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Sardinia is an island divided between mare and mounti: the mountains and the sea. While the coastline is most spectacular in the low season, it is the island’s mountainous interior that comes to new life at this time of year. The landscape in November resembles an English April: lush grass, the once skinny sheep now plump and attractive, and their long-legged lambs frolicking in the open field. The mornings are covered in dew, the trees are mostly evergreen, so there are no desolate, arid landscapes; instead, the eternal silver of olive leaves and the rich earthy brown of exposed cork oaks. The corbezzolo, or strawberry tree, is crowned by clusters of small, bell-shaped white flowers, which are gradually replaced by nature’s own Christmas decorations, pointed, spherical red berries that sway in the breeze.
For as long as I can remember I have had my vacations backwards. Working as chefmy days off were usually weekdays and I worked on New Year’s Eve, Easter Day, holidays (most national holidays). This is the life of a hospitality worker. Galleries were seen, restaurants were tried, places were always visited on the darkest days and in the darkest hours; the twilight life of those who work to meet the needs of others. I didn’t mind at all. In fact, I adored him. There was nothing better than feeling like I had a normally busy corner of London to myself.
I feel the same about the off season in Sardinia. Maybe I shouldn’t write this and I should keep it a secret, but there are some days here in January that are far superior to any in July. With temperatures capable of reaching 10 degrees even in the dead of winter, where you’ll find yourself wearing short sleeves, contemplating a swim in the aching blue waters, and even catching the faint buzz of a distant mosquito, it’s hard to really match this gentle season of sleep with the freezing and gloomy winter we know here in the UK. And then there is the food.
In the height of summer, stone fruits and giant melons easily please me and cheeky, fleshy tomatoes swell with juice, but it’s the out-of-season produce that gives me the real pleasure. Winter is citrus season, and the bright green trees are laden with lemons and oranges that hang from the walls and pool in the gutters. There are blood oranges, small, soft and simple, split open to reveal a violent scarlet interior, with juice and zest of the very essence of the orange, but mixed with an almost raspberry acidity. There are the prickly, waxy, pale green artichokes with fierce yellow spikes, which snap and squeak in your hand. I like them thinly sliced and tossed with fresh, herbaceous olive oil. The olives are also harvested in winter, around November, when they are still green, and the field vibrates with the sound of the mechanical arm that shakes the fruits from its branches.
While tourists see the island almost exclusively as a summer destination, coming for the inevitable spaghetti with vongole, grilled squid and ice cream, winter food seems almost more representative of Sardinia’s rugged and wild character. The famous strong flavors make sense in these months, like the rich, dark and vinous cinghiale (wild boar) stew simmered with freshly harvested tender and bitter olives, which have a taste and texture unlike any jar or can we know . know. These olives are soft and melting, like a cooked grape, and there are full-bodied red wines to go with it all. Cannonau is the most famous: strong in percentage and fruity flavor. There are also spicy, nutty, crumbly or creamy pecorinos that precede, finish or even make up most meals, and there are chestnuts roasted in large cauldrons on the street and shoveled into small paper bags, to be chopped with fingers stained with ash as they go. you take passenger through the cold cobblestone streets.
Summer food can be as mild and sweet as peaches and cream, but it’s winter food that excites me, because it’s a time of contrasts. From the electric and vital freshness of citrus fruits, from the invigorating flavor of my beloved bitter vegetables; the juicy crunch of puntarella, offset by a tangy, salty anchovy dressing, and it’s also time for sweet, earthy braised beans; for rich ragù and bright pasta enriched with fresh egg yolks. We will light the fire and burn whatever olive wood we can from our trees, toasting fresh semolina sourdough over the flames and drizzling it with the freshly pressed oil.
Yes, winter here has its magic, made more special by the fact that there are very few here to witness it. There the secret is discovered.
Letitia Clark’s latest book, Wild figs and fennel: a year in an Italian kitchenis published by Hardie Grant at £30
Model, Bibi Breslin at IMG. Casting, Piergiorgio Del Moro and Helena Balladino at DM Casting. Hair, Alexander Soltermann at home. Makeup, Helene Vasnier at Home. Photographer’s assistant, Marlee Pasinetti. Stylist assistants, Aylin Bayhan and Elsa Durousseau. Local production, Voltura Sardinia. Production, People. Filmed at the Pitrizza Hotel. Special thanks to Anne-Laure Pandolfi