table

Orecchiette with Pesto and Fresh Greens

I’m clinging on to Summer for dear life. I don’t want to let it go. The long days, the bright skies, the open-top boat rides out into the lagoon, and the lazy lunches al fresco under the shade of the unruly fig tree in our garden. The lethargy of summer: I will miss the lethargy of summer. 

Pasta con pesto is a dish that lends itself well to lethargy, be it of the Summer, Winter or autumnal variety. It’s essentially the lazy cook’s bliss: that precious kind of cooking which calls for very little actual cooking before you get on to the all-important matter of eating. A handful of fresh basil leaves, nuts, a little parmesan and indecent lashings of olive; throw together in a blender; and voilá: sauce so creamy it delights even the most gourmand of appetites.

An Interview with Sur La Table Founder Shirley Collins

45 years is a long time! As we start our anniversary celebration, we take a look back to where it all began with Sur La Table’s founder, Shirley Collins. From a table that’s hosted Julia Child to a unique solution to heating the store (hint: it involves rolling pins), she gives us the inside scoop on Sur La Table’s humble beginnings.

 

 

The joys of cooking in A Pleasant Little Kitchen

Call it kismet—a photo of homemade pop tarts led us to A Pleasant Little Kitchen. We were immediately struck by the way Rebecca White captures the spirit of home cooking—often using props and tools from our store. We reached out to say hello, and soon she was collaborating with us on recipe developments. A visit to her blog feels like cooking beside a lifelong friend. Big,… 

 

Our Favorite Cooking Couple: Thyme & Temp

We’ve been longtime fans of this passion project by fashion blogger Jane Aldridge and her fiancé Jeff Dashley. After discovering a common love for cooking and party planning, they created Thyme & Temp to share recipes and tales of their kitchen adventures. We enjoy following this fun couple on their quests, whether they’re recreating restaurant dishes they’ve discovered or perfecting their own twists on classic… 

 

Sunday Lunch

(& A Couple of Classic Spring Recipes)

Let’s talk about lunch: Sunday lunch. We had roast veal and crispy rosemary potatoes. I made a spring vegetable tart – which depending on where in the world you’re from, you might prefer to call a ‘quiche’, but basically is buttery pastry with a comforting egg-y, creamy filling. Threw together a cold salad of garden peas, barely blanched and drenched in grassy olive oil, then tossed with sprigs of fresh mint, tarragon and chunks of roughly chopped almonds. We had bread from the baker – a soft, pillowy, salty focaccia, covered in caramelised fennel, and a second loaf topped with finely sliced potatoes and heaps of rosemary (one of those odd Italian breads that you feel shouldn’t work but somehow really do). And then, of course, we had pudding: a simple ricotta cake, and a plate of frozen summer berries smothered in white chocolate sauce laced with golden saffron. We lingered on at the dining table into what you might charitably call late afternoon but really qualified as something closer to early evening – and it was bliss. In that way that somehow only Sunday lunches, spent in the company of good friends, can be.

There is so much we need to catch up on, so much to tell; and it is so very long since I wrote last, that I bow my head in an uncomfortable mingling of shame and guilt. I have many excuses and yet I have no excuse. But I’m sorry it’s been such a while, I miss it here and I will write more. All of which leads me to: let’s talk about lunch.

 

Il Dolce Far Niente

(& A Cozy Valentines Dinner)

This year, it rained. Valentines Day. It poured cats and dogs – or as we say in Italy ‘pioggia a catinelle’. We woke up to the sound of water gushing down, and we drifted off to sleep serenaded by that very same sound. Perhaps you could call it romantic. The rain in Venice always seems more dramatic somehow than rain anywhere else I have been before. Largely, because when it rains for a while, the streets begin to flood with acqua alta (high tide) in an apocalyptic fashion; everyone goes about their business in wellington boots, mackintoshes and knee deep in water. The sound of the rain, though, t’s beating down heavily on the roof and the stone grey pavements – that sounds most implacable when we’re at home, holed up by the fire.