094 COOKING WITH FIRE 098 TOLA DOLZA 102 SLOW FOOD 146 SAN DAMASO 148 THE SWING 150 ELVIS AND ME 152 GELATO BALCONY 156 IL BABBO 158 LOCAL HEROES, SPEED AND DREAMS 184 WILL YOU MARRY ME? 188 IN DEFENCE OF NATURE 190 THE RED DOOR 192 THE EMILIAN PANTRY 196 SLOW PASSING OF TIME 224 THE WILLOW TREE 232 AFTER THE STORM 236 WHILE YOU WERE EATING 340 BUONA NOTTE 342 TEXTS WRITTEN BY: MASSIMO BOTTURA MB LARA GILMORE LG JESSICA ROSVAL JR RECIPES WRITTEN BY: JESSICA ROSVAL STORIES THIS IS NOT TUSCANY THE PLAYGROUND NEVER STOP PLANTING HOME AWAY FROM HOME SLOW PASSING OF TIME THIS HOUSE IS A HOTEL RECIPES ERBAZZONE 022 GNOCCO FRITTO 024 FRITATTA 026 FROM MODENA TO MIRANDOLA 028 SBRISOLONA 030 MARSALA ZABAGLIONE 032 FOCACCIA 034 ZUCCHINI, TOMATOES 036 CAULIFLOWER, PEARS, APPLES 038 PEACHES, APRICOTS, FIGS 038 GRANOLA 040 3 HOUSE CRACKERS 070 CELERY ROOT SALAD 072 SMOKED TRAPANESE 074 WILD FLOWER AND SEASONAL FRUIT SALAD 076 TOMATO STRAWBERRY ALAD 078 CHARRED GREEN BEANS AND CUCUMBER 080 SMOKED ROBIOLA AND ANCHOVIES 082 WHIPPED RICOTTA AND BASIL OIL 082 YELLOW BEET AND BLOND ORANGE 084 PESTO MODENESE 134 A LEBANESE CEDAR IN MODENA 134 SMOKED PEACHES 135 MARE E MELONE 135 LA ZUCCA 136 WHIPPED BACCALÀ 136 ROASTED RICOTTA 137 UNA FRITTATA ANGUILLA 138 SABA GLAZED COD 138 SMOKED BEEF SHORTRIB 139 ARIA DI COSTIERA (GRANITA) 140 BITTER ORANGE AND RADICCHIO 140 PAVLOVA 141 BRONTE 142 MILK 143 GRAPEFRUIT AMARO 144 LA PRIMA COLAZIONE HOUSE SAVORIES TOLA DOLZA HOUSE SWEETS ML LINZERS 162 SAGE WHITE CHOCOLATE 164 TORTA BAROZZI 166 ROSE LEMON HERB 168 PEAR COFFEE AND ALMOND 170 CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES 172 WHITE CHOCOLATE AND PISTACHIO COOKIES 174 STRAWBERRY HEART CAKES 176 TIRAMISU 178 ZUPPA INGLESE 180 YOGURT APPLE CRUMBLE 182 PEACHES AND CREAM 183 LEMON, LEMONGRASS AND MINT WATER 202 TARAGON, MINT, AND MARIGOLD 202 FLOWER WATER HIBISCUS AND ROSE PETAL WATER 202 FENNEL WATER 204 GINGER AND ERBA LUIGIA WATER 204 EARL GRAY TEA AND PEACH WATER 204 CHAMOMILE TEA AND PEACH WATER 204 APPLE MOSTARDA 206 AMARENA JAM 206 BLOOD ORANGE AND CLOVE MARMALADE 208 PEACH HONEY AND SAGE JAM 210 SABA STRAWBERRY JAM 210 STRAWBERRY VINE GRAPE AND BALSAMIC VINEGAR JAM 211 SICILIAN CANARY MELON JAM 211 PRESERVED ANCHOVIES 212 PRESERVED ARTICHOKE 212 PRESERVED SHALLOTS 214 CHIVE FLOWER CONDIMENT 214 CONFIT GARLIC 214 CHILLI OIL 215 BASIL OIL 215 HERB OIL 215 LEMON OIL 216 ROSE VINEGAR 216 MARIGOLD VINEGAR 216 SMOKED SALT 218 HERB SALT 218 SGURGUON 220 WINTER HERB LIQUEUR 220 BITTER ORANGE AND BURNT CARAMEL LIQUEUR 222 LEMON SAFFRON LIQUEUR 222 GRAPEFRUIT AND ANISE LIQUEUR 222 RECIPE NOTES 244 INDEX 245 THE ML PANTRY2BREAKFAST RURAL EMILIA 006 THE BEGINNING 010 A GIRL ON FIRE 014 CHRISTMAS ALL YEAR LONG 018 HOTEL CALIFORNIA 042 GREEN SHUTTERS 046 4TH OF JULY 048 I LOVE YOU 052 SOMETHIN’ ELSE 054 TRUTH IS ... 058 APRI IL FRIGO 063 FRANKIE AND ROSE 086 OOPS! SPLASH! VROOM! 090 FAST CARS 094 COOKING WITH FIRE 098 TOLA DOLZA 102 SLOW FOOD 146 SAN DAMASO 148 THE SWING 150 ELVIS AND ME 152 GELATO BALCONY 156 IL BABBO 158 LOCAL HEROES, SPEED AND DREAMS 184 WILL YOU MARRY ME? 188 IN DEFENCE OF NATURE 190 THE RED DOOR 192 THE EMILIAN PANTRY 196 SLOW PASSING OF TIME 224 THE WILLOW TREE 232 AFTER THE STORM 236 WHILE YOU WERE EATING 340 BUONA NOTTE 342 TEXTS WRITTEN BY: MASSIMO BOTTURA MB LARA GILMORE LG JESSICA ROSVAL JR RECIPES WRITTEN BY: JESSICA ROSVAL STORIES THIS IS NOT TUSCANY THE PLAYGROUND NEVER STOP PLANTING HOME AWAY FROM HOME SLOW PASSING OF TIME THIS HOUSE IS A HOTEL RECIPES ERBAZZONE 022 GNOCCO FRITTO 024 FRITATTA 026 FROM MODENA TO MIRANDOLA 028 SBRISOLONA 030 MARSALA ZABAGLIONE 032 FOCACCIA 034 ZUCCHINI, TOMATOES 036 CAULIFLOWER, PEARS, APPLES 038 PEACHES, APRICOTS, FIGS 038 GRANOLA 040 3 HOUSE CRACKERS 070 CELERY ROOT SALAD 072 SMOKED TRAPANESE 074 WILD FLOWER AND SEASONAL FRUIT SALAD 076 TOMATO STRAWBERRY ALAD 078 CHARRED GREEN BEANS AND CUCUMBER 080 SMOKED ROBIOLA AND ANCHOVIES 082 WHIPPED RICOTTA AND BASIL OIL 082 YELLOW BEET AND BLOND ORANGE 084 PESTO MODENESE 134 A LEBANESE CEDAR IN MODENA 134 SMOKED PEACHES 135 MARE E MELONE 135 LA ZUCCA 136 WHIPPED BACCALÀ 136 ROASTED RICOTTA 137 UNA FRITTATA ANGUILLA 138 SABA GLAZED COD 138 SMOKED BEEF SHORTRIB 139 ARIA DI COSTIERA (GRANITA) 140 BITTER ORANGE AND RADICCHIO 140 PAVLOVA 141 BRONTE 142 MILK 143 GRAPEFRUIT AMARO 144 LA PRIMA COLAZIONE HOUSE SAVORIES TOLA DOLZA HOUSE SWEETS ML LINZERS 162 SAGE WHITE CHOCOLATE 164 TORTA BAROZZI 166 ROSE LEMON HERB 168 PEAR COFFEE AND ALMOND 170 CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES 172 WHITE CHOCOLATE AND PISTACHIO COOKIES 174 STRAWBERRY HEART CAKES 176 TIRAMISU 178 ZUPPA INGLESE 180 YOGURT APPLE CRUMBLE 182 PEACHES AND CREAM 183 LEMON, LEMONGRASS AND MINT WATER 202 TARAGON, MINT, AND MARIGOLD 202 FLOWER WATER HIBISCUS AND ROSE PETAL WATER 202 FENNEL WATER 204 GINGER AND ERBA LUIGIA WATER 204 EARL GRAY TEA AND PEACH WATER 204 CHAMOMILE TEA AND PEACH WATER 204 APPLE MOSTARDA 206 AMARENA JAM 206 BLOOD ORANGE AND CLOVE MARMALADE 208 PEACH HONEY AND SAGE JAM 210 SABA STRAWBERRY JAM 210 STRAWBERRY VINE GRAPE AND BALSAMIC VINEGAR JAM 211 SICILIAN CANARY MELON JAM 211 PRESERVED ANCHOVIES 212 PRESERVED ARTICHOKE 212 PRESERVED SHALLOTS 214 CHIVE FLOWER CONDIMENT 214 CONFIT GARLIC 214 CHILLI OIL 215 BASIL OIL 215 HERB OIL 215 LEMON OIL 216 ROSE VINEGAR 216 MARIGOLD VINEGAR 216 SMOKED SALT 218 HERB SALT 218 SGURGUON 220 WINTER HERB LIQUEUR 220 BITTER ORANGE AND BURNT CARAMEL LIQUEUR 222 LEMON SAFFRON LIQUEUR 222 GRAPEFRUIT AND ANISE LIQUEUR 222 RECIPE NOTES 244 INDEX 245 THE ML PANTRY4BREAKFAST Beginnings are elusive. Yes, I could find the exact date when Massimo and I first heard about the property but is that really the beginning? “Where is it?” I asked. “San Damaso, Stradello Bonaghino, just off Via Scartazza,” said the real estate agent. I must have passed the property many times and yet I had no recollection of ever seeing a big house with gardens. Massi- mo said he had heard about the property, but had never seen it. We had seen some photographs from a magazine article from about twenty years ago. And yet, there it was, under our noses, a stretch of the arm away, only about 6 miles (10 km) from our home and 5 minutes from the Modena Sud highway exit, just around the corner from everything, so close and yet so far away from anything we had ever imagined. Unseen until that day when we turned right onto the road called Stradello Bonaghino with a thick barrier of tall shrubs to the left and a deep canal to the right hugging so close to the road you could easily roll into it. We found the gate open—a temptation we could not resist. We turned onto the overgrown driveway and moved forward cautiously with branches scratching both sides of the car until a house appeared between the trees. “What color is that?” I asked Massimo. “Is it orange or brown?” It looked like a bruised peach left on the kitchen counter. A sigh of disappointment. It was not as beautiful as the pic- tures nor what I had imagined . . . gloomy even. We stopped the car in front of a second gate. On the right column in metal lettering there was a plaque with the word “Custode” (custodian) and an arrow pointing to the right. Below that sign another that read, “Attenta al cane” (Beware of the dog). Then we heard the dog barking so we did not get out of the car. We were trespassing. We sat in silence taking in the de- tails through closed windows. The courtyard granite pavers with weeds growing in between, a red tricycle left alone, a tilting plastic sun lounger with three legs, peeling brown shutters closing every window, an open portico with wicker furniture and empty dog cage, a separate building with a church-like façade, and overgrown greenery everywhere. Why was my heart racing? We had no stake in this place. It did not belong to us. It was not ours; and still, there was a storm brewing in my stomach. Pity? Empathy? Excitement? The abandonment of the place was visceral. It crawled inside me. I shivered. “What a shame!” Massimo said. I knew then, from the other side of those locked gates, it was love at first sight. Yes, I was in love with an abandoned bruised peach. Was this the beginning? A seed of a beginning was planted that day. It grew. Patiently we waited out the first auction in October 2016. No one made a bid. Was this a sign? A strange destiny? It meant we could buy more time and there was still a chance. In May 2017, the property came up for auction again. The price had dropped. We had spent the previous six months forgetting and remembering that place that invaded our imaginations now and again like a child turning the light on and off, on and off, on and off. This time we were able to tour the property. A rainy May meant everything was bursting with color and life, and even more overgrown than the visit from the previous year. The driveway scratched our car again. Enormous bushes of Philadelphus overrun with creamy flowers filled the air with sweet orange blossom perfume, leggy roses bloomed against all odds, hydrangeas the size of soccer balls were forming their mop heads. Damp, dewy, humid, bucolic, a filter over my eyes blurred all the lines making it hard to define the edges. Maybe there weren’t any edges. Everything had been washed in the green chaos of nature’s parade. The real estate agent opened the door. We walked inside for the first time. We were in shock to see the ground floor fully decorated. White sheets covered the furniture while paint- ings and decorative objects collected dust. The kitchen was bright yellow with a coffee maker on the stovetop, salt and olive oil on the counter as though someone had simply left for the weekend. A ghostly presence lingered in the details of a life with telltale signs of abundance while cobwebs revealed yet another story, total absence. The upstairs rooms told another story. It looked like another house completely, one that had not been lived in for decades with damask fabric wallpaper still intact, signs of pigeons nesting, piles of broken boxes, broken frames, leather furni- ture with cat scratches, empty suitcases, and spider webs. Up another flight of stairs and the rooms revealed yet another house. This one a modern penthouse apartment complete with mid-century furniture, blond wood bookshelves filled with books and magazines, and large windows looking onto a secret terrace. It was mind-boggling. Three houses in one. Each floor trapped in a time warp with traces of previous owners’ style and taste. Then we discovered yet another part of the house with a separate entrance. As soon as the door opened, the pungent smell of vinegar overwhelmed us. A less noble staircase than the one in the main house led up to many small rooms, each filled with barrel after barrel of balsamic vinegar. This → THE BEGINNING4BREAKFAST Beginnings are elusive. Yes, I could find the exact date when Massimo and I first heard about the property but is that really the beginning? “Where is it?” I asked. “San Damaso, Stradello Bonaghino, just off Via Scartazza,” said the real estate agent. I must have passed the property many times and yet I had no recollection of ever seeing a big house with gardens. Massi- mo said he had heard about the property, but had never seen it. We had seen some photographs from a magazine article from about twenty years ago. And yet, there it was, under our noses, a stretch of the arm away, only about 6 miles (10 km) from our home and 5 minutes from the Modena Sud highway exit, just around the corner from everything, so close and yet so far away from anything we had ever imagined. Unseen until that day when we turned right onto the road called Stradello Bonaghino with a thick barrier of tall shrubs to the left and a deep canal to the right hugging so close to the road you could easily roll into it. We found the gate open—a temptation we could not resist. We turned onto the overgrown driveway and moved forward cautiously with branches scratching both sides of the car until a house appeared between the trees. “What color is that?” I asked Massimo. “Is it orange or brown?” It looked like a bruised peach left on the kitchen counter. A sigh of disappointment. It was not as beautiful as the pic- tures nor what I had imagined . . . gloomy even. We stopped the car in front of a second gate. On the right column in metal lettering there was a plaque with the word “Custode” (custodian) and an arrow pointing to the right. Below that sign another that read, “Attenta al cane” (Beware of the dog). Then we heard the dog barking so we did not get out of the car. We were trespassing. We sat in silence taking in the de- tails through closed windows. The courtyard granite pavers with weeds growing in between, a red tricycle left alone, a tilting plastic sun lounger with three legs, peeling brown shutters closing every window, an open portico with wicker furniture and empty dog cage, a separate building with a church-like façade, and overgrown greenery everywhere. Why was my heart racing? We had no stake in this place. It did not belong to us. It was not ours; and still, there was a storm brewing in my stomach. Pity? Empathy? Excitement? The abandonment of the place was visceral. It crawled inside me. I shivered. “What a shame!” Massimo said. I knew then, from the other side of those locked gates, it was love at first sight. Yes, I was in love with an abandoned bruised peach. Was this the beginning? A seed of a beginning was planted that day. It grew. Patiently we waited out the first auction in October 2016. No one made a bid. Was this a sign? A strange destiny? It meant we could buy more time and there was still a chance. In May 2017, the property came up for auction again. The price had dropped. We had spent the previous six months forgetting and remembering that place that invaded our imaginations now and again like a child turning the light on and off, on and off, on and off. This time we were able to tour the property. A rainy May meant everything was bursting with color and life, and even more overgrown than the visit from the previous year. The driveway scratched our car again. Enormous bushes of Philadelphus overrun with creamy flowers filled the air with sweet orange blossom perfume, leggy roses bloomed against all odds, hydrangeas the size of soccer balls were forming their mop heads. Damp, dewy, humid, bucolic, a filter over my eyes blurred all the lines making it hard to define the edges. Maybe there weren’t any edges. Everything had been washed in the green chaos of nature’s parade. The real estate agent opened the door. We walked inside for the first time. We were in shock to see the ground floor fully decorated. White sheets covered the furniture while paint- ings and decorative objects collected dust. The kitchen was bright yellow with a coffee maker on the stovetop, salt and olive oil on the counter as though someone had simply left for the weekend. A ghostly presence lingered in the details of a life with telltale signs of abundance while cobwebs revealed yet another story, total absence. The upstairs rooms told another story. It looked like another house completely, one that had not been lived in for decades with damask fabric wallpaper still intact, signs of pigeons nesting, piles of broken boxes, broken frames, leather furni- ture with cat scratches, empty suitcases, and spider webs. Up another flight of stairs and the rooms revealed yet another house. This one a modern penthouse apartment complete with mid-century furniture, blond wood bookshelves filled with books and magazines, and large windows looking onto a secret terrace. It was mind-boggling. Three houses in one. Each floor trapped in a time warp with traces of previous owners’ style and taste. Then we discovered yet another part of the house with a separate entrance. As soon as the door opened, the pungent smell of vinegar overwhelmed us. A less noble staircase than the one in the main house led up to many small rooms, each filled with barrel after barrel of balsamic vinegar. This → THE BEGINNINGNext >