The Venetian kitchen

The Venetian kitchen Venetian roots • London kitchen
Recipes, stories, living with the seasons. From our family tables to yours.

Last Saturday at the market, we spotted some beautiful giant Savoy cabbages. They reminded us of home right away, and of...
03/10/2026

Last Saturday at the market, we spotted some beautiful giant Savoy cabbages. They reminded us of home right away, and of how their arrival somehow marked the beginning of autumn in all its glory.

Fabio looked at me and said, “Oh, let’s make our stewed Savoy cabbage. It’s been a long time.”

So, we started choosing our favourite, taking our time to look at them. As we were choosing, two young women stopped beside us.

“What is that?”

We have to admit, we were a little puzzled at first. Surely everyone knows what a Savoy cabbage looks like?

Well, not necessarily.

This one still had all its outer leaves and looked quite different from the neatly trimmed 'supermarket cabbages'.

So, we told them it was a Savoy cabbage.

“And how would you cook that?”
And just like that, a little market conversation turned into a recipe exchange.

We told them about our stewed Savoy cabbage, but also about using it in soups, or even fermenting it. We don't know if they ended up buying one, but we like to think that somewhere out there are now two more people who know what a Savoy cabbage is and what they could do with one.

Walking home, we started talking about how much this reminded us of going food shopping with our mums when we were children.

If they saw an ingredient they had never cooked before, they would simply ask the greengrocer, butcher or fishmonger who would tell them how to cook it, and people waiting in the queue would join in too.

Recipes travelled that way, through little conversations that were simply part of everyday life.

And we love that. Sometimes all it takes is a little curiosity, and the willingness to ask a question.

So next time you see an ingredient you don't recognise or have never cooked before, don't be afraid to ask:

“What is that?”

You never know where the conversation might take you and what you may end up cooking for dinner.

And if you are curious about our stewed Savoy cabbage, you can find the recipe in the side dishes recipe section of our website. It may not be the prettiest dish to photograph, but we promise it is very easy and very good.

We hope you like it as much as we do. ❤️

Agnes (and Fabio, sitting next to me)

Yesterday, Fabio spent the day cooking at the Harvest Festival at Brixton Windmill & Gardens, first preparing lunch for ...
28/09/2026

Yesterday, Fabio spent the day cooking at the Harvest Festival at Brixton Windmill & Gardens, first preparing lunch for the wonderful volunteers who give their time to make this community event happen, and then cooking for the guests who came along to enjoy the day.

This is always a lovely way of giving something back to a place that has become quite special to us.

For many years now, we’ve chosen Brixton Windmill as the home for our cooking classes because we believe in what the Friends of Windmill Gardens are doing here: caring for this extraordinary piece of London’s history while keeping it at the heart of the local community.

And there is something particularly special about the fact that the windmill is still doing what it was built to do. The millstones are still used to mill flour, just as they have been for generations, and the wholewheat flour produced here is still available to the local community. And trust us, it is really good flour.

So yesterday, while Fabio was cooking, there was something rather nice about knowing that we were contributing, in our own small way, to a place where food, history and community continue to come together.

We’re very grateful to the Friends of Windmill Gardens for all the work they put into keeping this place at the heart of the community, and for letting us be a small part of it. ❤️

And, of course, a huge thank you to all the volunteers who gave their time yesterday. Without them, days like this simply wouldn’t happen.

We didn’t take many pictures yesterday. Fabio was, unsurprisingly, rather busy cooking! But we still wanted to share a little of this lovely event and, more importantly, help spread the word about the Windmill and all the wonderful work happening here.

Hopefully, next time, some more of you will come along and discover this very special place for yourselves. ❤️

And if you’d like to join us at the Windmill for one of our cooking classes, a couple of places have just become available for our October class following some cancellations. You can find all the details through the link in our bio.




Gnocchi is humble food. Potatoes, flour, eggs (if using), and time. Nothing fancy, but somehow it always feels like some...
28/09/2026

Gnocchi is humble food. Potatoes, flour, eggs (if using), and time. Nothing fancy, but somehow it always feels like something special.

We both grew up with food at the heart of family life. It was never an afterthought. Everything was cooked from scratch, nourishing but humble, with honest flavours. Both our families came from modest beginnings, so food was about making the most of what you had. And in the hands of our mums, a few simple ingredients could become something magical. You bought what was in season, cooked with what you had, and shared ingredients and recipes with your neighbours.

On many Sunday mornings, we would come downstairs to find the potatoes already boiling and the ragù gently simmering. Before long, we would be in the kitchen, sneaking spoonfuls of ragù straight from the pan when mum wasn't watching (even though of course she was) and helping make the gnocchi.

Looking back, we realise just how much those moments meant to us, and still do. We can still see them when we close our eyes. We remember the smell of soffritto and ragù, the hands working the dough, those pieces of bread dipped in sauce, and knowing that lunch was going to be something special.

We remember the laughter, learning the little secrets, and feeling that we were part of something special too. And we were so proud to say, “I made this.”

Some foods and recipes don't just fill our plates. They take us somewhere and make us feel something.

This is the feeling behind our gnocchi al ragù recipe. A simple dish, but one that carries so many lovely memories with it, and perhaps reminds many others of their own Sunday lunches too. ❤️

If you decide to make it, we hope it brings a bit of that same warmth to your table. We’d love to hear about the memories it brings back for you, or the new traditions it starts.

For me, making pasta by hand is deeply satisfying. A deliberate choice to slow down, working flour and water until they ...
23/09/2026

For me, making pasta by hand is deeply satisfying. A deliberate choice to slow down, working flour and water until they become something else entirely.

There is something almost meditative about taking the humblest of pantry staples and turning it into a living canvas, ready to welcome whatever it meets. And while autumn usually turns our eyes to the land, something in me, an instinct rooted in memory, turns to the sea, too.

Wandering the autumn market, I find the clams piled on ice, glistening at the fish stall. The colder months are when vongole come into their own, just like my mum always told me. She always trusted the fishmonger's word without question. "These are good ones, at last," he'd promise.

They always take me back to my grandfather, too, and the fish he'd bring home after a day out on the water in Venice. It's autumn, the world around us has already started eating pumpkin, and we're eating vongole instead.

Back in the kitchen, it only takes minutes. They hit the hot pan with garlic, olive oil, and parsley, opening up to release their salty, sea-rich juices. Nothing extra, nothing hidden.

With a sauce this simple, making the pasta by hand feels even more right. Just semolina flour, water, and time. And maybe that's what I love most about making it from scratch: something made from almost nothing, but so beautiful, bringing everything else together, simple as it is.

The recipe for fresh linguine alle vongole is coming very soon, with a story from my family I can't wait to share.

Fabio

Growing up in Italy, Sunday lunches often meant one thing: fresh pasta or gnocchi al ragù, followed by little sweet past...
20/09/2026

Growing up in Italy, Sunday lunches often meant one thing: fresh pasta or gnocchi al ragù, followed by little sweet pastries, or 'pastine', for dessert.

Our mums would start the ragù sauce early in the morning, letting it simmer on the stove for hours. That is the true secret of a good ragù: you simply cannot rush it. It needs time, and somehow, that was part of what made Sunday lunch feel special.

Because it was the weekend, our mums would let us sleep a little longer. We would wake up to that incredible smell filling the entire house, and we knew it was going to be a special day straight away.

And, of course, we couldn't resist. We would rush down the stairs and try to steal a spoonful of ragù straight from the pot with a piece of bread, while our mums shouted, "Stop eating that, or you'll ruin your lunch!"

By the time we came downstairs, the potatoes would already be boiled, hot and ready on the counter. We both have such fond memories of helping our mums mash the potatoes, mix the dough and roll out the gnocchi.

Making them from scratch is a bit of a labour of love. Nothing complicated, but you have to follow the right steps. And, while there is nothing wrong with taking shortcuts when you need to, homemade gnocchi and a ragù sauce that has had time to simmer are hard to beat.

Of course, each of our mums has her own cherished recipe for both gnocchi and ragù, and neither is written down. As they both say: "You go by the eye. Sometimes you need more flour, or more egg, sometimes you don't. Then, in doubt, just taste it."

So, we took the best bits from both of our families, combined them, and let Fabio add his expertise as a lifelong lover of gnocchi. The result is our very own version, made with love and respect for the traditions we grew up with.

Even now, making it takes us straight back to those Sunday mornings in our mums' kitchens, and we hope it brings a little of that feeling to your table too.

The recipe for our gnocchi al ragù is now on the blog. Find the link in our bio, take your time with it, and perhaps make it into a special Sunday lunch of your own. 🍝✨

Have you ever heard the Italian saying, “Ridi, ridi, che la mamma ha fatto i gnocchi”?Literally, it means “Laugh, laugh,...
13/09/2026

Have you ever heard the Italian saying, “Ridi, ridi, che la mamma ha fatto i gnocchi”?

Literally, it means “Laugh, laugh, mum has made gnocchi.”

But the interesting thing is, Italians don't say it when gnocchi are actually on the table. It’s a playful expression used when someone is laughing a bit too much, a gentle tease that says “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

No one really knows where it comes from, but some say gnocchi were once such a special treat that kids couldn't stop smiling when they knew what was for dinner. We love that theory!

Whatever its origin, it captures something we love about Italian family life: food isn't just what we eat. It’s woven into our language, our humour, and our memories. And surely, smiling at the thought of homemade gnocchi is a habit worth keeping!

Usually, we let the food do all the talking. But so many of you asked to see the faces behind the kitchen counter, so we stepped in front of the lens. And a plate of classic gnocchi al ragù felt like the only right choice.

It took a few attempts to get the pictures ok-ish! First we had our faces in focus, but not the dish. Then we had the dish but missed our faces. By the time we got a good picture, we had eaten half the ragù and were laughing even more.

And really, how could we not? Fresh, homemade gnocchi and a pot of rich, slow simmered ragù are enough to put a smile on anyone's face. It’s the dish that always reminds us of traditional Sunday lunches growing up, sneaking spoonfuls of ragù straight from the pot and going back for seconds because we could never eat enough.

As September settles in and the evenings start to turn cooler, this is exactly the kind of comforting family meal we crave. The kind that makes you say “oh yum!” with the biggest smile before you even take your first bite.

We are fine tuning the recipe right now, so keep an eye out, it’s coming to the blog very soon! We hope it brings a big smile to your table, too. 🍝😊

September, a month of gentle change. The end of summer, the beginning of autumn. It’s almost here, but not quite yet.Dep...
12/09/2026

September, a month of gentle change. The end of summer, the beginning of autumn. It’s almost here, but not quite yet.

Depending on where you live, that might mean cooler mornings and evenings already, dreaming of fallen leaves and cosy, warm colours to embrace you, or simply that you are beginning to feel ready for something a little warmer and more comforting.

Our kind of September lives somewhere in between. We still want to make the most of the last tomatoes, the late summer light and those meals that taste of sunshine, but there is also something lovely about slowly bringing heartier dishes back to the table.

Today, we’ve decided that lunch is going to be a bowl of minestra di riso e pomodoro, tomato and rice soup. We’re already looking forward to wrapping our hands around the warm bowls and settling in for lunch.

The tomatoes still bring a little taste of summer, while the warm broth and rice make it feel like we are slowly stepping into the new season.

This is a dish we both grew up with, and one that says so much about cooking in the Veneto countryside. When we were kids, our mums would always tell us, “You need to eat some minestra, it’s good for you.” And they still say it when we visit. Some things never change.

It’s proper humble Italian cooking. Just simple ingredients, cooked simply, that leave you feeling good.

And before pumpkin season officially hits and the web tells us that everything should be pumpkin spice flavoured (which we love, don’t get us wrong!), let’s enjoy those beautiful tomatoes for a little while longer.

There will be plenty of time for everything that comes next.

The recipe is on the blog, link in our profile.

Wishing everyone a beautiful Sunday, and plenty of good things to cook, share and enjoy this September. ♥️

Fabio & Agnes

Last Saturday at Oval Farmers’ Market, I spotted something I couldn’t walk past.A celeriac, still with its leaves.I got ...
12/09/2026

Last Saturday at Oval Farmers’ Market, I spotted something I couldn’t walk past.
A celeriac, still with its leaves.

I got chatting to my friend Guillermo, from Brambletye Fruit Farm, and he told me that so many people these days don’t recognise celeriac when they see it like this. They are so used to finding it in supermarkets, trimmed and pale, that a whole celeriac can look like something completely different.

And I can understand why. We rarely see a celeriac like this anymore. This one was fresh from the farm, still green and leafy, with all its rough, knobbly character intact. When I brought it home, Agnes couldn’t resist taking a couple of photos. I agreed. It was a beautiful vegetable.

I think we should celebrate vegetables like this more often. The real vegetables, before they have been cleaned, trimmed and packaged for us.

How often do we stop and think about where our vegetables come from? What they looked like when they were growing, who grew them, or what they looked like when they were first pulled from the soil?

We have become so used to finding everything ready for us that sometimes we forget to look at the food itself, and at the work that goes into growing it.

Celeriac is also a vegetable I have a particular affection for. It is deeply rooted in Veneto, especially around Verona, where it has long been part of local cooking. It reminds us that Venetian food is not only about the lagoon and the sea, but also about the rich, fertile land of the Veneto.

So, this is my little ode to celeriac.

A vegetable that is often forgotten, a little rough around the edges, but full of flavour, history and possibilities. And, in its own small way, a reminder of what it means to reconnect with the land and the people who grow our food.

And this is certainly not the last you will see of it here. We have a few recipes in mind, including some that go well beyond the usual celeriac mash or roasted celeriac.

Because even the most modest root deserves to be noticed, cooked and celebrated, especially when we remember the soil, the people and the work that brought it to our table.

And now, let’s see what the market brings this weekend.

Fabio

Today we are sharing the cake that September always brings back to us. A soft, nostalgic yoghurt and rose loaf cake, or ...
04/09/2026

Today we are sharing the cake that September always brings back to us. A soft, nostalgic yoghurt and rose loaf cake, or Italian 'plumcake'.

When we were children, there was something about September mornings. The soft early morning light coming through the windows, schoolbags waiting by the door, and breakfast together before the day began. In Italy, that breakfast often meant plumcake.

The funny thing is, there isn't a plum in sight. It is usually a soft yoghurt loaf, flavoured with lemon and vanilla, and for us it has always been the taste and smell of those mornings, of warm kitchens and cakes made by our mums.

Agnes' mum would often make her plumcake when there was more homemade yoghurt in the fridge than the family could eat. And because there was usually even more yoghurt left, Agnes would eat her slice dipped into it, spoonful by spoonful.
For our version, we have kept that soft, tender crumb and the gentle flavours of lemon, vanilla and yoghurt, but added a delicate splash of rose water.

The inspiration comes from San Lazzaro degli Armeni in the Venetian lagoon, where the monks gather fragrant roses each spring and summer and preserve their petals in sugar, capturing their fleeting fragrance for the cooler months ahead.

We loved the idea of bringing a little of that fragrance into such an everyday cake, making it feel just a little more grown up, while keeping everything we remember about it.

Because some flavours have a way of taking us straight back to the kitchens we grew up in, sitting at the breakfast table again, no matter how many years have passed.

We love it with our softly whipped yoghurt cream, bringing even more yoghurt back to the table. But it is just as lovely sliced straight from the loaf. Or you can always do as Agnes used to do: dip a piece straight into natural yoghurt.

Our Italian yoghurt and rose loaf cake, or Italian plumcake, is now on the blog.

A little taste of childhood, and of those September mornings that stay with us long after the schoolbags have been put away. 🌹🍞

Find the recipe through the link in our bio (linktree) and on our website.

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