Garden to Plate
A taste of Abruzzi’s culinary traditions
Abruzzi has a long history of culinary traditions, known for aged red wine with flavors of fruit, spices, and earth, lamb skewers, pasta, and olive oil. These foods are enriched by the Mediterranean coastal weather and the cool mountain air. It was here I met Serena, her best friend, and Lola. All three helped me discover how a delicious Italian meal can be made. The best part was that I could go into the farm and harvest what we would be cooking.
Many readers with backyard gardens or farms can easily pluck vegetables from the vine. For them, it might be fun or maybe a chore. But living in NYC, in an apartment, I don’t have that luxury, so this was a novel experience.
Armed with a basket, I went down the path and learned what Lola liked to eat. “She likes everything—milk, grains, and fruit, everything nature provides,” Serena said.
Hello Lola! I’ve never met a cow with so much expression in her eyes, but Lola was one such creature. She was attentive and interested until she spotted her cornmeal. The cornmeal was simply crushed corn, nothing more. Serena told me that Lola is under 10 years old and produces excellent milk. I soon learned that Lola was the source of the cheese we’d eat.
As we continued to the field, Serena chatted about the onions, garlic, zucchini, string beans, and potatoes we needed. She was checking on the tomatoes when she noticed a fig tree. She reached up and squeezed a few, pointing out that the yellow ones, not the green ones, were ripe.
We didn’t waste time and moved toward the field. I asked about pesticides, and Serena explained that they carefully choose plants that don’t attract pests. “When you buy plants, sometimes you put little animals in your garden,” she said. “But sometimes the nature belongs. They eat a little, but not all.”
Instead, they preserve seeds where they can, and if bugs show up, they leave them alone to ensure they can eat the food from their garden. “It’s not a problem if the garden isn’t perfect or has a few bites taken—no problem,” she said. “Just that the plants are good.”
I asked her thoughts on packaged foods. “Full of plastic,” she replied.
We arrived at rows of vegetable plants beside a wheat field. The wheat waved blissfully, unaware of how charming it was to a New Yorker. Meanwhile, Serena was feeling the heat.
“We have to get to the garden early, around 5 AM, when it’s cool,” she said.
She knelt to cut zucchini, noting how generous this plant had been. Gently moving its leaves to harvest the vegetables, she explained, “We like to plant the vegetable garden near the olive trees. It’s a gentle, ‘empathetic’ plant. It helps water our vegetables in the warm season, like today. In our culture, the olive tree is like God’s tree.”
Eventually, I joined in, cutting string beans and filling my basket. You could see the novice farmer in me. Serena hoed the soil to expose some potatoes. She took a few. And gathered some tomatoes and cut the zucchini from its plant. With a few tomatoes, zucchini, and lettuce, we were set.
We headed inside with overflowing baskets. Serena quickly prepared a cheese board, and I realized how lovely it could be with just a few select items. Why do we Americans serve so much food? No one ever eats it all.
Flowers peeked out from the lettuce leaves. The tomatoes reappeared in Serena’s hand. The salad was at rest, draining, and had a calming effect, a moment of reflection on how food can bring peace. This is probably why I start every day with a salad for breakfast. It’s light and crispy, like Serena’s, and I can add whatever I have—peppers, carrots, even cooked cabbage and artichokes. The connection between her flower-adorned salad and mine with vegetable toppings made me happy.
The ravioli-making, however, made me a little nervous at first. But Serena and her friend laid it out in a way that made it simple, even though they were working by eye and memory. They started with soft wheat flour—about 100 grams of flour per egg—along with some semolina, olive oil, and some salt. Serena’s friend cracked three eggs into the flour and scrambled them, gradually picking up the flour until everything was mixed.
While her friend worked on the pasta, Serena prepared the cheese filling. She said, pointing to each block of cheese: “My sheep’s cheese aged 2 months, my sheep’s cheese aged 4 months, a bit of Caciocavallo from my cow, my ricotta cheese, and a little Parmigiano Reggiano from Parma.” The ricotta was made with only whey and salt.
This process intrigued me because even in high-end restaurants, I often feel ravioli fillings could be more creative and substantive. Why not chunks of mushroom and fresh spinach? Or ground veal with spices? Now I was learning how to experiment with fillings on my own.
Side by side, Serena and her friend mixed and kneaded dough on a wooden table that had witnessed many meals. I asked Serena more about the region and its people.
“The local people are shepherds,” she explained. “Abruzzi is a shepherd’s region. They were the lowest part of society, so the food is simple. In my grandmother’s home, nothing was wasted. They didn’t throw food away because they were poor in the past. We have our grandparents to thank for the life we have today.”
Our dough was ready. If you press it and it bounces back, it’s ready. We cranked it through a hand-operated pasta machine. “Electric one,” Serena joked as she turned the handle.
Serena’s friend cut a piece of dough, flattened it, and fed it through the machine, folding it and adding flour as needed until it was a long, thin strip. I wondered if it would get too thin, but the folding helps maintain thickness.
My task was simple: scoop the cheese onto the dough, leaving space between each ball. While I worked, Serena added fresh nutmeg to the cheese. We covered my efforts with another strip of dough and then outlined each piece to form the ravioli. Using a rim of a drinking glass, I cut them out as circles.
The ravioli went into a pan with zucchini, while Serena sautéed red onion and rosemary for the pink potatoes. Once everything was plated and set before me, I dug into a meal to aspire to at home. I kept thinking - simple, clean, from the ground to the table. Try to choose foods that fit that kind of journey. It’s cumulative, and it adds up if it’s not good. Serena may be in Italy, but she, her friend, and Lola are on my mind when shopping.
After lunch, I tried moving an olive press, gaining a new appreciation for the role of a donkey in this work!