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Sardinia is an island divided between sea and mountains: the mountains and the sea. While the coastline is most spectacular in the low season, it is the island’s mountainous interior that takes on new life at this time of year. The November landscape resembles an English April: lush with grass, the once scruffy sheep now plump and graceful, their long-legged lambs gambling in the open countryside. The mornings are dewy, the trees are mostly evergreen, so there are no bleak and barren landscapes; instead the eternal silver of olive leaves and the rich brown earth of exposed cork trees. The Corbezzolo, or strawberry tree, is covered in clusters of tiny white flowers, which are gradually replaced by nature’s Christmas baubles, the spiky, spherical red fruits that blossom in the wind.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve spent the holidays the wrong way. Working as a chef, my days off would often be in the middle of the week, and I would work New Year’s Eve, Easter Day, bank holidays – most national holidays. Such is the life of a hospitality worker. Galleries were seen, restaurants tried, places always visited on darkest days in darkest hours; the twilight life of those who work to meet the needs of others. I didn’t mind at all. I actually adored it. 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 those in July. With temperatures capable of reaching the mid-teens even in the middle of winter – where you’ll find yourself stripping down to short sleeves, contemplating a swim in the azure water and even catching the faint whine of a distant mosquito – it’s hard to really equate this mild, dormant season with the cold, dreary winter we know here in the UK. And then there’s the food.
In mid-summer, stone fruit and giant melons go easy on you and cheeky, fleshy tomatoes burst with juice, but it’s the out-of-season produce that gives me real pleasure. Winter is citrus time, and the glossy green trees are laden with lemons and oranges that hang over the walls and gather in the gutters. There are blood oranges, small, smooth and unassuming, cut open to reveal the violently fiery interior, with juice and peel the very essence of the orange, but mixed with an almost raspberry flavor. There are spiny artichokes, pale waxy green with wild yellow spikes, which snap and crackle in the hand. I like them finely chopped and tossed in herbed young olive oil. The olives are also harvested in winter, around November, while they are still green, and the village crackles with the sound of the mechanical arm shaking the fruit from their branches.
While the island is seen almost exclusively as a summer destination by tourists, who come in search of the inevitable spaghetti con vongole, charcoal-grilled squid and gelato, the winter food seems almost more representative of Sardinia’s rough and wild character. . The famously strong flavors make sense in these months, like the rich, dark, winey stew of cinghiale (wild boar) slow-cooked with soft, bitter freshly picked olives, which have a different flavor and texture. from any jar or canned food. i know These olives are soft and melty, like a cooked grape, and there are full-bodied red wines to wash it all down. Cannonau is the most famous – strong in percentage and fruity. There are also tangy, nutty, crumbly or creamy pecorinos that precede, finish or even make up most meals, and there are chestnuts roasted in large vats on the street and shoveled into small paper bags to be picked with ash-stained fingers as you get yours outing around cold cobblestone streets.
Summer food can be smooth and sweet like peaches and cream, but it’s winter food that excites me because it’s a time of contrasts. From the electric, vital freshness of citrus, the invigorating tang of my beloved bitter greens; the juicy crunch of puntarella offset by a tangy, salty anchovy sauce, and it’s also time for sweet and earthy baked beans; for rich ragùs and glossy pasta enriched with fresh egg yolks. We will build a fire and burn the olive wood we have cut from our trees, baking fresh semolina dough over the flame and sprinkling it with freshly pressed oil.
Yes, winter here has its own magic, made all the more special by the fact that so few are here to witness it. There, the secret is revealed.
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. Make-up, Helene Vasnier at home. Photographer’s Assistant, Marlee Pasinetti. Designer assistants, Aylin Bayhan and Elsa Durusseau. Local production, Voltura Sardinia. Production, City. Shot at Hotel Pitrizza. Special thanks to Anne-Laure Pandolfi
