Rosemary

Maybe it’s my partially Tuscan blood, but I love sitting here, working while the doors to the patio are wide open.  The way it’s set up, it feels like outside is in here with me.  I love inviting the outside in.  The patio floor is terracotta, and there are some flowers along the wall.  It makes me feel like I’m back in Florence at a friend’s house in the Oltrarno.  The warmth makes it all the more real.

There is also a a rooftop terrace belonging to this apartment, with terracotta flooring and beautiful little tiles strategically placed around.  I take my lunches up there.  I like to drink my coffee up there in the mornings.  Snack on things like artichokes and olives (or helado) in the afternoon.  I’ve just put a rosemary plant there, which futher adds to the whole look of it and brings me even closer to Tuscany and Umbria, my two favorite regions.  Soon (the next day or so), I will get sage, basil, thyme, parsley and oregano plants to put next to the rosemary.  My large terrace shall soon be an herb garden.

But the rosemary, oh the rosemary.  Just the look of it brings back so many memories, not just of Italy but also Seattle – a long time ago I had saved a sprig of rosemary that was started from my great-grandmother’s plant.  I think I got it from my uncle after a family day of eating and playing games on the island (that would be Vashon Island – I always refer to it as the island, for future reference).  When my father died, I took that sprig of rosemary, by then quite dry, and placed it in his coffin.  He loved to cook, and he loved to cook with herbs.

Rosemary also makes me think of the sumptuous dinners I have had at my aunt & uncle’s house on Beacon Hill as well as one lunch in Cortona.  They have a business renting villas and apartments in Tuscany, and even when they are in Seattle, one can say that Etruria most certainly dominates the surroundings in their kitchen, in the way they have decorated and in their garden and cooking.  When I taste rosemary, the taste of green, peppery, almost spicey olive oil comes to mind, as does the sound of family laughter in two countries, two languages, combined with that familiar clink of wine glasses.

Yesterday I christened my rosemary plant by snipping off a piece and making rosemary fettunta (bruschetta).  I grilled some bread, rubbed salt and rosemary on it, and then drizzled extra-virgin olive oil on it – but not just any oil.  My aunt Nina sent me some gorgeous, unadulterated olive oil from olives harvested and pressed in Tuscany.  Lucky me! There is nothing like it.

Do I sound “elitist”?  You know, I don’t have a lot of money and I don’t own a villa in the Tuscan hills (instead I’m sharing an apartment that could use a fresh coat of paint), but the way I choose to live my life every day makes me feel rich inside (and particularly so when I manage to get someone to send me my favorite olive oil!).  My recipes and tastes may seem sophisticated but really, if you do your research, the most popular Tuscan dishes are based on a history of poverty.  I use the most simple, basic things, and yes they are available  here.  Garlic, bread, herbs (fresh or dried), wine, olive oil.  It’s all based on simple things that one creatively puts together.  To me, enjoying cooking and eating means appreciating each individual ingredient as a whole food.  Such as rosemary.

I may not be rich but  my rosemary makes me feel like a queen.