A Year in a Tuscan Cooking School: November

Three menus, ten recipes, and a slow return to the heart of the kitchen.

Ciao and welcome to the eleventh chapter of A year in a Tuscan Cooking School. Each month, I open the doors of my cooking school to share a more intimate glimpse into daily life in Tuscany: its flavours, its people, and the gentle rhythm of the seasons. It’s a slow journey, like leafing through the pages of a favourite cookbook.

If you’re new to the series, catch up on what we’ve been cooking through the year — from hearty January soups to sun-kissed August vegetables — right here: January, February, March, April, May, June, July, August, September, and October.

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Before we dive into today’s newsletter, packed with links, recipes, and menu ideas, bear with me for just a moment. I have a special offer to share with you…

Until Monday night, you can subscribe to Letters from Tuscany at a reduced price. We rarely do discounts, and this will be the biggest one of the year.

It’s the cost of a good bottle of extra virgin olive oil, a beloved cookbook by your favourite author, or a long, chatty lunch in a Tuscan trattoria. In other words, a small treat that brings joy and inspiration.

With your subscription, you’ll gain full access to all paywalled content of the previous five years (!!): exclusive recipes, live cook-alongs, and our archive of recorded sessions.

🎁 Do you have a friend or relative who loves cooking, and reading about it?

Why not treat them to a year’s subscription to Letters from Tuscany? It’s a thoughtful and deliciously inspiring gift and yes, the 35% discount applies to gift subscriptions too. You can even choose the exact day they’ll receive their surprise email or print a gift certificate (download the pdf below).

A little Tuscan treat, delivered straight to their inbox.

What the low season looks like in my neck of the woods. And I wonder why this is the low season, when there is so much beauty to enjoy right now…

NOVEMBER

I open the shutters of our bathroom window in the early hours, just before tiptoeing into Livia’s bedroom to wake her up, and November is right there, in the thin mist clinging to the trees in the distance, turning the hills into floating islands; it is in the colours of the woods, shifting from brown to deep red and auburn, shades I would gladly wear; and it is in the dry scent of woodsmoke rising from my parents’ chimney. Mornings are cold now, and the embers glowing in the fireplace have surely ignited a new log the moment my mum placed it on top.

Along with November comes the low season, when classes become less frequent until they pause for the winter break. After months of going out, teaching, welcoming guests, and gently nudging my introverted self to meet the world with an open smile and a warm, chatty welcome, I find comfort in retreat.

This is the time I need to recharge my social battery, to dive deeper into my passions, to read, and to learn new things. My year is a careful balance of outward energy and inward focus, a rhythm of connection and solitude that keeps my creativity alive. I need both opposites, each inspiring me in different ways, each shaping who I am and what I share.

And, as every year, when I finally have a bit more time to myself, I go back to school.

I’ve recently gone back to school in the best possible way. I enrolled in an olive oil tasting course, something I’ve been meaning to do for ages. Every other week, we gather at the local bakery to learn about olive trees and olive oil, and, most importantly, to taste a range of samples in a professional way. It’s mind-blowing how much you can detect with just a sniff and a proper sip, from the bright scent of freshly cut grass to, unfortunately, the subtle note of toffee, a clear sign of unwanted fermentation.

And finally, I gathered a small group of friends for a foraging course with local expert Claudia Renzi. This will span an entire year and we’ll learn to recognise the wild herbs that grow in our landscape, the same ones my nonna knew instinctively, not by their scientific names, but by the playful, melodic words passed down through generations. Spraggine, cicerbita, pimpinella… they all sound like spells. I feel genuinely moved at the idea of learning to safely eat what grows around me, and at the same time, to preserve memories and knowledge from a times past (and of grandma, especially of grandma).

November cooking classes

Now firmly in the low season, we hosted just three market-to-table cooking classes this November. Three calm, beautiful days when we could linger at the market, choose the best ingredients from the stalls, and enjoy our time in the kitchen, while outside, the temperatures finally dropped enough to make soup necessary not just for the soul, but to warm us up from the inside out.

The first menu was built around a special request: colourful salads and plenty of seasonal vegetables.

• Gorgonzola and persimmon crostoni. Slice some good bread, toast it until crisp, spread generously with gorgonzola, and top with spoonfuls of jammy persimmons.

• Minestrone. Because when you have vegetable scraps, there’s really nothing better than a heartwarming minestrone.

• Pici with leeks, squash and guanciale. We made exactly this recipe.

• Fennel, orange and olive salad. Citrussy, refreshing, and Mediterranean.

• Puntarelle salad. Especially loved in Rome, and now luckily available at our market too. Puntarelle are the sprouts of a special variety of Catalonian chicory, slightly odd-looking, a bit alien-like. We tossed them with a dressing of anchovy, garlic, lemon juice and olive oil. Just add bread and you’ll feel transported straight to Rome.

• Arugula and capocollo salad. Capocollo, similar to prosciutto, but made from the pig’s upper neck (the same cut used for my beloved scamerita), is rich, savoury, and spiced. We dressed it with olive oil and balsamic vinegar, then scattered peppery arugula over the top.

• Pear and almond cake. Just like my apple cake, but with pears and some almond flour. Very close to this cake.

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The second menu, from the following week, reflected the colder weather and included a favourite of mine: boiled chicken and radicchio salad, something I often make in winter.

• Pear and pecorino crostoni. When I see those small, yellowish pears with blushing cheeks, I know it’s time for this. Lately I prefer sage to rosemary for the herb.

• Crostoni with gota cotta. My town is now known for gota cotta, a seasonal charcuterie you’ll only find in the colder months. Made from pig’s jowl, like guanciale, but instead of being cured, it’s boiled and spiced. We sliced it thinly and draped it over toasted bread.

• Minestrone. Again, for all the same good reasons.

• Pici with cavolo nero pesto. Our winter pesto, creamy, nutty, and deeply green.

• Boiled chicken and radicchio salad. You can make it with leftover boiled chicken or cook the chicken especially for the salad. Either way, you’ll have a pot of golden stock to use in risotto, soups, or even just to sip.

• Cantucci with almonds. Crunchy, rustic, and perfect dipped in vin santo or a cup of coffee.

• Roasted chestnuts. Just to be able to linger a bit longer at the table while chatting and shelling the roasted chestnuts.

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The third menu, our most recent one, had stark winter accents and that deep comfort that comes from rich, seasonal ingredients.

• Pear and pecorino crostoni.

• Sausage and stracchino crostoni. Once one of my favourite quick weeknight dinners, now officially the crowd-pleaser of our cooking classes.

• Roasted squash cappellacci, dressed with gorgonzola sauce.

• Pork liver and sausage skewers. A Tuscan seasonal delicacy. Pork liver is cut into large pieces, seasoned with breadcrumbs, black pepper, salt, and fennel flowers, then wrapped in caul fat: it ends up looking like a pork liver bonbon. We thread them onto skewers with sausages, cubes of bread, and bay leaves. (You can find the recipe in Cucina Povera, which is now heavily discounted on Amazon.)

• A bright pink radicchio salad. The perfect sharp, bitter crunch to cut through the richness of the pork skewers.

• Apple olive oil cake. Her. Livia’s favourite (and for good reason, it is excellent!)

The new season of classes

With the last class of the year on the horizon, it’s only natural to start thinking about the upcoming season. After a well-deserved rest, it will be time to freshen up the studio, at the very least with a sleek new coat of paint, reorganise the pantry, and dream up new dishes to enrich our cooking repertoire.

We’ll resume our experiences in March with something I’ve been looking forward to for months: our exclusive four-day masterclass with two dear friends and exceptional teachers: Enrica Monzani from A Small Kitchen in Genoa, and Flavia Giordano from SpaghettiABC.

This very special masterclass will take place from Tuesday 3rd to Friday 6th March, 2026.

Together with Enrica and Flavia, we’ll guide you through a unique experience that blends our regional cultures – Tuscany, Liguria and Puglia – our favourite cooking techniques, and the seasonal recipes we love most.

Alongside our daily hands-on classes, we’ll explore the countryside, visit bustling local markets, go foraging with a local expert, and enjoy wine and olive oil tastings at Tenuta Mensanello, a working farm and agriturismo nestled in the rolling Tuscan hills.

Would you like to join us? Do you have questions? Just reply to this email or leave a comment. There are only 4 spots left!

November’s favourites from the market, vegetable garden, and the hedgerows

Fennel

On an autumn market stall, fennel is quite unassuming. Gone are the feathery fronds that adorn its sweet, crisp bulb in the fields. Instead of standing tall and dignified as it does in its natural state, fennel bulbs are usually prosaically piled up next to more charming vegetables: squashes of all colours and shapes, fractal-shaped Romanesco cabbage, and blistered cavolo nero with its beguiling bluish shades.

Fennel, though, is an unsung hero of the colder months. You can enjoy it as it is, its crisp wedges dipped in new olive oil along with a pinch of salt, what we call pinzimonio in Italy, or thinly sliced in a Mediterranean salad with blood orange segments and meaty black olives. If it’s comfort rather than refreshment and clarity of flavour you’re seeking, roast it with lemon and garlic until slightly charred on the edges, bake it under a thick blanket of béchamel, or sauté and dress it with cacio e pepe.

Quince

Quinces are knobbly, woody, and inedible when eaten raw. Yet, their floral, fruity fragrance can linger in a kitchen for months, hinting at the magic they hold within. When cooked with sugar, these unassuming fruits reveal their potential and undergo a remarkable transformation: their dry, ligneous flesh becomes butter-soft, and their pale color deepens into every shade of red. Thanks to their high pectin content, quinces easily turn into clear ruby-red jelly, dense jam, or—most traditionally—cotognata, a thick, dark red fruit paste beloved in every Italian region, from Trentino Alto Adige to Puglia and Sicily.

I enjoy them roasted in the oven in a thick, glossy spiced syrup until they take on a burnt orange shade the colour of a winter sunset.

Persimmons

In these early days of winter, with white skies veiled by a thin mist, persimmons are small wonders of nature, clinging tenaciously to the bare branches of exposed trees. Driving through the Tuscan countryside, they can be spotted from afar, a spontaneous festive decoration to welcome the return of winter. In the courtyards of homes, in gardens, lovingly tended or abandoned to their fate, the trees are weighed down by orbs as sweet and sticky as jam: it is the peak of their season.

I’ve always considered jammy persimmons a meal in themselves, a perfect afternoon break to enjoy simply with a spoon. But they are much more than that. They are, in fact, a versatile ingredient. Lately, we’ve been spooning them over crostoni already spread with gorgonzola. A delicacy.

Now it’s your turn. What’s been simmering on your stove this November? Hit reply and share your favourite recipe, ingredient, or story from your kitchen – I read every message, and I love hearing what you’ve been cooking.

Bean and farro soup, a comforting winter dish

Ten recipes for the colder months

• Persimmon risotto with pancetta and goat cheese. The persimmon makes the risotto slightly sweet, but the other ingredients perfectly balance the final taste of the risotto. The browned pancetta adds a savoury richness while the melting goat cheese contributes with a slightly acid and creamy touch. This risotto is like a hug, a seasonal and festive dish.

• Cauliflower and cannellini soup. This soup is thick, warming, consoling, a good way to use your leftover beans and, mostly, a meal on its own.

• Bean and farro soup from Garfagnana. Opt for a variety of beans rather than for just one kind of bean: this adds layers of flavors, textures, and colours that make every soup or stew more interesting.

• Blood Orange and Fennel Salad. Bright, fresh, and full of contrasting flavors, this classic winter salad is a family favorite. Thinly sliced fennel and juicy blood oranges come together with a sprinkle of fat black olives for a bold, zesty dish that balances rich holiday meals beautifully.

• Fennel Gratin. Cooked fennel is the definition of comfort food for me. Baked until golden and bubbling with extra virgin olive oil, garlic, grated Parmigiano, and a touch of lemon (or mandarin) juice and zest, this dish can easily steal the spotlight when paired with some crusty bread.

• Fennel cacio e pepe. In this version, fennel leans into its sweeter, softer side. I slice it thinly and pan-fry it until just tender, letting the edges catch a bit of colour. Then, while it’s still warm, I treat it to a generous handful of grated Pecorino Romano and a good crack of black pepper. Just like cacio e pepe, but without the pasta.

• Braised cabbage with sausage. “Use one sausage per person,” says Antonio. “This isn’t a side dish after all, but a main course to eat with plenty of bread for cleaning your plate.” This is how Antonio, known at the Piazza Cavallotti market in Livorno as the “king of lettuce,” explained the following recipe to me, with its fragrant garlic in a bit of olive oil, and chilli pepper, too, that ingredient we now know to be vital and abundant in the Livornese cuisine.

• Cocoa crostata with a persimmon and hazelnut filling. A crostata, a shell of short pastry and a filling which can range from jam to marmalade, from fruit compote to fresh fruit, chocolate spread and custard, is a humble dessert that suits all the seasons. This is especially festive, with a short pastry flavoured with cocoa powder and a filling of persimmons and hazelnuts. It has the colours of autumn and the sweetness of a moment of relaxation with a cup of hot tea.

• Quince paste. It is a thick, dark red fruit paste beloved in every Italian region, from Trentino Alto Adige to Puglia and Sicily.

• Pan co’ santi. Pan co’ Santi is a dense, spiced Tuscan bread, studded with raisins and walnuts, enriched with red wine, extra virgin olive oil, and sugar. What looks like a rather heavy and dense bread loaf is indeed what ushers in the Tuscan festive season.