A breath of fresh air and a zucchini carpaccio
How one simple dish reminded me why I still go out to eat
On Sunday afternoon, as I lay in the dim light of Livia’s bedroom, with a soothing story playing in the background, lulling her (and me) to sleep, I heard the first, deep rumble of thunder. The kind of thunder that gives you a sense of the vast countryside sky, echoing among forests, tall oak trees, white dirt roads and valleys. After the thunder came a moment of still silence, then the rain: sudden at first, tentative, then gradually more intense.
It was one of those old-fashioned summer storms, nothing too violent, no damage apart from a few broken twigs, but it lingered all afternoon, cooling the air. I kept the shutters closed but the windows open, relishing the fresh breeze finally sweeping through the house after ten days of relentless heat.
Even though the downpour stopped in time for dinner, we ate indoors, windows flung wide open onto a countryside now glistening with raindrops. As bedtime approached, heavy clouds loomed again on the horizon, and I was woken at 5 a.m. by another fierce shower, rushing from room to room to close the windows.
For the whole time, I felt refreshed, energised, excited almost. Once again, I was reminded how the sweltering heat of the previous days had sapped my strength and dulled my inspiration.
So I sat down to write, decided to change the newsletter schedule, and let my thoughts wander in search of one of the last times I felt truly excited and inspired. And it was that lunch we had at Mensanello.
Tommaso and I don’t go out to eat very often.
It might sound odd, especially coming from someone who writes about food for a living: between cooking classes, testing recipes for books, and our everyday meals at home, food is woven into the fabric of our daily life. But I’ve made peace with the fact that living in a rather remote area doesn’t exactly lend itself to a varied restaurant scene, so I tend to seek inspiration elsewhere. Most of my ideas come from cookbooks—old and new—and newsletters, from chats with producers at the market, or from overheard conversations while queueing to buy a wedge of pecorino for our cooking classes.
There are indeed some excellent restaurants in our town (ranging from a two-Michelin-starred restaurant to cosy trattorias, as I shared in this foodie guide), but when we do venture out to try somewhere new, more often than not, we come away disappointed. Not because the food is bad, but because it’s predictable.
Chicken liver pâté on brioche (yes, you again). Ribollita. Pici with cacio e pepe, even in restaurants that once prided themselves on their ragù. These are all dishes designed for tourists passing through, not for locals who might actually want to come back. Just as often, you’ll find menus that haven’t changed in months. And this isn’t just a Tuscan quirk, as we’ve noticed the same pattern even beyond our region.
As I’ve shared in a newsletter last year,
I expect a traditional menu cooked with care and respect for seasonality and ingredients. I want to find those dishes I wouldn’t cook at home regularly because they require long, slow cooking or big quantities to be made by the book. I also order recipes I know very well, as if I have a good feeling about a trattoria I want to taste the way they cook something that already belongs to my cooking repertoire to improve my recipe, steal a secret—maybe a herb, or a pairing I didn’t consider—or simply relish the fact that I make it better.
Read more about it here: Hidden gems of Tuscany
Add to this our shared lactose intolerance, and eating out becomes less of a treat and more of a logistical puzzle. We’ve been served “dairy-free” cantucci made with butter (no, tranquilla, there’s no milk, just butter), and menus that ignore dietary needs altogether.
That’s why when we do find a place that surprises us — with freshness and simplicity, and lots of seasonal vegetables — we feel like we’ve won the lottery.
A couple of months ago, instead of having our usual lunch at home with friends, we went out to eat at Tenuta di Mensanello, a rustic agriturismo just outside Colle di Val d’Elsa.
This place holds a special place in our hearts: it’s where Tommaso and I got married seven years ago. We’ve returned many times since—for relaxed summer dinners, and even to celebrate Livia’s second birthday and her baptism— but this time something felt different. The menu was shorter, seasonal, and surprisingly well-balanced, with vegan options that didn’t feel like an afterthought or a compromise, but rather a natural part of the offering.
The real revelation came in the form of the simplest dish on the menu: zucchini carpaccio.
The word carpaccio comes from Venice, where it was coined in 1950 by Giuseppe Cipriani, founder of the legendary Harry’s Bar. He created the dish—thinly sliced raw beef dressed with a mustard-based sauce—for a countess who couldn’t eat cooked meat, and named it after the painter Vittore Carpaccio, known for the vivid red hues in his work. Over time, carpaccio evolved to describe any dish made of thinly sliced raw ingredients, including fish (I especially love prawn carpaccio) and vegetables, served with a light, thoughtful dressing. Just like that zucchini carpaccio.
At Mensanello we were served raw zucchini, shaved paper-thin, dressed with lemon juice, olive oil, and toasted pine nuts. That’s it. But it was bright, fresh, and exactly what I wanted to eat on a warm day. It was a dish that didn’t try to impress, but left instead a permanent feeling of satisfaction.
I made it again the very next day for lunch. And then again the day after that. Within a week, it had already become one of the stars of our cooking classes, a signature dish of this early summer.
This is exactly what I look for in a restaurant dish.
Something rooted in the season, honest in its ingredients, and open to a little reinterpretation. Something that sparks imagination and that I can adapt to my cuisine.
When was the last time a dish at a restaurant truly surprised you — in a good way? I’d love to hear your thoughts. Leave a comment and tell me: what makes you want to eat out?
Before we dive into today’s recipe, just a quick note to share a lovely chat I had with Emma and Dimity on their brand new podcast, Dinner Last Night. The show explores how parents around the world feed their families, and how this daily dance connects us all, in one way or another.
We talked about family dinners, what we usually eat at home, and the daily joys and challenges of cooking for Livia, who’s nearly five and already has very strong opinions. We touched on the importance of seasonality in our meals, my not-so-secret reliance on frozen food (mainly vegetables when I’m in a hurry), and even the myths and realities of contemporary Italian food culture.
I hope you’ll enjoy listening!
