Cottage (or shepherd's) pie with an Italian twist

This past Halloween turned out to be special in a very unexpected way. It also brought back yellow tinted* memories of a Halloween long ago, when I was a little girl.

 

But let me start from the beginning. You know how sometimes the strangest things happen, like when you bump into a person in a totally unexpected place, or when you find out that you and another person know somebody in common, the famous six degrees of separation?

I have had my fair share of these kinds of coincidences (the ones I know about, because I often wonder how many times I have crossed paths with people without even realizing it... but I digress).

 

Once, for example, when I travelled from Italy to Florida to visit my grandmother with a girlfriend. My boyfriend at the time was in London with his best friend staying at my sister's. On the spur of the moment, my friend and I decided to drive from Palm Beach to see some Italian friends staying in Fort Lauderdale. In the afternoon we were looking for a restaurant and got totally lost somewhere in the suburbs. We stopped at a strip mall to ask for directions and as I was getting out of our car I saw my boyfriend's father drive right by me... I was so surprised I literally jumped on the trunk of his car to stop him. He was in the States on business and had just visited a client. Needless to say, we were both speechless.

Blueberry apple pie

 

 

 

  

I will be honest with you, I made this pie about three weeks ago, so it has taken me more than a while to post about it and if I wait any longer, berry season will be over although it is just starting!

 

Blogging has taken a bit of a back seat in the past week or so. I have been spending long hours in the office and a lot has been going on. I feel like I am stuck in some TV show where people wear power suits and talk about mergers, acquisitions, migrations, black out periods and financial jargon that I don't even know how to use appropriately most of the time. So far so good, but I suspect there will be some ugly susprises ahead.

 

 

 

The few moments when I did have a chance to blog, my absolute priority was reviewing Tori's book because she had been so sweet to send it to me immediately and I was afraid that with everything that was going on it would, unjustly, sit on my desk for weeks before I got another chance.

So here I am now, posting about pie when pie is the last thing I can eat these days.

  

The time has come for me to cut down on calories and get in some extra exercise. It has been raining so much lately, I haven't been keeping up my normal running schedule and the winter months (I like to convince myself it was just them) have left their mark. My tummy is growing at an alarming pace and seems to have taken on a deceptive shape.

 

 

 

You know your no-pie time (perhaps this is a good instance to use the phrase black out period???) has come when two people (men for Pete's sake!) in three days enquire about your, ehm ...ripening state.

So, fine. You laugh it off when the octagenarian hanging out on a bench while you are helping your kid with his dangerously melting ice cream cone asks you whether your next one is a boy or a girl (trying to ignore the fact that this is usually a question people ask when you are visibly pregnant, definitely more than 4 months). After all, said octagenarian has little else to do all afternoon and he did witness the combined lethal effect of bending over AND forgetting to suck in your stomach whilst concentrating on dark dark chocolate dripping all over the place. It has happened before and it will happen again (although admittedly you had hoped not quite so soon). Big deal!

 

 

 

But when you are on your morning run and another runner crosses your path and gesticulates at your stomach with a surprised yet admiring look as if to say "expecting and running - you go girl!"...

That, Mr., is what I call crossing the line. Why the f*** do you think I am out running at 6am if not to get rid of that belly which, incidentally, is not THAT big???

Mental note to self: don't feel too good about yourself when all that running you have been doing starts giving you more shapely legs because apparently when the whole of you was out of shape, at least you looked fat and not pregnant!

So yes, I am not eating pie these days, but a girl can dream, can't she? Delicious flakey, buttery crust, warm cinnamony apples, juicy bursting berries, sweet crimson juices and cold vanilla ice cream... just make it because you can, will ya?

 

 

 

Sweet cherry pie for my sweet

My baby turned two yesterday so even I, despite being a somewhat delusional smitten mother, can no longer justify calling him a baby. He is now officially my big boy or my little guy.

Last summer, inspired by all the blogs I read, I bought a cherry pitter on sale.

I know this has no connection with what I just wrote, but bear with me.

It was already the end of cherry season so I put it away and by the fall I knew I had bought yet another one of those kitchen utensils that would end up at the back of my kitchen drawers. However, as summer came round and cherries started appearing at the market and at our table, I thanked my lucky stars I had bought that gadget.

You see, my son is cherry obsessed, he cannot get enough of them. He is also a toddler, with all the fixations that ensue. There is no way he will eat a cherry that I lovingly prepare for him by cutting it into small pieces (to get rid of the pit and to ensure he doesn't choke). Nope, he does what his big sister does, thank you very much, and believe me, he has his ways of convincing us. I will leave it at that.

Enter the cherry pitter, my best friend (I already have a lover), my saviour. Mommy and Daddy quickly pit a few cherries and he gets his bowl of round, red whole spheres minus the pits and he is happy as a lark. And so are we. No more ear plugs required at the dinner table.

So I decided to make him a cherry pie for his birthday. He nibbled at it, like my kids mostly do around cake, and even had a cherry. It was a success.

So happy birthday, little guy.

My little guy, who sings "to youuuu" every time someone says happy birthday to him (in Italian and English).

My little guy, whose canines are as pointy and sharp as a wolf cub's. And don't ask me how I know.

My little guy, who loves cows and monkeys above all, except his sister maybe.

My little guy, who repeats whole sentences, gestures and intonations without really saying a word.

My little guy, who offers his cheek when asked for a kiss.

My little guy, whose legs turn to jelly when he doesn't want to do something.

My little guy, who still loves it when I kiss the sole of his feet like when he was a teeny baby.

My little guy, who drinks water like there is no tomorrow.

My little guy, who sings along to any song he hears.

My little guy, who was an ugly duckling that is turning into a swan.

My little guy, who never wanted to come out and left sagging tummy skin visible signs of protest.

My little guy, who proves to me daily that I was wrong, that it was much better having a little boy instead of another girl.

Happy birthday baby big boy. I love you.

Adapted from Smitten Kitchen

Victory! Double crust, shortcrust raspberry pie

Remember I mentioned I was having trouble uploading photos in my last post? Well, what happened was I had used up my available memory so I had to buy more memory space. This and the fact that it coincided with my facing one of my biggest fears (along with baking bread, de-boning a bird and... well, a million other things), baking a pie, made me think. I started this blog in the summer and in no way realized I had already uploaded more than 750 photos until blogger notified me. That is 4 months of recipes, photographs, thoughts, followers and new friends. And a pie.
 

 

I am still new to this blogging world, but I have already gotten so much out of this experience. My photographs have gone from bad to better to worse again (thank you autumn light and evening cooking!) but I still learned much more about photography and food styling than I ever thought I would.  I have "met" blogging companions from all over the world and been graced by their encouraging comments, their daily support in this endeavour and their creative ideas. I have found an outlet for my creativity, a space that is all my own, a place were I am plain old me and not an employee or a mother. Last but not least, this blog has pushed me out of my comfort zone, making me try things I probably never would have attempted before, even in the privacy of my own kitchen...and here I am reporting and photographing my disasters and failures for all to see! Life is funny that way...

Thank you for being there with me step after step.

Pecan pie for the 4th of July

This year Americans all over the world got to have their 4th of July BBQ since it was on a Sunday and my family and I spent the day on the Lake of Monate, that is less than an hour from Milan and a really picturesque area. The lake is a great place to swim in when the heat in the city is as sweltering as it was here yesterday (over 35°C and extremely humid) and after a nice dip in the cool water three half Italian-half American families went to a friends' home to grill some burgers, meat and shrimp. I was asked to bring a side dish, a cous cous salad I often make in the summer that I will write about very soon. But I felt I also wanted to make something really American. It had to be quick and easy given I had two kids running/crawling around the apartment calling for attention and it was so hot I wanted to get out of the kitchen asap. I also had a bag of pecans sitting in the cupboard I had been avoiding for quite some time that I knew I had to use up.