I’ve been meaning to give Nora a proper intro for ages now so, finally, this is she. Hello Nora. Reasons given are: she’s a great cook, a firm farmhand and a good soul. She also has a toothless smile, a grip to cripple you and the ability to make kubdari (Georgian flatbreads stuffed with spiced beef or
Mornings in Svaneti, high up in the Georgian mountains, follow a slow rhythm. It’s a purposeful rhythm, but unhurried, methodical, each person with their job to do. Chabu chops wood, old Nora stokes the fire, Zaza brings in the eggs and a bucket of potatoes, the cows are milked, coffee made, the ducks and piglets
Steaming pans of scrambled eggs and fried chanterelles, piles of eggy bread with lashings of creamy cheese and ajvar, doughy bread fritters with sweet jam and – my favourite – oozy, rich cicvara (pronounced seets-vuh-ruh)… Bosnian breakfasts are meant to be approached with an empty stomach and the willingness to fill it. They are, much
I’ve fallen in love with Georgian khinkali. Soft, juicy, wonton-like dumplings, with a thick, doughy outer layer encasing herby ground meat, potato or cheese. It seems the entire Georgian population share this obsession. You can eat khinkali everywhere. But go into the northern mountains that surround the villages of Kazbegi and Pasanauri where they say they taste best. Probably because
I’ve been working and staying in Piemonte, a region in the north-west of Italy, for just over two weeks now. It’s a place of extreme beauty. Sheer forested mountains, rolling vineyards, clear lakes, running rivers, immense waterfalls, trickling streams, hot sunshine and tremendous thunderstorms. Every morning, I wake up to the sound of cows being