A Year in a Tuscan Cooking School: March
What we cooked, learned, and grew this March—one moka at a time. Plus, the recipe for coffee ricciarelli
Welcome back to A Year in a Tuscan Cooking School, now in its third chapter. Each month, I open the doors of my cooking school to share a more intimate look into daily life in Tuscany: its flavors, its people, and the gentle rhythm of the seasons. From market finds to the memorable encounters during our classes, every story is rooted in the beauty of what’s fresh and in season.
This isn’t just a monthly update. It’s a slow journey, like leafing through the pages of a favorite cookbook. Each installment is an invitation to pause, reflect, and delve a little deeper into the heart of Tuscan food and culture. If you're new to the series, you can revisit the first two installments here: January and February.
Thank you for your warm feedback on this experimental column. They inspire me to notice the little things, take notes, and keep sharing these glimpses of Tuscan life with you.
MARCH
Deer far out in the fields—such a curse for farmers and vineyard owners, yet for me, they’re a sure sign that spring has arrived. I often spot them from a distance during my walks. I stop. They stare. I stare back. Then they vanish, and I carry on, feeling as though I’ve just come face to face with my wilder self.
March has been the last quiet month before our cooking classes begin again in April. We took the opportunity to give the studio a good spring clean—I even polished my copper pots and pans—and reorganised the pantry from top to bottom.
We hosted just one class in March, with a lovely returning couple from Texas and two friends visiting from the Netherlands. The menu hinted at the season’s change: alongside prosciutto and young local pecorino, we served a raw artichoke salad with slivers of pecorino di grotta (aged in a cave) as our appetiser.
For the first course, we made potato and artichoke tortelli, dressed with a gorgonzola sauce (I’ll be sharing this recipe soon as part of our Easter menu). The main course was scamerita (pork neck chops), brushed with mustard, coated in breadcrumbs, and pan-fried until golden, served with a bright, crunchy salad of radicchio and radishes.
We finished the meal with the first strawberries, macerated with lemon juice and sugar, and a generous spoonful of warm, silky zabaione.
I also spent some time in the garden, just before coming down with a seasonal flu.
Livia and I planted fava beans and peas, terribly late by any sensible schedule, but we did it anyway, simply for the joy of watching her pick fresh pods straight from the plants, popping them into her mouth with such delight, eyes fixed somewhere in the distance, completely in awe.
I separated and repotted our strawberries and wild strawberries, and added a few new plants to our little berry patch. Livia adores strawberries and raspberries just as much as she adores the sweet crunch of young peas.
After a trip to the nursery at Agricola Legniaia in Florence, we expanded our herb collection as well. Alongside our usual favorites—sage, rosemary, thyme, lavender, tarragon, oregano, marjoram, and calamint—we now have pineapple sage and two varieties of mint. (I know, mint grows like a weed in most gardens. Except mine. So I bought it again.)
What about you? Have you started noticing the little signs of spring where you live? Are you baking, planting, or sipping something seasonal? I’d love to hear what March has looked like in your kitchen. Reply to this email or leave a comment!
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