Oops, burned the bottom of the pot last night. I've been playing around with a new recipe from Antonio Carluccio's excellent book on vegies. Usually new recipies are a snap. Like the look of it and off I go; mostly get them right first shot, definately by the second.


I'm a real Casanova for ingredients ~ have my way with one, love it tenderly, passionately then having tired of its charms, say, "Its all over, there is another I love more, but we can still be friends." Mostly they aquiese in this arrangement, but sometimes it requires all my seduction skills to win their hearts. Artichokes, cauliflowers, eggplants, I've wooed and won them all.


Aaaah, my new love. Sigh. How can I tell you how beautiful she is. Sigh ......


Gently I undress her, caressing her out of her pod, so gorgeous with speckled white and pink flecks; so fresh, as time has yet to dry her charms.


Wonderful fresh borlotti beans. *


There is something satisfying about borlotti beans when fresh. They look wonderful, but sadly turn into Cinderella after midnight upon cooking; kind of a pink plain Jane. This drab exterior hides a rich creaminess that partners most foods. When cooked well.


They say in golf that you are not really hooked until you crack a great shot straight down the fairway; with borlotti beans I'm all slice and hook. I mean I burned the beans ~ twice ~ even with a simmer mat. Let me hasten to add that they weren't cooking in water, the beans were in a pot with crushed tomato and pasta and everything thickened right up. Maybe I should have been stirring the whole way ~ but that's not my way, not even for that notorious pot sticker, polenta. But that's a whole other story.


So I have a plan. The defences of this wonderful bean will melt like the polar ice caps suffering global warming. Hmmm, that sounds too severe, maybe more like the ice in my scotch.


I'll let you know right after cleaning the pot.


* I think they're sometimes called cranberry beans.