Del Conte - Risotto with nettles: a memoir with food

Bomba di Panna e Marrons Glacs

Granita di Limone / Cotognata / Pasta e Fagioli della Vigilia di Natale

Cassoeula / Crema Fritta / Gnocchi di Patate

Zuppa di Pesce

Costolette alla Milanese / Polpettone di Bietole

Muscoli Ripieni / Picagge al Pesto

Crostata di Marmellata di Fichi

Risotto alle Ortiche

Coppa di Testa

Pollo Arrosto in Tegame / Tagliatelle al Prosciutto e Piselli

Tonno Arrosto con Senape

Elephants Turd / Crispy Apple Amber

Minestra coi Pomodori

Tortino di Sardine / Polpette alla Casalinga

Spaghetti with Marmite / Polentine

Tagliatelle Verdi e Zucchine al Sugo di Pistacchio e Basilico / Lepre in Agrodolce

Bucatini alla Carbonara / Pasticcio di Tagliatelle e Salmone Affumicato

Spaghetti al Sugo di Pomodoro

Risotto al Limone / Capriolo alla Alto Atesina

Le Dita degli Apostoli / Bollito Misto allAstigiana

Polpettone Casalingo

Vitello Tonnato alla Piemontese

Pasticcio di Tagliatelle e Funghi al Forno

Born in Milan, Anna Del Conte grew up in Italy in a gentler time. When war came to Italy everything changed: her family had to abandon their apartment and the city for the countryside, where the peasants still ate well, but life was dangerous As a teenager, Anna became used to throwing herself into a ditch as the strafing planes flew over, and was imprisoned, twice. Her story is informed and enlivened by the food and memories of her native land from lemon granita to wartime risotto with nettles, from vitello tonnato to horsemeat roll, from pastas to porcini.

Anna arrived in England in 1949 to a culinary wasteland. She married an Englishman and stayed on, and while bringing up her children, she wrote books which inspired a new generation of cooks. This is a memoir of a life seen through food each chapter rounded off with mouthwatering recipes.

Born in Milan, Anna Del Conte has written twelve influential books on Italian cooking (including the acclaimed Portrait of Pasta, Gastronomy of Italy and Amaretto, Apple Cake and Artichokes). Gastronomy of Italy received the Duchessa Maria Luigia di Parma award, and The Classic Food of Northern Italy won awards from the Guild of Food Writers and from the Accademia Italiana della Cucina. She contributed regularly to Sainsburys Magazine and received the Glenfiddich award for her articles in 1999. She lives in Dorset.

ALSO BY ANNA DEL CONTE

Portrait of Pasta

Good Housekeeping Italian Cookery

Pasta Perfect

Gastronomy of Italy

The Classic Food of Northern Italy

Secrets from an Italian Kitchen

Entertaining AllItaliana

Amaretto, Apple Cake and Artichokes

In memory of my husband Oliver Waley

WHEN MY EDITOR suggested that I write a memoir, I was thrilled, flattered and amazed. Who on earth would be interested in reading about my life? She explained: Anna, you were one of the first people in Britain to write about Italian food, and it is partly thanks to you that it is now so popular.

My agent spurred me on with her infectious enthusiasm. Think what a fascinating life you had, brought up in one country and finishing your days in another. You went through a horrific war at an age when other generations just went to parties and dances and, frankly, I have never heard of another cookery writer who was machine-gunned and who went to prison twice.

If I found it difficult to write this book, it was because I belong to a generation that was taught to be self-effacing. Vanity was the worst sin I could commit (it was taken for granted that Id be unlikely to kill or even steal). I remember an aunt of mine once told me how pretty I looked in one of my favourite dresses, a white cotton dress with red poppies all over and a smocked yoke. My mothers words of caution were: Dont tell her that or shell become too vain. I was never praised for my work at school and seldom congratulated on any of my achievements. It was also assumed that I would behave well, love my parents and never utter a word of criticism about them. I was expected to be grateful for everything I had, and that was that.

So, when I was asked to write my memoirs, I began to think about myself, something Id never really done before. True, I was born in one country and then lived mostly in another, so I am n carne n pesce neither meat nor fish as we Italians would say (neither fish nor fowl as we English would put it). Thats why friends in Italy say I am no longer Italian but English, while, here in England, my friends find me very Italian, although, they say, I dont seem to gesticulate as much as Italians do, nor do I show my emotions as Italians are supposed to do. Though my parents especially my father would have deemed any outward display of emotion unsuitable for a nice girl of my background, as would all their friends. It all sounds very Victorian England, but this was prewar Italy and I am sure the way my parents brought up their children was no different from that of their middle-class, Catholic contemporaries.

The problem is that I am myself unsure whether I am Italian or English. I am and feel Italian when I say something complimentary about Italy or the Italians, yet I say We, in England, when I want to praise the English. I dont intend to be opportunistic; its just the way I am. Now, in my old age, I feel more Italian than when I first came to Britain some sixty years ago. But surely thats because as we get older we revert to childhood preferences, in our likes and dislikes, going back to our roots.

With me, this is particularly noticeable in respect of food. I am now a devotee of unfussy food as I remember it being served in my Milanese home. By that I mean ingredients such as meat, fish or vegetables of the highest quality dressed or cooked with a modicum of best unsalted butter or good olive oil. But there are two changes in my table appreciation: wine and fruit. I now drink wine regularly, and with great pleasure, though in moderation; excesses of any kind are not me. When I was a child, I didnt like the taste and wouldnt even drink the due dita two fingers worth of red wine diluted with lots of water, which were administered to every Italian child from a very young age. I started drinking, as I started smoking, when I was seventeen, more for the impression it created than for the craving. As for fruit, I can only assume my dislike of it was simply a way of asserting myself against my mother, who believed that fruit was the provider not only of health and beauty but also of moral rectitude.

As a child, I was a finicky eater and, to a certain extent, I still am. I dont mean that I dont eat this or that I eat absolutely everything from tripe to fish eyes and kids head but I am selective. I am not a gourmand, but I think I am a gourmet.

Writing about myself and my life was a challenge but as soon as I began to recall the tastes and smells of my childhood, memories came flooding back and I felt inspired. So here is my story, a memoir with food.