Quinoa with Sauteed Spinach, Lemon and Ginger

Your house, being the place in which you read, can tell us the position books occupy in your life, if they are a defense you set up to keep the outside world at a distance, if they are a dream into which you sink as if into a drug, or bridges you cast toward the outside, toward the world that interests you so much that you want to multiply and extend its dimensions through books. To understand this, the Reader knows that the first thing he has to do is visiting the kitchen.
The kitchen is the part of the house which can tell more about you.
~ Italo Calvino, If on a winter's night a traveler



I walked into a trap. Yesterday I read these words, and, at the peak of my blogging vocation of these (maybe last) days of exile, I decided to borrow them to start a new post.
But then I had the feeling of being on a slippery slope, forced by myself to continue a conversation that doesn't bear comparison. I can't do it. I really prefer to drop them like that, these stolen phrases, silent but bulky, full and thick as snowflakes.
After all, what could be inferred from my kitchen that doesn't exist? It would be a disappointment. Perhaps you, Reader, you may think that my blog is all a bluff (as I keep repeating to anyone who gives me a little confidence...), and that in fact I really prefer spending time arguing with ghosts, piling pieces of wood and listening to the voice of things, especially the rusty and tired ones, rather than sharpening knives and shredding carrots for the soffritto. Because to be honest, I've never liked to prepare soffritto, with all that onion to be sliced amidst meaningless tears, and those vegetables to be cut at perfection, otherwise you'll be forever discredited by the Great Council of Soffritto-Makers.
What could be postulated from my strictly mismatched bowls, by that array of spices without hesitation that manage to make their way depending on the mood of the moment, by raw sugar and the inevitable handful of Manitoba flour, because you never know? I could also add, for those who want to investigate further, that in spite of myself I have a H.U.G.E. oven, a black and deep hole, turkey-proof, extremely disproportionate and embarrassing. Over time I've learned to get along with it and I've put his unsympathetic size to good use by turning it into a cupboard; if you, unfaithful Reader, if you could look into it, you'd see an indistinct stack of dark and broken trays, piled on top of each other with no sense, those unpolished and heavy trays that everything sticks on them and that not even Martha Stewart can use to bake cookies.
I also have a toaster, almost new but fake vintage style; many jars full of jam, usually red and with strawberries, of the simple kind, with pieces but without peppercorns, balsamic vinegar or other gimmicks. A deliciously unbloggable jam.
A tagine that I'd like to use more often, four large glass jars, accessible only by a ladder, full of molds for every form on earth: for Christmas cookies with honey and cinnamon, for Cannelés de Bordeaux and for filled ravioli that will never see the light. Pots hanging from the ceiling, mini cocottes in all the colors of spring, and only one futuristic concession to a shameful array of graters, long, thin and very sharp.
But there is no room for two, in my kitchen. There is not even a chair, let alone a table! There is neither a pantry nor a drawer, and the imperfect order of cookware, silverware, tools and gadgets is based on a very delicate balance, designed with fatigue and protected with pride.
What you could infer, dear Reader with a pitiless look, I can't really say. I thought about it, the whole evening and then an hour this morning with coffee. But my real kitchen is an imaginary space, "a dream into which I sink as if into a drug", a defense to get away from the world, asking the world to come with me.
So here it is, have a good spinachy quinoa you all.




Quinoa with Sauteed Spinach
with Lemon and Ginger
for 4-5 people

quinoa 250 gr
fresh baby spinach two big bunches
garlic 2 cloves
lemon 2
fresh ginger 1 piece
olive oil, salt, soy sauce as needed

Gently clean the spinach and remove the bigger stems. Heat a few tablespoons of oil in a large pan, fry the garlic cloves, peeled and cut in half, for two minutes, then add the cleaned spinach and cook them slightly. Season with lemon zest and grated ginger.
In the meantime, cook the quinoa in salted water, following the directions written on the package. Let it rest for a few minutes.
When ready, add it to the spinach and sauté for a minute, stirring and adding soy sauce or a pinch of salt to taste.
Serve warm.
w.v.<3

Baked Churros

l'America era un angolo, l'America era un'ombra, nebbia sottile,
l'America era un'ernia, un gioco di quei tanti che fa la vita...

America was a corner, America was a shadow, a fine mist,
America was a hernia, a game of the many that life plays...
~ Francesco Guccini, Amerigo

He was selling churros with cinnamon from a cart on 16th Str., behind the stairs at the exit of the subway; his name was Francisco but for his friends and in the neighborhood and he was only and ever Pancho. He was as old as Jesus, black hair over the shoulders and hands stained with sugar and fatigue. He spoke slowly in a language foreign to him, masking his stubborn and unyielding southern accent against his will. His underground America was that street corner, a t-shirt Yes We Can, and a dream never faded.
He was a sinner, an innocent outlaw with his breath always on the alert: his mistake without fault was to be born beyond, in a country with no moon, torn apart by knives, white powder and misery.
He had arrived at night, clinging to the dark wind of a train still in the running. They say he had a girl, too young to still remember him, too beautiful to stop loving her. He had left behind his heart in love, closed his eyes to the sadness and left for his quest.
He ended up in the city that bore his name, greeting and hope for a better future, witness and accomplice of a present without glory. 12 hours a day, 300 churros at sunset and one Sunday for beer and freedom every month.

TWO FOR $ 1.
TWO FOR $ 1.

A hand-written sign was selling his sweetness for him, filled with memories and the warm scent of melancholy. A handshake, a smile, a buenos dias: two churros to the gluttons for a dollar of his youth.
He was always there, Pancho, smiling and generous in front of us who asked no questions. He was always there, safe and cozy, with his eyes fixed on the future.
Until one morning when we couldn't find him anymore: they say they were stationed, an unhappy call, the forced supervision of a mockery of fate.
Everybody liked him, them also, Francisco Pancho Juarez, Francisco Pancho fabricante de churros.




Baked Churros
for approx. 15 pieces

flour 140 gr
sugar 50 gr
butter 100 gr
salt 1 pinch
water 200 gr
egg 1
vanilla extract 1/2 teaspoon
sugar and cinnamon to finish as needed

Heat water with salt and then dissolve in the sugar. Add butter and when it's completely melted, add flour and mix. Cook until the dough is smooth and has no lumps, and gathers into a shiny ball (it'll take about 1 minute). Remove from heat and let cool. Add the egg, at room temperature, vanilla extract and mix well.
Put the dough into a pastry bag with a star tip, form several strips about 3-4" long and place them on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper; bake at 350 for about 30 minutes until churros are golden.
Roll them still hot in sugar mixed with cinnamon.
Churros, traditional Mexican sweets, should be fried in hot oil; this is my so-called light version.
Light but not vegan, for the first sin of the year.

Black Bean Soup

It was a midsummer evening, last summer, the postcard from a trip to Costa Rica half an exile and half a vacation.
I remember that green like a proud hug in the midst of impossible roads, among a tangle of rocks and puddles, a bright and shiny emerald, nourished by a beneficial rain, on time every day at six o'clock.
I remember the guys on their bicycle and the couples holding into each other's arms, tight on the seat of damaged scooters; their lean bodies, tanned, dusted with love and smiling.
There was the chaos of the streets in downtown, and then the suburbs, violated by the arrogance of fast food chains, seduced by the illusion of a wealth coming from the north. Scattered everywhere biting your liver, there were Coke vending machines, and innocent-looking signs, mean and intrusive, almost an insult to the poverty of people.
I remember the villages, slow, quiet and sunny, those pueblos made only of temporary churches, outdoor schools and improbable soccer fields: a narrow and wet meadow and two poles as the goal.
There was Costa Rica going to the World Cup, the TVs turned on in the bars, two cold Imperial and happiness.
I remember the ripe fruit, sweet and seductive, bought on the corners of the streets along with the pure water of a young coconut that had fallen down.
The darkest nights began early in the jungle, on the highest hill lying on a bed of leaves.
I remember men and women who were different, who had escaped from our dizziness to chase a dream with no comfort.
I met a taxi driver and mechanic who had no shoes, an instant friend who they called El Che. He told me where are you going, why, where are you running, you people of the north? You're fool, deluded to believe you can buy our reality.
We split one jugo helado, and this spicy soup during an afternoon of solidarity.
Pura vida.




Black Bean Soup
for 4 people

dried black beans 250 gr
white onion, large 1
garlic 2 cloves
carrot 1
red bell pepper 1
tomatoes 3
lime 1
vegetable bouillon cube 1
olive oil, salt, pepper, oregano, cayenne pepper, cumin seeds, coriander seeds and allspice as needed
fresh cilantro, tomatoes and cucumber to serve as needed

Soak beans overnight for at least 8 hours.
Chop the onion and the garlic cloves, sauté them for a few minutes in a little olive oil, then add diced carrot and bell pepper. Stir and cook for a few minutes, add the beans, drained and rinsed, spices (if using seeds, grind them fine), vegetable bouillon, salt and pepper. Cover with water, bring to boil and cook over medium heat for about two hours.
Half an hour before beans are ready, add the juice and zest of lime, and the tomatoes, peeled (dip them in boiling water for 30 seconds, then peel) and cut into pieces. Season with salt and pepper.
Puree the soup with a blender only for a few seconds, so that it gets creamy but visible pieces still remain.
To serve, garnish with fresh diced tomato and cucumber, and chopped cilantro to taste.
w.v.<3

Vegan Jam Tart with Spelt Flour

Living here day by day, you think it's the center of the world. You believe nothing will ever change. Then you leave: a year, two years. When you come back, everything's changed. The thread's broken. What you came to find isn't there. What was yours is gone. You have to go away for a long time... many years... before you can come back and find your people. The land where you were born. But now, no. It's not possible. Right now you're blinder than I am.
~ Philippe Noiret, Cinema Paradiso

Always yours is that friendship, the new one and the eternal one of the past; yours is the taste of bread and the red color of autumn. Yours are the people who get older, the solitude of the forest, the gloom and silence of the night; still yours are the stones, the trails and the comfort of the moon; yours is the soft kindness of the meadows, the sunset and the darkness of those days.
And the words, withered between the cracks of indifferent walls, the frozen phrases, tired by now, the angry and unexploded thoughts, more and more faded with time.
Coming back makes everything a bit nicer; you blow the dust away and discover how much tenderness there was in the innocent dreams of distant dawns. Mornings are still cold, but beautiful in October; things, slow and always the same, speak a familiar language yet a different one.
Coming back you wonder how long it took you to figure it out, or if it's true that we've all changed a little.




Vegan Jam Tart
with Spelt Flour
for a round baking pan of 9" diameter

spelt flour 250 gr
type O flour 210 gr
corn starch 50 gr
baking powder 12 gr
lemon 1
cane sugar 200 gr
olive oil 60 gr
rice bran oil 60 gr
rice milk 125 gr
salt 1 pinch
jam as needed
powdered sugar to serve as needed

In a bowl mix the flours with cornstarch, baking powder, salt and lemon zest. Make a well in the center and add sugar, olive oil, rice oil and milk. Start mixing the ingredients with a fork, and then knead with your hands until you get a homogeneous ball. Cover with plastic wrap and let stand in refrigerator at least 30 minutes.
Roll out 3/4 of the dough and place it in a round baking dish, greased with oil or lined with parchment paper. Prick the surface with a fork, then spread the jam over it (for me this one here, thankyouverymuch) and bake at 350 for 30-40 minutes until the tart crust gets golden brown. Allow to cool, and if you like, dust with powdered sugar before serving.
w.v.<3

Chana Masala

They're chickpeas. Cooked.
Cooked and then sauteed in a sauce that's vaguely tomatoish and super-extra-hot.
But then let me tell you, these are the Kings of chickpeas, inimitably pleasure-giving, humble sailors on a red sea of spices, luxurious, deep, and blissfully stormy.
Embellished with a long list of spices, from here to Porbandar, these chickpeas become an alternate reality, a mysterious and welcoming world, a refuge for the heart and the palate.
My advice is this: do not be intimidated. Ok, the powders are many and perhaps hard to find, maybe they'll make you run from one side of the city to the other, you'll probably lose patience and maybe even half a day; but perhaps they'll also make you explore hidden corners, discover the magic of new colors bursting with life, or understand the beauty disguised within our conundrums.
If you're in doubt, but even not, just do it. Buy them all. Because it's worth it. Because some like it hot.
Just do it. And tell them I sent you.




Chana Masala
for 4-5 people

dried chickpeas 300 gr
onion, large 1
ginger garlic paste 3-4 tablespoons
fresh jalapeño 1
cumin seeds 1 teaspoon
coriander powder 1 tablespoon
mango powder 1 tablespoon
cayenne pepper 1 teaspoon
turmeric 1 teaspoon
paprika 2 teaspoons
cumin powder 2 teaspoons
garam masala 1 teaspoon
tomato paste 2 tablespoons
lemon 1
olive oil, salt, fresh cilantro to taste

Soak chickpeas for about 6-8 hours. Rinse, cover with water and cook over medium heat for about 1 hour and a half or 2 hours, until they are tender. Drain, keeping aside a cup of their cooking water.
In a large pot heat 3 tablespoons of olive oil, toast the cumin seeds for a few minutes, then add the ginger garlic paste (if you can't find it, you can use 2 garlic cloves and a lot of ginger, minced; however, if you're lucky enough to have an Indian store, full of spices and traditional products close to home, or even at a 45-minute ride from you, I recommend this alternative), onion and jalapeño, finely chopped, and cook for about 5 minutes. Add the rest of the spices, the reserved chickpea water and the tomato paste, and cook for a few minutes. If necessary, adjust the flavor.
Add the chickpeas and cook for 10 minutes; finally add the lemon juice and a handful of chopped fresh cilantro.
If you wish, serve with basmati rice. Or maybe not.
w.v.<3

Focaccia with Figs, Onion and Walnuts

This is my alternative to darkness, fear, nostalgia, pride, sadness with no destination, the rain, the uncertainty, unanswered questions, expired passports, grammar mistakes, Texas, the camping out for the latest iPhone, the latest iPhone, songs by Pupo, headache, heartache, knee bruises, tight shoes, high-heeled shoes, fur-lined shoes, November, answering machines, pale tomatoes, sauce stains, cold feet, watered down coffee, overcooked pasta, withered flowers, Wi-Fi with password, train strikes, pizza with pineapple, D in the report card, a sold out show, the end of the book, queues at the supermarket, rosé wine.
Two figs and a focaccia and let's not talk about it anymore.




Focaccia with Figs, Onion and Walnuts
for two baking dishes of 8x12 inches

For the dough
type O flour 500 gr
lukewarm water approx. 275 gr
fresh brewer's yeast 10 gr
salt 10 gr
olive oil 1 tablespoon

For the toping
red onion 1
sugar 1 tablespoon
walnuts 1 handful
fresh figs 10-12
salt, pepper, olive oil as needed

The dough is the same that I used here, the recipe comes from the Simili sisters, do I need to add anything else?
In a bowl, dissolve the yeast with some of the water, add a little bit of flour, 1 tablespoon of olive oil, salt, and then the remaining flour and the rest of the water in two batches, alternating them and always beating the dough. Place it on the work surface and knead for 7-8 minutes, put it back in the bowl greased with oil, and let it double in size (it'll take about two hours).
Place it back on the work surface, divide the dough in half, form two loaves and place them on the baking dishes lined with parchment paper. Let them rest for another 15 minutes, then flatten them with a short rolling pin and the palm of your hand until they cover the bottom of the pan almost completely. Let rise for 30 minutes.
Meanwhile, peel the onions, slice them thin, season with a tablespoon of olive oil and a tablespoon of sugar, salt and pepper, and roast them for a few minutes under the grill. Cut figs in half and coarsely chop the walnuts.
Spread the figs and the onion on the surface of the focaccias. Push the tip of your fingers into the dough, forming deep imprints until you touch the pan, drizzle with 3 tablespoons of olive oil beaten with 3 tablespoons of water, and plenty of salt. Let them double again (this will require about an hour and a half). Bake at 390 for 25-30 minutes. Ten minutes before they're ready, sprinkle with the walnuts kept aside.
w.v.<3

Focaccia with Grapes and Rosemary

A wise man once to the question "Who or what are we?", answered: we are the sum of everything that has happened before us, everything that has happened before our eyes, everything that has been done to us; we are every person, every little thing whose existence has influenced us or which we have influenced with our lives; we are everything that happens after we no longer exist, and what would not have happened if we had never existed.
~ From the movie Almanya - My family goes to Germany
Yasemin Şamdereli, Germany 2011


When was the last time I saw you passing by, tanned and seductive, wearing those freckles and the wonder for life? I still remember your black hair, tied together against the wind, your colorful floral dress, fresh of summer and ingenuity, and your sandals already tight and from other times.
I was leaving towards the North, to chase a wealth that we had never had: a job that would last tomorrow, the security of a future, warm hands, two pennies and fatigue. I was looking for you in my mind, so beautiful in your twenties, while I slowly savored the sadness, so heavy and shiny, that September day that I left.
Two generations consumed among people who didn't really belong to us, who were looking at us awry and indifferent, between cold and foreign colors and horizons, strong perfumes yet devoid of memories. My father, locked up in his pride, never talked about it; the past was almost a shame that he seemed to have left behind, and yet it was all still there, asleep in the silence of his dark and sad eyes: the carts pushed by hand during harvest, the rise with the baskets on the shoulders, the grape must, the barrels, the bare feet and the cheer.
To me, sunsets and long summer days were enough: I'd close my eyes and I'd find the faces, I'd listen to those voices already distant and I'd feel alive again within the memory of their warm smiles. But tell me now, girl of that time, tell me now how your life went. I came back today among my poor people, hunting for what I can't find anymore. Roads, trees, houses and streams, everything always the same, and then, why so different? The stones, the streets, the names and the squares, I've cradled them inside, I've polished, protected and loved them in the sweet shell of my fantasies; I pretended they were my happiness, yet now that I'm so close, I don't recognize them anymore.
I brought you this flower as a gift, the red rose that I'd never given you. Only you, girl of that time, now that you're gone forever, only you are here for me to stay, that laugh with the eyes open and that life that was not.




Focaccia with Grapes and Rosemary
for 8 people

flour 400 gr
fresh brewer's yeaast 20 gr
water approx. 225 gr
salt 1 pinch
Concord grapes 1 kg
sugar, extra virgin olive oil, rosemary as needed

Dissolve yeast in lukewarm water and knead with flour, salt, 3 tablespoons of sugar and 3 tablespoons of olive oil until you get an elastic ball, smooth and homogeneous. Place in a bowl, cover with a cloth and let rise for about 1 hour and a half.
In the meantime, arm yourself with holy, holy patience, rinse the grapes and remove the seeds. (Yes, sorry).
Spread 2/3 of the dough on a greased pan lined with parchment paper, spread 2/3 of the grapes on top, sprinkle with sugar and finely chopped rosemary, and then drizzle with a little oil. Cover with the rest of the dough, fold and seal the edges, and then spread the rest of the grapes on the surface, dress with 2 tablespoons of sugar and a little oil. Bake at 360 for about 45 minutes.
If you wish, sprinkle with powdered sugar.
w.v.<3

California Quinoa Salad

The paradox.
America.
So beloved, idolized, so desired, idealized, yet so vilified.
The imperialist America, the lonely, arrogant, bigot, militaristic. So contradictory, intrusive, nosy, a policeman, interventionist.
America so rude, liberistic, oppressive, insensitive and racist.
Stubborn, arrogant, capitalist; warmongering, too armed and a little fascist.
Say what you want.
But there is New York.
And there is San Francisco.
And if you put your foot in there, like a traitor lover you can forgive her everything, and love her nonetheless.





California Quinoa Salad*
for 4-5 people

quinoa 220 gr
water or vegetable stock 400 gr
red bell pepper, small 1
red onion, small 1/2
mango 1
edamame, net approx. 1 glass
sliced almonds 1 handful
cranberries 1 handful
lime 2
balsamic vinegar 4 tablespoons
cilantro, dried coconut flakes, salt, pepper to taste

Put water (or stock) and quinoa in a pot, bring to boil and cook over medium-low heat for about 15 to 20 minutes, until all the liquid has been absorbed.
Cook edamame in boiling water for 4 minutes, drain, shell and set aside. Meanwhile, finely chop the onion and cut bell pepper and mango into small cubes. Mix everything with the quinoa, adding the juice and zest of limes, almonds, cranberries (you can substitute them with raisins or dried cherries), balsamic vinegar, salt, pepper, minced fresh cilantro and a generous sprinkling of coconut flakes. Serve the salad cold or at room temperature.

*I put together this recipe inspired by a similar thing that I spotted at Whole Foods. I looked at the color, peeked at the ingredient list, and voila, my serenade to California.
.
w.v.<3

Prune Blueberry Jam with Rosemary

Above us only sky
~ John Lennon, Imagine

Somewhere I read that if we lay down on the grass every night for ten minutes to really contemplate the sky and the stars, many of our problems would vanish like soap bubbles burst in the air, and the whole world would take little by little a different turn.

This has little or nothing to do with the jam, but it seemed too beautiful to not say it. And then I thought for real about this thing, and the first occasion in which I found a meadow with stars in my hands, I wanted to try it for myself, and I decided to share it like this, in my own way.

Prune Blueberry Jam
with Rosemary
for 6-7 medium size jars

prunes, net 1 kg e 1/2
blueberries 1 kg
sugar 850 gr
lemons 3
rosemary 2 sprigs

Wash the prunes, remove the pit and cut in pieces. Add 500 gr of sugar, the juice of two lemons and mix well. Rinse blueberries and mix them with the rest of the sugar and the juice of one lemon. Cover and let macerate the fruit separately overnight in the refrigerator.
The next day, cook over medium heat, separately, until the jams reach the desired consistency (blueberries may need less time than prunes, especially if the latter are a bit watery).
About half an hour before they're set, mix the jams together and add the sprigs of rosemary, whole. Finally, discard rosemary and pour the jam when still hot into previously sterilized glass jars. Seal them with their lid and boil in water for about 20 minutes to form the vacuum.

Pappa al Pomodoro (Tomato Bread Soup) with Grilled Eggplants, Black Olives (and Feta)

ma è meglio poi un giorno solo da ricordare
che ricadere in una nuova realtà sempre identica...

but it's better a single day to remember
than falling into a new reality that's always the same...
~ Francesco Guccini, Sirocco

It was a warm evening in August, the wet and deserted city populated only by tourists in love, tired old men and cats in search of masters. The two of us sat on the river bank to fiddle with our gaze; we were waiting for the wind and for something to change.
You had asked me to go back there, to that outdoor table where I looked at you the first time, tanned and shy with your veil of lipstick. Stifled by useless memories and legitimate fears, words and sentences remained suspended, motionless in the air dense of silence that had been gathering between us. There were one man and one woman too many, two lives already started and too big of a morality.
It was a warm evening in August, that night when we let ourselves grow up. We were still in love with each other in our own way, yet we no longer loved each other.


Pappa al Pomodoro*
with Eggplant, Black Olives (and Feta)
for 4

day old Tuscan bread 200 gr
ripe tomatoes 800 gr
garlic 4 cloves
tomato paste 2 tablespoons
eggplant, small 1
black olives 1 handful
crumbled feta 2-3 tablespoons
salt, pepper, olive olio, vegetable broth, basil as needed

Slice a shallow cross into the bottom of the tomatoes and place them in boiling water for a few minutes. Peel them and pass them through the mill. Cut bread into cubes. Sauté garlic cloves, peeled and lightly crushed, in a little olive oil, add a few basil leaves, and then the bread. Sauté for about 10 minutes until it takes on a beautiful amber color. Add the tomato puree, tomato paste (optional), salt, pepper and stir well. Cover with broth and cook over medium-low heat for about 30 minutes until the bread is reduced to a puree.
Meanwhile, cut the eggplant into slices, grill them on both sides and cut into small cubes. Pit and coarsely chop the olives. Serve the pappa al pomodoro garnishing each bowl with grilled eggplant cubes, a handful of chopped olives and a sprinkle of crumbled feta.
It goes without saying that feta is not approved by the vegan police. So then just forget it, and voila, wv <3, lunch is served.

*Room for a small self-celebration: the recipe above was published this month in the Corriere della Sera, in the section Racconti di Cucina (Tales from the Kitchen), along with three others of my recipes with tomatoes as the main star.
If you're curious, you can find the link to the newspaper's archive and read the main article of that page here. And in this regard, as if it were the night of the Oscars, I want to thank all those who have shown me great affection and who have posted and reposted the photo of the page on my facebook wall. Thank you!

Tomato Peach Bruschetta

summer's here to stay
and those sweet summer girls
will dance forever...
~ DMB, Dive In

What could be better than bread and tomato under the sunlight?
Bread, peaches and tomatoes.
Trust me, I take full responsibility.




Tomato Peach Bruschetta
for 4

yellow peaches 2
cherry tomatoes 10-15
balsamic vinegar 3 tablespoons
extra virgin olive oil 3 tablespoons
garlic 3-4 cloves
salt, pepper, fresh basil to taste
country bread slices

Peel the peaches and cut them in small cubes. Mix them with the cherry tomatoes, rinsed and cut into quarters, season with salt, pepper, olive oil, balsamic vinegar and chopped fresh basil. Cover and let rest for at least an hour.
Toast the bread in the oven for a few minutes, and then brush it still warm with the peeled garlic cloves. Spread bruschetta over the bread slices, sprinkle again with some basil and serve immediately.