Fewer shoulds, more coulds
A summer letter, a short reader survey, and roasted pepper rolls with tuna and capers
And so summer has arrived.
It did not come quietly, or stealthily, as spring does. It burst wide open in the sky, along the country roads, across the golden wheat fields, under the majestic oaks whose intertwined branches offer a little refreshing shade. It burst among the raspberry bushes that Livia raids every evening, and on the market stalls, where the countless shades of red, pink, and orange of the ripe tomatoes catch your eye as soon as you walk past them, until the spicy scent of melons draws you further on, like a siren song announcing that summer is here.
As I water the flowers I planted in the bed in front of the studio, I realise that, once again, I have made the wrong choices. Lonely stems, rather frail little flowers, suffering from the heat, the sun, and the wind that comes from the sea, the kind of wind I find myself breathing in deeply, dreaming of afternoons among waves and sea-salty air.
I make a mental note: next year, this spot needs tougher, low-maintenance shrubs, perhaps lavender and helichrysum, plants that can move in the breeze, thrive under the sun, and offer nourishment to bees, butterflies, and bumblebees.
This is what summer does to me.
On the one hand, it exhausts me. Cooking classes intensify, the heat drains me, the nights in our attic bedroom are long and sticky, and I live for those fresh mornings when I feel myself coming back to life a little, just like the flowers under the living room window, enjoying those few moments of relief from the heat. I would like to eat nothing but tomato salads and fruit.
On the other hand, I still have this childlike approach to summer: the days feel longer, more fluid, and I loosen the strict organisation and rigid structures that help us, and carry us safely, through the winter months of school and work. We go to bed later, in the evening we eat outside, putting together whatever there is, and there are fewer rules, fewer obligations, fewer shoulds and more coulds.
All this gives me the illusion of having more time on my hands, more possibilities to do all the things I keep postponing: to read the books I have piled up on my bedside table, to try the new recipes that have been waiting for far too long in my notebook, to perfect my pizza, to test a new schiacciata, to study, to refresh this newsletter, and to plan the next season calmly.
Because we all know it: September is the true beginning of the year, and I would like to arrive there ready. Ready and rested, if possible.
So this week, before giving you the recipe for the roasted pepper rolls with tuna that open Cucina Povera, and so many of the summer lunches during our cooking classes, I would love to hear your thoughts. I want to understand whether what I have in mind for Letters from Tuscany also matches what you expect from it, and whether I can help, in some way, to make the time you spend in the kitchen at least a little more pleasant.
Because if we have to cook, let it at least be pleasant: from the moment we first read a recipe and begin to imagine it, to taste it in advance through the words that have been chosen, until those same words actually lead us into the kitchen, searching for ingredients between the fridge and the pantry, taking out the cutting board, knives, and bowls, and finally bring us to the table, tasting what at the beginning was only a collection of words and expectations.
I have an ambition for this newsletter, and I’ll share it with you because summer not only makes me a little reckless when it comes to judging my energy, my time, and all the open threads I keep following. It also makes me a little bolder.
I would love Letters from Tuscany to be a weekly dose of good energy: a place where you find reliable, tested, seasonal recipes, but also an excuse to pause and read, to take a deep breath, to add a book to your to-read list, to see a tired everyday ingredient in a new light, to slow down, and perhaps feel a little better and more nourished.
I believe in the power of carefully chosen words, of beautiful books, of recipes that make us feel at home wherever we are, and of everyday life that, when looked at with attention, can still offer moments of wonder.
This is why today I am asking for your help.
Before we jump to the recipe, I have prepared a short reader survey to understand what you would like more of here: recipes, stories, cooking techniques, travel notes, a deeper connection with Italian food culture, or something I have not thought of yet.
It will take just a few minutes, and your answers will help me shape what comes next: what is useful to you, what inspires you, and what makes you want to come back here every week. I’ll share what I learn in a future letter.
This week the recipe is open for everyone, as a heartfelt thank you for taking the time to answer the survey!
RECIPE. Involtini di peperoni alla piemontese. Roasted Pepper Rolls Stuffed with Tuna and Capers
Adapted from Cucina Povera by Giulia Scarpaleggia (Artisan Books). Copyright © 2023.
These Piedmontese-style involtini made with seasonal vegetables and pantry staples show off a perfect balance of flavours: on one hand, the smoky sweetness of roasted bell peppers, and on the other, briny tuna, blended with capers and anchovies into a smooth, velvety filling.
These are an ideal starter to serve at a summer garden party, as you can prepare them in advance and also easily scale up the recipe to make enough to fill a large platter. Or double the recipe to make a main course for two.
Serves 4 as a starter
4 red bell peppers or 4 jarred roasted red peppers (see Note)
Two 5-ounce/142 g cans tuna packed in olive oil, drained
2 tablespoons brined capers, rinsed
6 oil-packed anchovy fillets
¼ cup/60 ml extra-virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
2 tablespoons minced fresh flat-leaf parsley
Flaky sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
If using fresh peppers, preheat the oven to 450°F/230°C. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper.
Arrange the bell peppers on the lined baking sheet and transfer the pan to the oven. Roast the peppers, turning them frequently, until the skin is charred all over, about 40 minutes. If you want to further blacken the skin, pop them under the broiler for 5 more minutes.
Remove the peppers from the oven and, using tongs, carefully transfer them to a bowl. Be careful because they might contain steaming-hot liquid. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and let the peppers cool down completely. The steam trapped in the bowl will make it easy to peel the peppers.
When the peppers are completely cool, peel the peppers, remove the cores and seeds, and cut each pepper into 4 wide strips. Transfer to a bowl, cover with plastic wrap, and store in the refrigerator for up to 3 days.
Prepare the pepper rolls: In a food processor, combine the tuna, capers, anchovies, and 2 tablespoons of the olive oil and process until smooth.
If using jarred roasted peppers, drain well and cut each one into 4 wide strips.
Arrange the pepper strips on a work surface. Spoon some of the filling across the bottom of each strip and press it down gently, then roll up the pepper and place on a serving plate. Drizzle with the remaining 2 tablespoons olive oil and the vinegar, sprinkle with the parsley, and season with salt and black pepper.
Serve the involtini at room temperature. Any leftovers can be stored in the fridge for 2 days.
Note: If you don’t have time to make roasted peppers, check your pantry for a jar of good-quality roasted red peppers in oil. You’ll have a tasty starter made with cupboard staples in no time.
Questi involtini sono veramente divini ✨
“September is the true beginning of the year” … yes, yes, a thousand times YES!