One of the nine books that never leaves the overflowing shelf of my desk is Gillian Riley’s translation of a book by Giacomo Castelvetro. Castelvetro was born into a noble family in Modena in 1546 and died, penniless, in London in 1616. In between, he lived an adventurous and peripatetic life, which Riley describes nimbly in the introduction. What is significant here is that in 1614, while living with the Newton family at Elthem park, Castelvetro penned A Brief Account of the Fruit, Herbs and Vegetables of Italy, which is dedicated to Lucy, Countess of Bedford. A copy now permanently sits on my desk, alongside eight other books, unopened bank statements and other accumulated clutter.
Just 75 pages long and divided into seasons, it’s a lively, opinionated and overwhelmingly gentle book about the Italian fruits and vegetables Castelvetro loved (some of which were also grown in England). In her foreword to the translation, Jane Grigson notes that it was clearly a book written for a privileged, cosmopolitan group, and that Castelvetro had little idea of what the majority of the population were eating. This doesn’t make it any less of a joyful ode to the seasons and what they provide, with most of it still relevant today: broad beans and peas, sweet strawberries, leafy celery, the astringent delights of quince, speckled apples, feathery-topped carrots and chestnut-brown field mushrooms.
It is also an amusing book, with tales of pumpkins like buoys strapped to children while they learn to swim, a note on asparagus to aid those who find urinating painful, of fennel curbing wind and sweetening the breath, and celery stimulating both affection and libido, while spring salads purge us of the melancholy and unwholesome humour accumulated during the winter months.
Coincidentally, I have also reached the point where I’m happy to try anything that melts away bad vibes racked up over the last few months. At this point, I should probably make some sort of disclaimer about such claims. But even if it doesn’t work, I have still eaten a salad.
Castelvetro delights in spring, naming rocket as part of his mixed spring salad, which is also made up of tender chicory or dandelions, pale lettuce, sorrel, nasturtium leaves and flowers, and herbs (mint, tarragon, fennel shoots). Obviously this sort of thing is exasperating to those who don’t have a garden, but it’s also possible to make if you depend on markets, shops, and a window box, perhaps. While Castelvetro’s criticism of the English and our salads makes me bristle a bit, I get over myself for his sacred law of salads: plenty of salt, generous amounts of oil and a little vinegar.
I have also been eating rocket, tossed with spaghetti for a 14-minute sauce. These sauces are from the large and helpful family of dishes that can be made in the same time a pan of water takes to lumber to the boil (six minutes, if covered) and spaghetti to cook (eight minutes).
This particular 14-minute meal has the same effect on me as medlars had on Castelvetro.
Spaghetti with rocket, anchovies and ricotta
This sparky dish, inspired by food scholar Oretta Zanini de Vita, is a tangle of spaghetti with a slick of anchovy oil and a cap of lemon scented ricotta. Done efficiently, you should have also have seven minutes left over for a glass of wine.
Prep 15 min
Cook 8 min
Serves 4
100ml olive oil
1 garlic clove, peeled and finely chopped
50g black olives, roughly chopped (I like taggiasca or Gaeta)
4 anchovy fillets, drained and chopped
Salt
150g rocket
400g spaghetti (alternatively tagliolini, tagliatelle or farfalle)
100g ricotta
Zest of half a lemon
Black pepper
Bring a large pan of water to a boil. In a large bowl, mix the olive oil, chopped garlic, olives, anchovies and a tiny pinch of salt.
Remove the stalks from the rocket and discard, then tear the leaves into small pieces. Add to the bowl and set aside for 15 minutes.
Once the water is boiling, add some salt, stir, then add the pasta and cook until al dente – about eight minutes.
Mix the ricotta with the lemon zest, a pinch of salt, a few grinds of black pepper and a spoonful of the pasta cooking water to loosen.
Drain the spaghetti, tip into the bowl with the rocket, and toss. Divide between four bowls, and top each with a spoonful of the seasoned ricotta.
