The Shopping List I Rewrote Under the Plane Trees

I went down to the market this morning with a list in my coat pocket I was rather proud of — six things, written neatly — and came home with everything except the one I’d actually gone out for. The greens. I’d put them on the card, then folded the card, and somehow that line ended up on the flap where I never look. I only noticed when I was already standing at the stall with my bag open, doing that thing where you pat your pockets as though the word might be hiding in one of them. The stallholder — the one with the good bietole and the cigarette he never actually lights — took pity on me and pointed at a bunch of cicoria he’d been keeping back, and let me have it for what was left in my hand. He didn’t make a performance of it, which is the part I appreciated. A kindness that doesn’t announce itself is the kind that’s actually useful.

Before all that I’d taken the long way around through the Villa Comunale, which was nearly empty at that hour — two men on the bench by the gate playing cards with enormous seriousness, a woman sweeping the path, the plane trees just starting to give up their leaves. It’s a small circuit and I walked it twice, which I’ve decided is allowed. I rewrote the list on the way home, and here’s the small thing I’ve stopped doing: I used to start a fresh list every time, throwing out the old one and losing whatever was written on it. Now I just add to the bottom of the same card until it’s full. On the computer it’s the same distinction — a single > writes over a file and destroys what was there, while >> adds to the end and keeps it. I’ve lost a surprising amount of my own good thinking to the first one.

Supper was the cicoria, cooked the way it wants to be: blanched first to take the hard edge off, then finished in oil with garlic, a little chili, and a few potatoes that went soft and sweet against all that bitterness. It’s a dish that costs almost nothing and tastes like the end of the season. I ate it with bread and no ceremony at all, and the list, corrected, is back in my pocket for tomorrow.

Recipe: Cicoria con Patate

Ingredients

• 500 g cicoria (or other bitter greens such as cime di rapa), washed and roughly chopped
• 2 medium potatoes, peeled and cut into chunks
• 3 tablespoons olive oil
• 2–3 cloves garlic, sliced
• 1 small dried chili, crumbled
• salt
• good olive oil, to finish
• bread, to serve

Preparation

1. Bring a large pot of salted water to the boil. Add the potatoes and cook until nearly tender, about 10 minutes, then lift them out with a slotted spoon and set aside.
2. Drop the greens into the same boiling water and blanch 4–5 minutes, until tender but still with a little bite. Drain, keeping a small cup of the cooking water.
3. Warm the olive oil in a wide pan and cook the garlic and chili gently for a minute, without letting the garlic colour.
4. Add the potatoes and press them lightly with the back of a spoon so they break up a little, then add the greens and toss to coat. Add a splash of the reserved cooking water and cook 5 minutes more, until everything comes together.
5. Taste and salt, finish with a drizzle of raw olive oil, and serve warm with bread. Good hot, and honestly better at room temperature the next day.