That evening, coming home from work, I found my mother in the kitchen. She was preparing dinner, her glasses perched low on her nose, a faded apron that never quite kept oil splashes at bay, and an old wool sweater wrapped around her to stay warm. The wooden stove crackled in the corner, the heat spreading into the room like a familiar embrace.
Although it was barely seven o’clock, everything was nearly ready. My mother has always liked to be punctual in the kitchen. The table was almost set and a pot of minestrone simmered on the stove. From the sharp aroma in the air and the sound of the extractor fan competing with the news on the television, I realised she had burned the onion again. She often gets distracted: she sets the flame too high, adds the thickly sliced onion, and before she knows it the pieces sizzle, stick to the bottom and blacken. She never throws it away; instead she pours the frozen vegetable mix straight into the pot. The cubes hiss and spit, she covers everything with water and cooks until the soup reaches the exact colour and consistency she wants. The slightly burnt onion is the signature of her minestrone, it gives a smoky-sweet aftertaste. Over the years I came to recognise that flavour as the flavour of home.
“Mum, leave the minestrone for tomorrow. I’ll make a risotto tonight.”
Since I began reading food blogs, I’d discovered ingredients that had never crossed our threshold: butternut squash, for one. The sound of the knife slicing through the squash, the contrast between soft pulp and irregular rind, the little crackle when rice becomes translucent and starts to pop like popcorn — that was what I needed. I felt an urgent need to fold the roasted squash into the rice, stirring with determination and gripping the wooden spoon until I felt every fibre. I stirred until the squash dissolved into the grains, melting into a golden hue. Only that ritual could push away the sting of a bad day at a job I had chased stubbornly, a job that was slowly taking the glow off my face and draining my enthusiasm.
Once again, cooking was saving me.
In high school, I tried to make friends by bringing a homemade cake whenever there was a reason to celebrate, though I often ended up chatting recipes with my teacher or the janitor. Cakes didn’t make me as popular as sharing Latin notes, but they were an icebreaker during breaks.
My cooking skills proved useful at university: my lasagne opened the doors to many gatherings, even if I preferred to linger near the kitchen threshold rather than in the crowd. I began to understand that cooking was not only enjoyable, but also a resource — a therapy for difficult times.
That night, sitting at the table with a bowl of butternut squash risotto that had chased away the day’s tears, I told my parents and sister I was going to start a food blog. Saying it out loud gave shape to an idea that had been percolating for some time. I was the first to doubt it. Will it last as long as my other passions?
Later, in my bedroom above the kitchen, I saw my reflection in the window against the winter darkness: outside, only a deep night, the farmhouse lights that dotted the opposite hill in summer gone. I typed a few lines with sudden urgency and hit publish.
It was 1 February 2009 — the beginning of a new life.
Ten years have passed since that moment. In some ways they flew; in others, I cannot remember how life felt before the blog. It changed how I perceive the world: I pay more attention to the stories around me, to what I eat and what I cook. I hadn’t started the blog to transform my life, yet it did. Thanks to Juls’ Kitchen I now have work I love.
Through the blog I met Tommaso. I met you — the people reading these pages on a train, during a morning bus ride, at an office lunch break, or at breakfast before anyone else is awake. Some of you promised to try recipes and never quite did, while others know the ingredients of the apple cake and the pork loin by heart. I also met myself in the kitchen: a little shy, but always sure that something good was coming.
To celebrate 10 years of Juls’ Kitchen, we have a surprise for you.
We want to open the doors of our kitchen studio, invite you to sit with us, and chat over a cup of tea and a slice of apple cake — or perhaps to share a bowl of homemade pici. Over the years this blog has often helped bridge distance and time, making readers feel close, as if you were sitting on the other side of the screen. Thanks to events like our Fettunta Party and the many cooking classes, we’ve met readers in person, but it never felt enough. So for our tenth anniversary we’re running our first giveaway, and the grand prize is an in-person meeting between market and kitchen. Here’s how it works.
Giveaway prizes:
- 1st prize: Market cooking class for two people in our kitchen studio in Tuscany (flights and accommodation not included)
- 2nd prizes: a copy of our cookbook From the Markets of Tuscany
- 3rd prizes: Juls’ Kitchen aprons — because cooking together is more fun
How to enter — the rules:
- Like our Facebook page Juls’ Kitchen
- Follow @julskitchen on Instagram
- Like the giveaway post on Instagram and comment with your favourite recipe from Juls’ Kitchen
- Tag two friends on that post who might want to join the giveaway
The giveaway is open to participants of all nationalities and closes on 14 February. On 15 February we will go live on Instagram to draw winners and will announce them both on Instagram and here on the blog.
Update: the Winners
Congratulations to @azaharcuisine, @warmandwolly and @lauraelesuericette!
A request to celebrate these ten years
We’d love to hear from you: which post have you loved most over the years? Has a recipe become part of your family routine? Do you remember when you first discovered Juls’ Kitchen?
We’re also excited to share the latest project: today we launch Cooking with an Italian Accent, the first podcast from Juls’ Kitchen.
Cooking with an Italian Accent — our first podcast
It took Tommaso months to convince me to try podcasting: I’ve never enjoyed listening to my own voice, especially when I speak English. Eventually I treated it as a game. I believe that a foreign accent is a sign of courage, so I set aside self-doubt and the usual questions — Am I good enough? Will people be interested? — and gave it a go.
We’re starting this new adventure with no expectations, simply to have fun and communicate the same passion that brought the blog to life. First came the blog, then social media, then videos; now it’s podcast time. That doesn’t mean we’ll abandon written content: the blog remains our core, the place for recipes, stories and an archive. Social networks let us share behind-the-scenes moments, and the podcast aims for an even more intimate, warmer way to connect. Will it work? We’ll keep going as long as we enjoy it.
We began gently, with a few episodes where I talk about my lifelong love of food to get comfortable with the format. Future episodes will explore Tuscan and Italian cuisine, family recipes and seasonal ingredients, and will include interviews with friends and producers. There are no commandments here, no rigid recipes to follow — just conversation, as if we were gathered around the same table, rolling out dough or watching a sauce simmer on the stove.
Today we launch the trailer, and from Wednesday we’ll release a new episode each week. You can find details about the trailer and upcoming episodes on the blog’s podcast page. We’d love your support—tell us what you think.
