Living with taste E-Book

Jamal Amin

• Herausgeber: Youcanprint
• Kategorie: Lebensstil
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Beschreibung

Living with Taste : about Creative Tuscan cooking by Jamal Amin. The travel stories and recipes of an international Chef in his agriturismo ( farm house ) Villa Poggio di Gaville In 2010 Jamal decided to change the course of his life. He left his job in commerce to pursue his dream to open an “agriturismo” in Chianti where he could play host, live in close contact with nature and dedicate more time to his passion - cooking - which is the main source of his inspiration. For Jamal, cooking represents a never-ending search for new flavours.

Leseprobe

Why read this book

“Where the spirit does not work with the hand, there is no art”

Leonardo Da Vinci

In May 2014, my husband and I accompanied his father and stepmother to Italy. During our trip, we spent four days at Villa Poggio di Gaville. My experience at the agriturismo had a lasting effect on me. So much so that I left my corporate marketing job and have opened my own culinary marketing firm. The spirit of the villa is mystical. It’s the perfect combination of serene nature, beautiful décor, delicious meals and lively conversation with guests from around the world. But it’s greatest attribute is it’s warm hearted and generous host, Jamal, who puts his heart into making sure you had the best stay imaginable and the best meals in all of Italy. I suppose the combination of the villa’s beauty is almost like the ingredients in a recipe that, when combined, make the perfect dish: a dash of this, a pinch of that, perfecto! It’s a work of art. It’s Jamal’s art, which is a union of pleasures that play on the senses and are not obvious to the intelligence until, in the end, one is left with a spiritual communion and a new inner light. To sum it up you leave feeling like, “oh my God, what hit me?” I think many of Jamal’s guests leave the villa with a mild touch of Stendahl Syndrome otherwise known as Florence Syndrome. If you have never heard of the syndrome, it is a psychosomatic disorder that causes rapid heartbeat, dizziness, and in extreme cases, fainting, confusion and even hallucinations. This can happen when an individual is exposed to an experience of great personal significance, particularly viewing art. The illness is named after the 19th-century French author Stendhal (pseudonym of Marie-Henri Beyle), who described his experience with the phenomenon during his 1817 visit to Florence in his book ,Naples and Florence: A Journey from Milan to Reggio. When Stendhal visited the Basilica of Santa Croce, where Niccolò Machiavelli, Michelangelo and Galileo Galilei are buried, he saw Giotto’s frescoes for the first time and was overcome with emotion. Stendhal wrote, “I was in a sort of ecstasy, from the idea of being in Florence, close to the great men whose tombs I had seen. Absorbed in the contemplation of sublime beauty... I reached the point where one encounters celestial sensations... Everything spoke so vividly to my soul.” That is the beauty of Villa Poggio di Gaville, Jamal, and now his cookbook - they all will leave a metaphyscal impression that speaks directly to your soul. A stay at Jamal’s Agriturismo and the journey through his cookbook have many similarities. Tour the Agriturismo with Jamal and he will tell you stories of the many antiques he brought to the villa from his travels around the world. Taste Jamal’s cooking and it’s as if your taste buds were awakened after a long sleep. Converse with Jamal and you are enlightened by his unique and philosophical perspective of the world, of life, and his quest for balance and harmony. Like the magical experience that transforms one at his Villa, Jamal brilliantly delivers the same feeling through his cookbook. As you turn the pages of this book. you will embark on a metaphysical journey through travel, cooking, and inner growth. The journey starts with Jamal in Palestine with his Mother, his inspiration and ends in Cambodia with his beautiful daughter, Samira. Along his journey Jamal stops off in Mexico and learns a lesson in waiting while standing in line for tacos; he earns the difference between having and giving before consuming Coconut Cockerel with a monk in Burma, and finds inspiration from the smiling faces and kindness of the people in Cambodia. It is a personal passage that like the beautiful, worldly treasures in his villa, Jamal is generous enough to share. In the end, Jamal leaves us longing for more. So get ready to travel with Jamal, be his companion and listen intently as he fills your mind with interesting stories that have inspired every recipe in this book. In the end you’ll feel your mental state altered, and maybe even a mild case of ‘Jamal Syndrome”. No worries, if that happens the easy cure is to head into the kitchen and start cooking.

Karen FlemingCulinary Marketing consultant /Publicist U.S.AKaren J. Fleming, LLC

Culinary Inspiration

It’s still dawn, when Jamal, still a youngster, hears his parents get up for morning prayer. The comforting aroma of newly-baked bread and cakes mingle with the smells of spicey meat which his mother is already preparing for lunch. We are in Ramallah, Palestine, discovering where Jamal’s sense of smell was refined. It is his sense of smell, more than any other, that will lead him later to recreate the emotions of his past by retracing the smells and tastes of his infancy, where spices were king.

Jamal invests his emotions in the dishes he prepares. The magic touch of his cuisine is in his profound desire to discover some unexpected subtle flavour which he can lovingly transform into an experience for his guests. Jamal’s cuisine is made up of love and free spirit. The best way to read his book is to take a journey with him, follow his creative streak, discover his world which has no limits. Those who know him are magnetised by his warmth and openness, by his ability to live the present moment to its full whilst also creating a sense of harmony and tranquility in a way that only truly free spirits can do.

‘I can be content for a whole week just thinking of the beauty of one phrase’.

This remark perfectly reflects Jamal’s appreciation of beauty in all its forms. This is the key to entering his world which is about to unfold in the following pages.

Marina MattieniFirenze 2016

Introduzione

"Sometimes it is the people who no one can imagine anything of who do the things no one can imagine." - Alan Turing I grew up in Ramallah, Palestine, of a family of nine siblings. Our home was always full of life. We weren't well off as a family. Our treasures were the warmth, love and traditions we shared with one another. The centre of our world was the kitchen. A magical, enchanting place, half way between reality and fantasy. A place where anything could happen and where imagination thrived.

I live by imagination, part by nature and part by habit. It was the only way I could access the undisputed realm of my mother. She was always busy in front of the stove. Soft, sheer curtains separated her fragrant, spice-filled world from the rest of us. And even though my senses were tantalized by the delectable aromas permeating from her hug simmering pots, I was never allowed to cross that line into her world of secrets. The kitchen was an exclusively female domain.

Like the other women in town, my mother arose at the crack of dawn to offer her prayers. Then the chores of the day began, from the housework and management of expenses to taking care of us children, both emotionally and physically.

Strong by nature and determined to provide only the best for her children, my mother always pushed me to excel in my studies. I remember her standing in front of the kitchen window as she cut a piece of meat or peeled potatoes. She would put down her knife, turn to me and say, "Jamal, you must study. You have to apply yourself. Always do your best because that's the only way you will become a good person. We are alone in this life. We are the only ones responsible for our actions. You reap what you sow. If you give one hundred percent of yourself now, you will see the benefits in due time. In due time, Jamal."

I may not have fully understood the significance of her guidance at the time, but her words had a profound effect on me. I kept my head down and learned as much as I could, happy to make her happy and hoping to make her proud.

I longed to get as close to her world as I could. When I returned from school, I rushed to the kitchen and asked if I could do my homework with her while she prepared lunch. I was mesmerised by her movements, the swing of her body, the graceful flow of her arms, the rhythmic roll of her head. Her body was like a silent symphony, harmonious and soothing. A lullaby.

When the meal was ready and we were all seated around the long wooden table, I tried every ploy I knew to extract as much information as I could from my adored mother. I would pretend not to understand what ingredients were in the dishes. I asked her which cut of meat she had used and where she had bought it, or what combination of spices had created this aroma or that colour. She knew exactly what I was up to and played along, feigning annoyance and correcting my mistakes, just enough to give me a taste of her infinite knowledge.

Every story, every explanation, every detail she described at table became a narrative. She was a minstrel and our home was her stage. We, her children, were her bewitched spectators. And like all minstrels, she had an instrument: her food. She was versatile. Each of her stories was accompanied by a different dish. They were all connected and intertwined.

When my mother talked about her cooking, it was like a story within a story, a novel which started but never finished. It reminded me of one book which had a profound effect on me in my early years: The Arabian Nights.

It's the story of the Persian King Shahryar who, after learning of his wife's betrayal, loses all faith in women. In vengeance, he decides to take a different wife every day, lay with her at night and then have her strangled the following morning. This episode repeats itself every night until Scheherazade, the eldest daughter of the Grand Vizier (whose agonising task it was to murder the unfortunate brides), offers herself in marriage to Shahryar.

Scheherazade was a woman of renowned beauty and intelligence. As she lay with the king on their wedding night, she began to tell him a story only to be interrupted by the rising of the sun. The king was anxious to hear the ending so he allowed his new bride to survive the day so that she could continue the story that night. The stories continued for a thousand nights.           

When at last she finished the story, the king had fallen so deeply in love with the beautiful Scheherazade that her execution was annulled.

I learned story-telling from this book. Stories about my trips, about the important moments in my life and the colours, aromas and emotions that accompanied them. I like to tell them out loud, adding a detail here, a new episode there, enhancing the sensations and expressions. Just as when I cook, experimenting with a new ingredient, modifying the aroma, changing the colour - in an effort to transmit my own feelings to each dish.

The following stories are for you. My recipes are for you. They are an invitation into the world of senses where cooking is the Queen of arts. I promise to offer you a trip full of colours, fragrances and tastes touched by the warmth of the people dearest to you. I will tell you my tales, the stories of my life project, Villa Poggio di Gaville, and the recipes that my travels have inspired. Open your ears and your eyes, expand your nostrils and prepare your palette! Take my secrets and make them your own.

This book is for you and the curiosity in your heart. It is also for the mothers in the world, particularly mine, to whom I will be eternally grateful.

Jamal

FATIMA, THE SORCERESS OF SPICE

Have you ever embarked on a journey in search of something that was missing from your life without knowing where your search would lead you or even what you were in search of? It might be an object, something that has a specific value for you, a rarity. Or a person, a reconciliation, a departure that seems more like a homecoming. More often than not our wanderings lead us to self-discovery.

I have set out on many an adventure equipped with lists and plans, only to have my good intentions scattered like autumn leaves in the wind. I am accustomed to travelling alone, not because I'm intolerant of others, on the contrary, I am an extrovert. I enjoy good company but am equally independent and autonomous. This has made my life easier at times: I came to Italy alone as a young man to study design. I didn't know anyone and didn't speak the language, so solitude was my only and constant companion.

The fundamental changes of the course of my life have taught me to believe one of the great truths imparted to me by my mother: we are solely responsible for ourselves. This has become my truth. Being alone teaches us to make educated decisions by thoroughly evaluating every aspect of a given situation. It means knowing that if you fly, your wings will sustain the weight of your soul, and carry you safely back to earth when the sky is no longer your haven .

Many years ago I travelled to Morocco. I was drawn there partially because it is relatively close culturally to my own birthplace but I also understood that something was waiting for me there. I wanted to experience everything the country had to offer; its people, its culture, the tastes, smells and colours.

I remember with great clarity the first thing that struck me when I arrived on African soil, perhaps because it was the most striking: the colours. Morocco is a country dominated by colour, from the outdoor markets where the displayed goods reflect every tint and hue of the rainbow possible, to the vats where fabrics and leather are treated and dyed in great tubs of coloured liquids.

And last but not least, the colours of the food!

Every dish is like a canvas, where colours blend and unite to absolute perfection. Just thinking about the food brings back not only the aromas, but an explosion of yellows, greens, reds, okras with each ingredient added. The dishes are as attractive to the eye as they are to the pallet, their colours as perceptible as their flavours and aromas.

Alnif, a town noted for its henna and, more interesting for me, its fragrant cumin, was on my list of places to visit. I had read about an outdoor market which took place on Fridays where this infamous cumin was among the many spices sold. I set out early on a Friday morning so I could explore the market before it became too crowded. Outdoor markets can be chaotic and I didn't want to be distracted from my mission.

When I arrived in Alnif, I asked for directions to the market but, more than once was directed to the home of an elderly woman, Fatima. I decided that perhaps it was worth the detour. Given the number of people who recommended a visit to this local celebrity, I had conjured up an image of a keeper-of-secrets, a sorceress. I would digress briefly from my course. The market would be there all day.

The door of the house was wooden, the colour of burnt sienna. I hesitated at the threshold, not wanting to