It was one heck of a Tuscan marathon yesterday. Chicken roasting, Prada shopping, olive vineyard vista viewing, olive pressing, foccaccia making, chocolate orgy, of a day. I think I can say we loved it. As soon as we finished breakfast, we started cooking for lunch, wacking whole heads of garlic in half and out the side door to pick rosemary, marjoram, thyme and sage to stuff under the chicken breast before we shoved it in the oven and before we seared it. Because we could, we basted it every 10 minutes with white wine. We had it with a pasta tossed with fresh ricotta, toasted garlic, lemon zest, parsley, Parmigiano Reggiano and fresh arugula leaves, and a dessert of what I call Panna Cotta in truth is much more of our France’s creme reversee. (you can do what you want when you’re the cook.)
There was no choice but to leave all the dishes and make a run for it or there would have been no time to make it to Prada and then up the hill to the groves before the sun set, to the mill to be showered in a mist of olive oil passion and then a much needed break of coffee and sweet things before our pastry class at 6:30.
There is nothing that tops the chocolate room.
Silvio first gave us a chocolate of pure Vin Santo encapsuled by a crackly crystal ball of it’s own sugar, covered by a dark chocolate creamy shell, and flagged with 24 karat gold. Then chocolate in the shape of a demi-tasse, hazlenut covered in chocolate drage, and finally led us to a tap that poured pure, warm, liquid chocolate.
We made it home.
Puff pastry tortoises and Panbriacone for breakfast.