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In Brunetti’s Cookbook, Donna Leon’s best friend and favorite cook brings to life these fabulous Venetian meals. Eggplant crostini, orrechiette with asparagus, pumpkin ravioli, roasted artichokes, baked branzino, pork ragu with porcini—these are just a few of the over ninety recipes for antipasti, primi, secondi, and dolci. The recipes are joined by excerpts from the novels, four-color illustrations, and six original essays by Donna Leon on food and life in Venice. Charming, insightful, and full of personality, they are the perfect addition to this long awaited book.
the recipe of Brunetti’s mother From Through a Glass, Darkly On the kitchen table, he found a note from Paola, saying she had to meet one of the students whose doctoral work she was overseeing but that there was lasagne in the oven. The kids would not be home, and a salad was in the refrigerator: all he had to do was add oil and vinegar. Just as Brunetti was preparing to start grumbling his way through lunch – having come halfway across the city, only to be deprived of the company of his
salted water for 2–3 minutes and drain. Arrange them on hot plates, sprinkle with the remaining Parmesan, and top with the butter and robiola cheese, both just melted. What Chiara tried to cook: Ravioli con funghi From A Noble Radiance He hung his coat in the cupboard in the hall and went down the long corridor towards the kitchen. Chiara turned towards him as he came in. ‘Ciao, Papà. Mamma’s teaching me how to make ravioli. We’re going to have them tonight.’ She held her flour-covered hands
onions. He took a glass from the rack beside the sink and pulled a bottle of Ribolla from the refrigerator. He poured a little more than a mouthful, tasted it, drank it down, then filled the glass and replaced the bottle. The warmth of the kitchen swept up about him. He loosened his tie and went back down the corridor. ‘Paola?’ ‘I’m here, in the back,’ he heard her answering call. He didn’t answer but went into the long living room and then out onto the balcony. This was the best time of day
Stone Up until that point, dinner had been a normal enough affair, at least as normal as a meal can be when it has been delayed by murder. Brunetti, who had been called from home only minutes before they sat down, had phoned a little after nine, saying he would still be some time. The children’s complaints that they were on the verge of expiring from hunger had by then worn down Paola’s resistance, so she fed them, putting her own dinner and Guido’s back in the oven to keep warm. She sat with
‘Spaghetti alle vongole,* spaghetti alle cozze,* and spaghetti all’ Amatriciana,*’ he recited and then stopped. ‘That’s all?’ Vianello couldn’t help asking. The waiter waved one hand in the air. ‘We’ve got fifty people coming for a wedding anniversary tonight, so we’ve only got a few things on the menu today.’ Brunetti ordered the vongole and Vianello the all’ Amatriciana. The choice of main courses was limited to roast turkey or mixed fried fish. Vianello chose the first, Brunetti the