Galimberti - In Her Kitchen: Stories and Recipes from Grandmas Around the World

Copyright 2014 by Gabriele Galimberti

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Clarkson Potter/Publishers, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York.

www.crownpublishing.com
www.clarksonpotter.com

CLARKSON POTTER is a trademark and POTTER with colophon is a registered trademark of Random House LLC.

Selected photographs previously appeared on Slate.coms Behold blog (May 2013).

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Galimberti, Gabriele.

In her kitchen : stories and recipes from grandmas around the world / photographs and text by Gabriele Galimberti.

pages cm

Includes index.

1. Cooking, International. 2. Galimberti, GabrieleTravel. 3.

Grandmothers. I. Title.

TX725.A1G325 2014

641.59dc23

2013050635

ISBN 978-0-8041-8555-4
eBook ISBN 978-0-8041-8556-1

Cover design by Stephanie Huntwork
Cover photographs by Gabriele Galimberti

v3.1

If someone had told me, on the day I left my parents house at age twenty-two, that I would end up traveling around the world, I wouldnt have believed it. I had rarely ventured far from home. Once a year, I went to the Tuscan coast with my family for fifteen days or so, and I had been to Venice and Apulia on school trips, but that was about it. I grew up in a little town, in the province of Arezzo, with a population of fewer than fifteen thousand. Its tiny historic center is enclosed within ancient walls, and a single medieval tower commands a view of the surrounding farmlands. Some of those fields belong to relatives of mine: my aunts and uncles, my cousins, my grandfather, my grandmother. That is where my familys roots lie, and there is not a family member who hasnt worked those landsexcept for my mother, a schoolteacher, who was the first to break the tradition.

For generations, my familys ways were those of country folk, based on firm principles: patience; respect for others; and an unwavering commitment to protect and honor the natural environment. Ours was, therefore, also a heritage of passion for foodgood food. I have clear memories of meals at my great-grandparents house, celebrating events that marked the turning of the seasons: the grape harvest and the first new wine; slaughtering the hog; killing a duck at feast times; the harvest of the cantaloupes and of the watermelons; the wild-boar and pheasant dinners at the opening of hunting season. I can still recall the yearly olive harvest and the delicious, slightly spicy taste of that fragrant, freshly pressed oil.

I remember the love with which my mother or grandmother prepared the lunches I took to school. Sometimes it was a simple sandwich, but more often it consisted of a meal, prepared in the early morning while I still slept. Spaghetti with tomato sauce, chicken with lemon, fresh vegetablesthe same dishes they would have served me had I stayed at home. I was raised and nurtured by good country food, exquisitely prepared. That is how I ended up being a healthy six feet, two inches, taller than anyone in the generations that came before me.

Everyone in my family hoped I would become a surveyor like my father. But against my parents wishes, I enrolled in photography school in Florence. They adjusted their expectations and soon became convinced that, before long, I would open a photo studio in my little town, where I would earn my living by documenting weddings, communions, and baptisms. However, once I had my degree, I began to look beyond my towns walls. After a few years, a well-known Italian magazine took me up on my idea of traveling around the world as a couch surfer for two years. I proposed that I would create weekly features for the magazines readers, chronicling my experiences traveling through more than fifty countries with nothing but my camera, computer, and journals.

There were only two weeks from the day I signed the contract to my scheduled departure, so I had very little time to get used to the idea of being away for so long. Most important, I had to find time to visit everyone in my family and take my leave. I started with my more distant relativesmy aunts, uncles, and cousins. Finally, with my departure just a week away, the time came to say good-bye to my grandmother. My only remaining grandparent, she lives just thirty yards from my parents house. Every day of my childhood, she watched me from her window as I played in the courtyard. In summer, when school was closed, my nonna would make me my lunch. In her eighty years, she has never gone beyond the borders of her Tuscany.

Of course, when I arrived at her house that day, lunch was waiting on the table. I sat down to eat with her and told her what I was about to do. Well, Nonna, I said, in just a week Ill be leaving to travel around the world. Im going to visit more than fifty countries and Ill be gone for nearly two years. Ill be going to Alaska, Zimbabwe, and Chinaeverywhere, pretty much. Ill stay with people from all over the world, in their homes. Ill take their pictures and Ill interview them. Theyre people I met on the Internet, people Ive never seen before, but theyre offering me a place to sleep. A magazine is paying me to do it. Isnt that incredible? Every week you can pick up the magazine at the newsstand here on the corner and see where I am and who Im staying with.

She just looked at me, her expression uncertain.

Dont worry, Nonna. Its safe! I found these people on a secure Web site. Theyve all got excellent reviews, which means that other people who have stayed with them have highly recommended them. I chose my hosts carefully, so dont worry. Besides, the countries where Im going arent dangerous. I mean, in some of them Ill have to keep my eyes open, sure, but theyre quiet places, for the most part. Nothings going to happen to me, youll see!

I spent more than a quarter of an hour trying to reassure her because I could tell that the whole idea frightened her. I could understand why she felt the way she did, after all. She had rarely left home and she had no idea what the places where I would be traveling were like. In her mind, anywhere farther than thirty miles from home was a strange and foreign land. Then, finally, she asked me her first question. It was then that I realized what her true concern had been all along.

But, Bagonghi, she said (she has always called me that, and I still dont know why), what are you going to eat? Are you sure you want to go so far from home? Whos going to make food for you? Ive heard they eat dogs in China, and in Africa they barely have any food at all! Stay here. Its better if you do. For lunch and dinner you can go to your mamas house, or come here to mine.

Her concerns had nothing to do with danger or with the job I had chosen to do! Her worries were simply about what I was going to eat.

I burst out laughing and said, Dont worry, Nonna. The world is full of grandmothers who know how to cook well. Just like you, theyve always cooked for their grandchildren with love. I promise you Ill go and eat in their homes and, to prove to you how well theyve treated me, Ill bring you pictures of the dishes they make for me, and copies of their recipes, too.