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The Venetian kitchen, Brixton Windmill, Blenheim Gardens Brixton, London (2026)

12/09/2026

September, a month of gentle change. The end of summer, the beginning of autumn. It’s almost here, but not quite yet.

Depending on where you live, that might mean cooler mornings and evenings already, dreaming of fallen leaves and cosy, warm colours to embrace you, or simply that you are beginning to feel ready for something a little warmer and more comforting.

Our kind of September lives somewhere in between. We still want to make the most of the last tomatoes, the late summer light and those meals that taste of sunshine, but there is also something lovely about slowly bringing heartier dishes back to the table.

Today, we’ve decided that lunch is going to be a bowl of minestra di riso e pomodoro, tomato and rice soup. We’re already looking forward to wrapping our hands around the warm bowls and settling in for lunch.

The tomatoes still bring a little taste of summer, while the warm broth and rice make it feel like we are slowly stepping into the new season.

This is a dish we both grew up with, and one that says so much about cooking in the Veneto countryside. When we were kids, our mums would always tell us, “You need to eat some minestra, it’s good for you.” And they still say it when we visit. Some things never change.

It’s proper humble Italian cooking. Just simple ingredients, cooked simply, that leave you feeling good.

And before pumpkin season officially hits and the web tells us that everything should be pumpkin spice flavoured (which we love, don’t get us wrong!), let’s enjoy those beautiful tomatoes for a little while longer.

There will be plenty of time for everything that comes next.

The recipe is on the blog, link in our profile.

Wishing everyone a beautiful Sunday, and plenty of good things to cook, share and enjoy this September. ♥️

Fabio & Agnes

12/09/2026

Last Saturday at Oval Farmers’ Market, I spotted something I couldn’t walk past.
A celeriac, still with its leaves.

I got chatting to my friend Guillermo, from Brambletye Fruit Farm, and he told me that so many people these days don’t recognise celeriac when they see it like this. They are so used to finding it in supermarkets, trimmed and pale, that a whole celeriac can look like something completely different.

And I can understand why. We rarely see a celeriac like this anymore. This one was fresh from the farm, still green and leafy, with all its rough, knobbly character intact. When I brought it home, Agnes couldn’t resist taking a couple of photos. I agreed. It was a beautiful vegetable.

I think we should celebrate vegetables like this more often. The real vegetables, before they have been cleaned, trimmed and packaged for us.

How often do we stop and think about where our vegetables come from? What they looked like when they were growing, who grew them, or what they looked like when they were first pulled from the soil?

We have become so used to finding everything ready for us that sometimes we forget to look at the food itself, and at the work that goes into growing it.

Celeriac is also a vegetable I have a particular affection for. It is deeply rooted in Veneto, especially around Verona, where it has long been part of local cooking. It reminds us that Venetian food is not only about the lagoon and the sea, but also about the rich, fertile land of the Veneto.

So, this is my little ode to celeriac.

A vegetable that is often forgotten, a little rough around the edges, but full of flavour, history and possibilities. And, in its own small way, a reminder of what it means to reconnect with the land and the people who grow our food.

And this is certainly not the last you will see of it here. We have a few recipes in mind, including some that go well beyond the usual celeriac mash or roasted celeriac.

Because even the most modest root deserves to be noticed, cooked and celebrated, especially when we remember the soil, the people and the work that brought it to our table.

And now, let’s see what the market brings this weekend.

Fabio

04/09/2026

Today we are sharing the cake that September always brings back to us. A soft, nostalgic yoghurt and rose loaf cake, or Italian 'plumcake'.

When we were children, there was something about September mornings. The soft early morning light coming through the windows, schoolbags waiting by the door, and breakfast together before the day began. In Italy, that breakfast often meant plumcake.

The funny thing is, there isn't a plum in sight. It is usually a soft yoghurt loaf, flavoured with lemon and vanilla, and for us it has always been the taste and smell of those mornings, of warm kitchens and cakes made by our mums.

Agnes' mum would often make her plumcake when there was more homemade yoghurt in the fridge than the family could eat. And because there was usually even more yoghurt left, Agnes would eat her slice dipped into it, spoonful by spoonful.
For our version, we have kept that soft, tender crumb and the gentle flavours of lemon, vanilla and yoghurt, but added a delicate splash of rose water.

The inspiration comes from San Lazzaro degli Armeni in the Venetian lagoon, where the monks gather fragrant roses each spring and summer and preserve their petals in sugar, capturing their fleeting fragrance for the cooler months ahead.

We loved the idea of bringing a little of that fragrance into such an everyday cake, making it feel just a little more grown up, while keeping everything we remember about it.

Because some flavours have a way of taking us straight back to the kitchens we grew up in, sitting at the breakfast table again, no matter how many years have passed.

We love it with our softly whipped yoghurt cream, bringing even more yoghurt back to the table. But it is just as lovely sliced straight from the loaf. Or you can always do as Agnes used to do: dip a piece straight into natural yoghurt.

Our Italian yoghurt and rose loaf cake, or Italian plumcake, is now on the blog.

A little taste of childhood, and of those September mornings that stay with us long after the schoolbags have been put away. 🌹🍞

Find the recipe through the link in our bio (linktree) and on our website.

04/09/2026

There is something beautiful about an empty plate.

We rarely photograph them. We tend to photograph the food before it is eaten, when everything is still beautiful and carefully arranged. But, in Italy, an empty plate can say just as much.

It means you enjoyed the food, that you honoured the person who prepared it, the ingredients that went into it, and the time and care that brought it to the table.

And if there is still a little sauce or olive oil left behind, there is always bread. A piece of crust dragged around the plate until there is nothing left but crumbs. That is called scarpetta (little shoe), and it is perhaps one of our favourite ways of saying thank you.

Leaving food behind has never felt quite the same in an Italian family. Leave a few bites and sooner or later you will hear your mother or grandmother say, “Come on, eat. Or you do not like it?” And if you say you do, but you are full, they will probably insist (ah, one last bite) or find something else for you to eat.

Because food is not simply something to put on a plate. It nourishes us, brings us together, and carries care from one person to another. It matters.

So, as August comes to an end and summer slowly begins to give way to autumn, here is a little toast to the plates left empty after good meals, to the last piece of bread, and to everything that made them worth finishing.

Arrivederci, August. 🍂

PS: Plates and pans H&M HOME Made In Falcon Enamelware Nom Living Grace Kenrick
Fabio & Agnes | Italian home cooking & living Grace Kenrick 😊

26/08/2026

Getting closer to September always brings back memories of going back to school. New notebooks, pencils ready to sharpen, and oh, the absolute anticipation of browsing and choosing them at the local shop. With so little pocket money, every single choice required careful consideration. Then, schoolbags ready and waiting by the door, and breakfast together in the soft morning light before heading out for the day.

And, for us, as for many Italian children, breakfast often meant plumcake. The funny thing is, an Italian plumcake has no plums in sight. It’s actually a soft yoghurt loaf, fragranced with lemon or vanilla, and a staple of almost every Italian childhood.

Our mums each had their own versions. Agnes' mum would often make hers when there was more homemade yoghurt in the fridge than the family could eat. Some was eaten by the spoonful, and the rest found its way into the cake batter. It was simple, everyday cooking, but those are the recipes that stay with you, somewhere and forever, until nostalgia brings them right back, along with all the memories.

As September approaches, we’ve been thinking about that cake and wanted to share our own version with you. The soft, tender yoghurt crumb remains, alongside lemon and vanilla, but we’ve added a delicate splash of rose water, inspired by the wild roses of the Venetian lagoon in late summer. Just enough to bring a gentle floral note to a cake that tastes of childhood.

Our Italian yoghurt loaf cake with rose water (plumcake) is coming very soon. 🌹

15/08/2026

Today is Ferragosto, the heart of summer in Italy. The whole country slows down: shutters are closed, everyone seems to have disappeared towards the sea, and there is always time for one more swim, one more gelato, one more long lunch in the shade of a pine grove.

So, we’re doing the same, pausing for a moment to savour these summer days, and all the colours, flavours and little moments that have come with them.

There have been recipes, of course, made with the most amazing ingredients: sea bass, strawberries, the brightest vegetables, tomatoes, octopus, and more.

Fabio made his limoncello, this time with fennel fronds left from our giardiniera, which has become a new favourite and a reminder that seasonality is also about giving things a second life.

There have been markets with baskets coming home fuller than planned, and a day in Rye with Agnes’ mum: fresh fish, cobbled streets, independent shops, and plenty of daydreaming about cottage life.

Then there were moments that only made it onto Instagram in little glimpses: slow mornings, long lunches, and being mesmerised by beautiful ingredients.

And one of the most beautiful things happened. Our little apple cake travelled further than we ever imagined. So many of you told us what its story meant to you, then baked it for people you love. Some of you even carried it across countries to share. Knowing something made in our kitchen found its way into yours has meant more than we can say.

And more is coming. This autumn we’ll be at Emma Collen for two Venetian cooking classes, and Fabio will join a special evening with and Emma Collen for cicchetti and w**e. We’re already excited.

But for now, it’s Ferragosto. Basil is in its full (and oh, its scent!), the markets are overflowing, the evenings are long, gelato is still on the menu, and summer still has plenty left to give.

So, here’s to staying in this season a little longer, and to this little community around our kitchen. We’re so grateful that our summer recipes have found a place in your homes and around your tables, and that you’ve been sharing your own stories, memories and moments with us along the way.☺♥️

Agnes & Fabio

14/08/2026

One of our favourite memories of summers in Veneto isn't a particular dish, but a moment.

It's the moment when a long meal is drawing to a close, the afternoon light has softened, and nobody seems to notice the passing of time anymore. Empty plates are still scattered across the table, coffee hasn't quite been made, and for a little while longer, everyone simply stays where they are.

It was often at this gentle pause that ‘sgroppino al limone’ (Venetian lemon sorbet) would be served.

At weddings and other celebrations, it might arrive between courses, offering a refreshing break before the meal continued. At home, it was more often enjoyed after a long Sunday lunch, or at the end of a pizza evening with friends and family, just before coffee and those familiar Italian goodbyes that somehow stretched into another hour.

In restaurants across Veneto, you'll often find sgroppino in different flavours. Lemon is by far the most traditional, although nowadays coffee and liquorice have become favourites too.

Many recipes call for lemon sorbet, and if you have a good one, it's a wonderful, traditional choice.

Our version takes us somewhere else.

As children, some of our happiest summer days were spent by the River Piave. Before heading home, we'd always stop at Lattebusche sca for fresh milk, butter and, of course, a creamy gelato. Years later, when we discovered their ready-made sgroppino in a supermarket, its rich, creamy texture brought all those memories rushing back and inspired the way we still make ours today.

Freshly squeezed lemons, creamy gelato, good Prosecco and a splash of vodka. Wonderfully smooth and refreshing, it still tastes of those summer afternoons – a chance to savour simple, familiar flavours, let the conversation wander, and enjoy just a little more time together.

The recipe is on our website and in bio (linktree).

We hope it brings a little of that Venetian tradition, set between sea and mountains, and a little of that summer feeling, to your own table. 🍋🥂

14/08/2026

Since sharing our pan-fried tomatoes with fresh garden herbs recipe, we've found ourselves wondering about all the kitchens it might have travelled to. 🍅 🌿 🏡

Perhaps you've already made these tomatoes. Or perhaps you simply paused on the photographs for a moment and they reminded you of somewhere, someone, or a good meal you've never quite forgotten.

Sometimes food does that. It opens a small door into a memory. For us, this recipe is a doorway back to summer's in the Veneto, when dinner was often nothing more than a pan of tomatoes, good olive oil, fresh herbs and plenty of bread.

Maybe you also served them with bread, or perhaps pasta, or simply ate them straight from the pan. Maybe you watched the tomatoes soften and turn glossy. Maybe the scent of garlic and herbs filled your home the way it filled ours when we were children.

Or perhaps you haven't cooked them at all. Perhaps it was simply the colour of the tomatoes, the light on the table, or the thought of an Italian summer that brought back something familiar.

If you've cooked them, we'd love to hear how they turned out. And if the recipe or the photographs brought back a memory, we'd love to hear that too.

If you do make them, or share a photo or a story, we'd love it if you tagged us. We always enjoy seeing these recipes find a place on other people's tables. ♥️
🍅

14/08/2026

Some recipes bring you immediately ‘home’. Octopus and potato salad has always been one of them for us.

It’s the salad waiting in the fridge when we arrive back in Italy after months away. The one Fabio’s mum, Ivana, always makes because she knows how much we love it. No matter how much time has passed, there it is, waiting for us.

Perhaps that’s why we’ve never really thought of it as just a recipe.

It’s comfort.

It’s belonging.

It’s a familiar flavour waiting for you at the table.

Fabio grew up with fish at the heart of family life, and some of his earliest memories are of watching his mum choose and cook it. From her, he learned the little things that make all the difference: how to choose a good octopus, how to cook it gently, and how to know when it’s truly tender.

Our version is wonderfully simple, as it should be: tender octopus, waxy potatoes, celery, plenty of parsley, Taggiasca olives, good extra virgin olive oil, lemon, sea salt and black pepper.

Nothing more.

And perhaps this is what we love about it too: in one simple bowl, you find so much of the landscape we call home: the sea, the fertile plains and the countryside, all meeting around the table.

It’s the kind of recipe that has travelled with us from family lunches back home in the Veneto to our kitchen in London, carrying with it all those memories of sitting around the table with the people we love.

The recipe is now on our website, along with all the little tricks Fabio learned over the years to help you make it just right. Link in linktree (bio).

We hope it finds a place on your table, as it has on ours, both in London and back home, for so many years. ❤️

08/08/2026

Some Saturdays are simply made for slow living and cooking.

A slow coffee in the morning, with our mugs and the most gigantic almond croissant in one of our favourite corners of our little London flat, which is still a little too modern for our taste, while we dream of cottage life.

Mugs and plate were made by Fabio. He has recently been learning pottery too, and there is something quite special about drinking your morning coffee from something you have made with your own hands. Hopefully one day we will be able to share a little more of this side of our kitchen life with you too.

For us, the kitchen has always been about more than cooking. It is about the care that goes into choosing ingredients, preparing food, setting the table and creating a home around it all.

Then a trip to the market, bringing home something seasonal without quite knowing what we will do with it. We stopped, as we always do, at our favourite fishmonger Potter Street Fishmongers to pick up some salmon and a giant octopus to cook for friends and family.

Our Saturday trips to the local market have become their own little ritual. We chat to the stallholders, have made friends with many of them, and always come home with something beautiful and fresh. I love catching little frames of it.

Then home. Fabio starts cooking, I start setting the table (with Fabio running to steal a little glimpse of it), and a few hours disappear between chopping, tasting, and stealing a few flowers from the vase for the table.

We bought the most beautiful salmon fillets at the market, and Fabio kept it simple.

Fresh salmon cooked with butter and plenty of finely chopped spring onions, served with a lot of crunchy, quickly pickled cucumber.

This is perhaps the part of cooking we love most. Not just the food, but everything that comes before it, and the sitting down together afterwards.

And we could not resist buying a second almond croissant at the market, which became our little after lunch treat with a good coffee.

A little piece of our London kitchen, on a summer Saturday.

Hope you are all having a lovely weekend! 🍋♥️

Agnes

The Venetian kitchen

12/09/2026

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