That evening, coming home from work, I found my mother in the kitchen. She was preparing dinner, her glasses sliding down her nose, a faded apron that did little to protect her from oil splashes, and an old wool sweater to keep the chill away. The wooden stove crackled in the corner, its warmth seeping into the room like a welcome hug.
Although it was barely seven o’clock, everything was nearly ready. Mum has always liked to be prepared ahead of time. The table was almost set and a pot of minestrone was simmering on the stove. The sharp smell in the air and the hum of the extractor hood competing with the news told me she had burnt the onion again. She gets easily distracted: she puts the pot on the highest flame and scrapes at the thickly sliced onion when the oil is already too hot and translucent from the heat. In a few seconds it begins to sizzle, stick to the bottom and, inevitably, burn. Mum doesn’t give up—she pours frozen vegetable cubes straight into the burnt onion. The cubes hiss and spit, she covers them with water and lets them cook until the soup reaches the exact hue and thickness she seeks. The burnt onion is the hallmark of her minestrone, leaving a smoky, slightly sweet aftertaste. Over the years I learned to recognize the taste of home in that soup.
“Mum, leave the minestrone for tomorrow; I’ll make a risotto tonight.”
Reading cookery blogs had introduced me to ingredients that had never crossed our kitchen threshold: butternut squash was one of them. The act of slicing the squash—the sharp knife cutting through its firm pulp, the smooth, irregular rind beneath my fingers—then toasting the rice until each grain turned translucent and began to pop almost like popcorn: that’s what I needed. I felt an urgent, physical need to stir the squash into the rice, to hold the wooden spoon so tightly I could feel its fibres, to keep stirring until the squash melted into the rice like a sunset. Only that could help me forget another rough day at a job I had stubbornly pursued but that was slowly draining my enthusiasm and dimming the smile that had always been my signature.
Once again, cooking was saving me.
In high school I tried to make friends by bringing homemade cake to celebrations, though I often ended up discussing recipes with teachers or janitors more than with classmates. The cakes didn’t make me wildly popular, but they were a friendly topic during breaks.
At university my cooking became useful in a different way: my lasagne opened the doors to many parties, though I would usually hide just beyond the kitchen door. I began to understand that cooking was not only pleasure, but a resource and a therapy during dark times.
That night, sitting at the table eating the butternut squash risotto that had held back my 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 quietly growing. Even I had doubts. I wondered if it would last as long as my other fleeting passions…
Later, in my bedroom above the kitchen, I saw my reflection in the window and the winter countryside swallowed by darkness outside—no farmhouse lights dotted the opposite hill like in summer.
I typed a few sentences with an impulse I couldn’t ignore and hit publish.
It was the 1st of February 2009, and a new life was beginning.
Ten years have passed since that moment. In some ways they flew by; in others, it’s hard to remember how life felt before the blog. It reshaped the way I see the world: I pay attention to the stories around me, to what I eat and what I cook. I didn’t start a blog to change my life, but somehow it did. Thanks to Juls’ Kitchen I found work I love.
I met Tommaso because of the blog. I met you—those of you reading this on trains, buses, at breakfast or during a lunch break. Some of you have never tried a recipe despite promising you would; others know the ingredients of the apple cake and the roast pork loin by heart. I also met a part of myself that had always been in the kitchen: a little shy perhaps, but convinced that something good was on its way.
Today we have a surprise to celebrate 10 years of Juls’ Kitchen.
We’d like to throw open the doors of our kitchen studio and invite you to sit with us for a cup of tea and a slice of apple cake, or maybe for a bowl of homemade pici. Over the years this blog has helped bridge space and time so that, looking up from the screen, I often imagine you sitting across the table.
Through events like the Fettunta Party and our cooking classes we’ve met many of you in person, but it isn’t enough. To mark this anniversary we’ve organized our first giveaway with a grand prize that brings someone here to cook with us between market and kitchen. Here’s what we’re offering.
Giveaway prizes:
- 1st Prize: Market cooking class for two in our kitchen studio in Tuscany (travel and accommodation not included)
- 2nd Prizes: A copy of our cookbook From the Markets of Tuscany
- 3rd Prizes: Two Juls’ Kitchen aprons—because cooking together is nicer
How to enter:
- Like our Facebook page Juls’ Kitchen
- Follow @julskitchen on Instagram
- Like the giveaway post and comment with your favourite Juls’ Kitchen recipe
- Tag two friends in the giveaway post who might want to enter
The giveaway is open to participants of all nationalities and ends on February 14th. On February 15th we will go live on Instagram to draw winners and announce them both there and on the blog.
Update! The winners!
Congratulations to @azaharcuisine, @warmandwolly and @lauraelesuericette!
We’re asking you for a gift in return to celebrate these ten years.
Tell us which post you loved most over the years. Was there a recipe that became part of your family routine? Do you remember when you first discovered Juls’ Kitchen? We’d truly like to hear your memories.
And now, drum roll: we’re excited to introduce our latest project. Today we’re launching Cooking with an Italian Accent, the first podcast from Juls’ Kitchen.
Cooking with an Italian Accent, the first podcast by Juls’ Kitchen
Tommaso needed months to persuade me to try podcasting—I’m not comfortable hearing my own voice, especially in English. Eventually I treated it as a game and decided to have fun. I believe a foreign accent is a mark of courage, so I put aside doubts—Am I good enough? Will people want to listen?—and gave it a go.
Now we’re testing this new format with no high expectations, only the desire to have fun and share the same passion that brought us here. First it was the blog, then social media, then videos; now it’s podcasts. The blog remains our anchor: it’s where we write recipes and stories, an evolving diary and archive. Social channels share behind-the-scenes moments, while the podcast offers a more intimate, warmer way to connect. Will it work? We’ll keep going as long as we enjoy it.
We began with a few episodes where I talk about my lifelong love of food to get comfortable with the medium. Future episodes will explore Tuscan and Italian cuisine, family recipes, seasonal ingredients, and conversations with friends and producers. There are no rigid rules here—no dogmatic recipes or absolute truths—just friendly talk as if we were gathered around the same kitchen table, rolling out pasta or watching a sauce simmer.
Today we release the trailer, and starting Wednesday a new episode will come out each week. You can find details about listening to the trailer and upcoming episodes on the blog’s podcast page. We’d love your support—tell us what you think.
