Hello again! 

I am back after a month-long pause in which so much has happened but, somehow, it all went downhill extremely quickly and, long story short,  I now find myself a little sick, alone in a gorgeous apartment, in a new city that is in full lockdown. Given the circumstances, this post is not going to merely provide a recipe but also a little reflection on the last few months, inspired by this incredible essay, that I had the pleasure to study in depth at Uni. 

Let me explain: Woolf’s famous argument in this book is:

 ‘A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write (fiction)’ 

and, believe me, that is something I had never understood so well as this past year. I am sure I am not the only one who has been forced away from their job, domicile, hobbies and friends because of the "plague". And I can only assume that, for many, this has ment a huge decrease in creativity, inspiration, enthusiasm, and so on... Even for those of us who are not professional writers, authors, or artists, but simply enjoy the act of artistic creation as a mean to express ourselves.

And of course, this has not happened from the start, not in my personal experience at least. This blog, for example, is just one of the ways I have tried to entertain myself, as well as knitting, painting, reading, playing online games and falling in and out of love. So, when faced with the impossibility to be my true self in my parents' home - where I fled for a few months - I left to try to find a place of my own. I am not sure I have found it yet, nor how long it will take me, but right now, in this very moment, I feel the closest to that Virginia, with her little inheritance, and her room, and the time and the silence to reflect on all the other women who haven't been as lucky, but who still managed to do amazing and wonderful things. 

Me... I just want to share a recipe.

It is a curious fact that novelists have a way of making us believe that luncheon parties are invariably memorable for something very witty that was said, or for something very wise that was done. But they seldom spare a word for what was eaten. It is part of the novelist’s convention not to mention soup and salmon and ducklings, as if soup and salmon and ducklings were of no importance whatsoever, as if nobody ever smoked a cigar or drank a glass of wine. Here, however, I shall take the liberty to defy that convention and to tell you that the lunch on this occasion began with soles, sunk in a deep dish, over which the college cook had spread a counterpane of the whitest cream, save that it was branded here and there with brown spots like the spots on the flanks of a doe. 

                                                                                            A Room of One’s Own, Virginia Woolf

Creamy fish casserole

Ingredients:

1 kg of boneless white fish fillets (sole fish, cod, etc.)

3 tablespoons of butter or margarine

6 tablespoons of plain flour

2 cups (500ml) of milk

1 pinch of salt and ground black pepper

4 tablespoons of grated cheese (possibly parmigiano, grana, or any white cheese)

2 tablespoons of breadcrumbs

parsley for the garnish

Preheat oven to 180 degrees and grease a baking tray. Salt the fish fillets and put them in the casserole to bake for 5 to 6 minutes.

Meanwhile, melt the butter (or margarine) in a medium saucepan. Remove from heat and mix in the flour and milk. Return to stove over medium heat and stir constantly, until the sauce has thickened. Then season with salt and pepper.

Pour the sauce over the fish fillets and sprinkle a mixture of grated cheese and breadcrumbs on top.

Bake in preheated oven for 15 minutes or until cheese is browned. Garnish with parsley, enjoy.

Let me know if you try this recipe. In the meantime, take care, be safe and keep reading!