Green Italian Kitchen is a place of food tradition and story, and in turn, it is also a recipe archive where I can store versions of my own recipes and the recipes that I have inherited or been inspired by so that I can share them with you. From time to time I will bring forward old blog posts so that I can streamline my recipe collection into this one reference space.
This recipe and the images below are from an old blog called “Retrogusto”. They were originally published in the summer of 2010. This recipe is adapted from a regional Italian cookbook called ‘Culinaria Italy’ by Claudia Piras which is a fascinating journey through Italy's culinary traditions.
In front of my Catholic school gymnasium, there was a boy who always looked my way. He was cute enough, a bit older, played football, and before he could drive, his father picked both him and his brother up in a big black Cadillac. He was from an Italian family, but at the time I had no idea what that meant. He asked me to a dance so I teased my hair and bought a blue sequined dress at a consignment shop where opera always filled the air. The boy showed up at my front door with his mother and a corsage, and the deal was done.
Next thing I knew I was having lunch with his family. It had to be a Sunday. There were lots of people. Men in bow ties and beautiful half-naked women speaking in Italian and bathed in game show lights danced across their big TV. There was marble, Padre Pio and Madonnas (statues, not blasphemies) and the whole place seemed to sparkle.
I would also be escorted to school in that big black Cadillac and the marble palace became my second home. In the summer we would head to the beach house in Connecticut. Italian pastries were habitually purchased upon our departure for the coffee that we would have with the neighbours upon our arrival. We would then head for the beach leaving our elders behind. Lunch time brought countless faces to the table to speak in a tongue that I would eventually come to understand. We would then sit eating plates of food for what seemed like a very long time.
The older men were gathered at the end of the table, and when the meal turned to fruit they were always holding peaches. At the head of the table, there was Onone (Nonno) who put his peaches into strong homemade wine. This was my high school sweetheart’s grandfather and this is where he belonged. He was a light who performed an amazing show for which we never had to pay. His bluest eyes sparkled slapstick comedy and his words would be periodically translated as we doubled over in laughter with tears rolling down our cheeks. He laughed when he told us how he managed to steal his wife from another man and then would go on to detail the gruesome experience of hiding under a pile of bodies to save his life while fighting in the war in Algeria. He somehow managed to find humour in the somberest of stories.
My high school romance spilled over into the college years and I still spent holiday nights with my adopted family while my boyfriend worked in a pizza shop. Onone would encourage me to keep my eye on the owners’ daughters who would eventually cause the break. The split brought many tears when my sweetheart escorted me back to NYC, but in the end, they weren’t for him.
The last time I saw Onone I had known his family for close to ten years and regardless of the break, I always passed by for a long-winded chat and a little caffè. About a month later, upon my return from a trip to London, my mother met me at the airport to break the bad news. Onone had been killed in a tragic accident on his way home from the casino. A car had jumped the rail to erase the sparkle and steal the light.
I imagine that is when they ended; those beach day lunches that held so much laughter with the men at the head of the table who spoke a funny language. The days which included all of those families from far-away places who came together to douse their senses with the familiar. In the hours of those long afternoons, they seemed to go back in time, to hot Italian seaside locations where they once held those silky softball-size peaches whose taste embodies sunshine. I know this is part of what they had to be missing because I tasted them last year. Those unforgettable peaches. On a hot morning in Campania, we ate them for breakfast smeared with fresh ricotta as we prepared our bellies for a stroll among ancient ruins.
I never dared to dream that I would visit the little Italian towns that they would often name, but I was in their part of the country, and driving down their dusty roads so many years later helped me to understand why these people felt so at home in the heat, near the sea, drinking wine and eating peaches. This is why they dared to laugh a little more. They were with their brothers and sisters and their souls felt at home.
Amaretti-stuffed Baked Peaches GF + GrF
Pesche Al Forno.
Adapted from Culinaria Italy by Claudia Piras
Serves 4
INGREDIENTS:
4 ripe peaches
80g amaretti biscuits
40g ground almonds
4 tbsp sweet Marsala
1 egg yolk
2 tbsp raw cane sugar or honey
50g grass-fed butter
METHOD:
Preheat the oven to 180°C/350°F. Half the peaches and remove the pit. Crush the amaretti biscuits in a food processor or put them in a paper bag and crush them with a rolling pin. Mix the crumbs with 2 tablespoons of Marsala, ground almonds, egg yolk, and sugar. Spread the biscuit mixture in an even layer over the surface of the peach or spoon a bit of the mixture into the dent left by the pit using your fingers to recreate a little pit-like mound. Dot each peach with butter and arrange them a shallow ovenproof dish or baking tray. Spoon the remaining 2 tablespoons of Marsala over the peaches and bake 30-40 minutes.
The baking time will differ depending on the size of your peaches and strength of your oven. They are ready when slightly collapsing and tender the whole way through. Serve warm with Mascarpone cream, natural yogurt, gelato alla panna or alla crema and top with more crushed amaretti before serving.
*This recipe is gluten and grain-free.