Snow day supper: polenta milled by an artisan in a neighboring village cooked with deeply colored chicken stock made silky and dense from the inclusion of the bird’s feet; Spanish butter from my dwindling supply; an arm’s ache of grated Parm. Sidled up to this be sunshine of maize are whole bunches of Treviso, their gnarled tips reminiscent of Oz’s witch beckoning her monkeys. Wilted with a whole chopped head of garlic-turned-crunchy in hot Ligurian oil, the caramelized chicory fronds are then splattered with aged balsamic. - An hour plus half of stirring and whisking, whisking and stirring before the polenta found our plates but only venti minuti before it found our stomachs. - #italy #dinner #polenta #nothingbuttime (at Niella Belbo) https://www.instagram.com/p/CmUrct8Ntd6OFpmD5NfMNMSp8Xh0112on3v-b80/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
