Information about the book
Introduction
Writing a cookbook always seemed like a daunting prospect to me. Not because of the work involved, but because I wondered how other chefs and cooks managed to stop at eighty or ninety recipes! To me, this felt like an impossible task. I had collected so many wonderful recipes over the years – how would I choose which ones to pen down?
So when it came to writing this book, I had to think about which recipes I really wished to share. I decided to include the recipes that encapsulated the inspiring moments of my life: the family recipes that encouraged me to travel and explore my heritage; the recipes that influenced my cooking style and changed my direction as a chef; and the recipes that truly fuelled my passion for the simple pleasures of cooking and eating. I thought about the Sicilian flavours that I wanted people to savour, the textures I wanted them to experience. And I thought about the joy of preparing a meal for family and friends, and the celebrations I wanted people to have.
Like many of us, I have bought a lot of cookbooks. I love to escape into the pages of stories and recipes filled with different ingredients and flavours, and those designer photographs that make it all look so easy and satisfying. When people asked me when I too would write a cookbook, I would give them a slightly panicked smile and simply say, 'Soon!' To be honest, I was worried: hadn't everything been done before?
But then I would go and facilitate a cooking class or recipe demonstration, and feel so honoured and encouraged by the response that I soon forgot my fears. People would tell me how inspired they were by my style of cooking – not only by the simplicity of the ingredients and techniques, but by the endless tips and substitutes, and the many variations that could be made from a single recipe. And so now I feel ready to pour myself onto the pages of a book, to tell my story and show my passion, and inspire others in the same way that Sicilian cooking has inspired me.
When I was three years old, my father took the family (my mother, older brother, baby brother and me) on our first trip to his homeland of Sicily. My earliest memories of this beautifully rustic land are of my zio's (uncle's) farm: I remember gathering freshly laid eggs as chickens and rabbits ran freely around; orchards filled with plump lemons and oranges, and grapes hanging from the vines like jewels; Zio Fifo entering the house with a lamb hung over his huge shoulders; and Zia Maria carrying a basket of home-grown vegetables (even then I was inquisitive about what they were, and how they would be used).
Exploring that farm as a young child was the most wonderful introduction to cooking that a budding chef could have. It was a peasant way of life, real and natural. My zio used every part of the animal. I watched with amazement as he cut the pigs for the bleed, and I was fascinated by how he coiled pork sausages around themselves and pierced them with sticks ready for grilling. As we all sat down to enjoy slow-roasted pork, knowing where the meat came from was never something that turned me away from eating it.
As I got older and our trips to Italy continued, I became aware of how special these eating extravaganzas were. I tasted all sorts of exotic and mysterious foods that I had never seen before – tripe, goat's head, pig's trotters and intestines, rabbit, wild fennel, broad beans, prickly pears, fresh pastas, grains, breads and all kinds of cheeses. I loved it all.
I soon joined my zias and my nonna in the kitchen. I would be the one sitting on a rickety stool, cleaning the garden snails, peeling the vegetables and washing the wild greens freshly picked from the adjoining gardens. Later, I rolled the polpette (meatballs) and stirred the pasta. It was through these experiences that I developed my passion for Sicilian food. I honoured the simple versatility that it offered; I loved the palette of colours and flavours that gave me seemingly endless choices on the plate. This was where my love affair started.
Because of this, the recipes of my Italian family are some of my most cherished. The recipes use such simple techniques that sometimes you wonder if there is more to be done. But the sheer joy of Sicilian cooking – soul-food cooking – is that it is what it is, without the fuss, foams and frozen powders. It is the honest, delicious food of a beautiful land and its people.
