Late spring, outdoors. Shall we go for a drink?
Six simple words, usually said with cheerful ease by friends looking for a relaxed moment, by that charming person hoping to steal an hour of your attention over cocktails and snacks, or by colleagues ready to call it a day with a sparkling drink.
Social etiquette often calls for an enthusiastic yes, eager for that hour that is neither afternoon nor evening — a time that feels particularly pleasant because its edges are undefined.
If you shift the camera from the faces proposing the happy hour to mine, however, you’d notice a different expression: rising anxiety, hesitation, a touch of fear. That was my reaction before I gradually relaxed my strict 100% nonalcoholic stance.
For most of my life I drank water (still, please), tea in every variety, warm fruit juices, milk, and more recently coffee. So the happy hour and I lived in different worlds. Try ordering tea at a bar during aperitivo and you’ll get a few puzzled looks — half the people are busy flirting, the other half assume you’ll have something sparkling.
I could order a glass of sparkling wine, a cosmopolitan or a mojito and it would seem fashionable, but alcohol isn’t just a matter of taste for me — my body doesn’t handle it well.
I still remember the first time I ate a piece of sangria fruit at a party in Siena. I didn’t drink hard spirits, just sampled the fruit, and the result was a catatonic spell on a couch: monosyllabic answers, overwhelming sleepiness and no chance of impressing the crush I’d hoped to charm. If he had offered me tea instead of sangria fruit, perhaps that evening would have turned out differently — and if you remember me behaving oddly that night, now you know why.
With time I’ve learned to compromise: I’ll drink in moderation when I’m not driving and when being sharp isn’t required. I’ve discovered a fondness for dark rum, Pimm’s and fruity cocktails. Yet my true pleasure at happy hour remains the food — the appetizers.
Yesterday I wrote about classic Tuscan antipasti — salami, cheeses and fresh fava beans simply seasoned with a pinch of salt to accompany a glass of red wine.
You can transform those same ingredients into savoury mini muffins. Keep the familiar, colourful components, add a little corn flour for crunch and a touch of lemon zest for brightness, then bake in small portions. The result is modern in shape but rooted in Tuscan tradition — and the happy hour has never tasted better.
This recipe is adapted from Pumpkin and Feta Muffins by 101 Cookbooks.
Fava bean, salami & cheese muffins
Giulia
Ingredients
- 1 cup 100 g shelled fava beans (about 900 g with the pods)
- 1 cup 150 g salami, diced
- 1 cup 130 g fresh pecorino cheese, diced
- 1 cup 150 g plain flour
- 1 cup 150 g corn flour
- 1 teaspoon 5 g salt
- 4 teaspoons about 15 g baking powder
- freshly ground black pepper
- grated zest of 1/2 lemon
- 2 eggs, lightly beaten
- 3/4 cup 200 ml whole milk
Instructions
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Preheat the oven to 190°C and grease 20 mini muffin molds (about 3 tablespoons / 75 ml capacity each).
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In a large bowl combine dry ingredients: plain flour, corn flour, salt, baking powder, a generous pinch of freshly ground black pepper and grated lemon zest.
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In a smaller bowl whisk the eggs with the milk, then fold the wet mixture into the dry ingredients until just combined. Do not overmix.
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Pour or spoon the batter into the prepared mini muffin molds and bake for about 18 minutes, until lightly golden, puffed and dry inside. Serve warm.
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Before you head back to your day and kitchen (I’m unusually chatty today — perhaps it’s the aperitivo, he-he), here’s a recent piece I wrote for Jamie Oliver’s website where I tell the story of finding my place in the world in a tiny, bustling kitchen in the heart of Tuscany.
