Ing a bag of cibo to take back to California with me. I’m not sure exactly when my

carry-on bag became a grocery bag in dis-

guise. Besides olive oil (each of us carries back two liters), I take tubes of those pastes

that are marvelous for quick hors d’oeuvres:

white truffle, caper, olive, and garlic.

They’re very inexpensive here and easy to

transport. I take boxes of funghi porcini bouillon cubes, which I can’t get at home, and a

pound or so of dried porcini. The bright boxes and foil bags of Perugina chocolates make handy gifts. I would like to take a wheel of parmigiano but my bag is not that accommodating. This time I’m stuffing in a

truffle-flavored vinegar and a good aceto balsamico. I notice that Ed has added a bottle of grappa to the bag, as well as a jar of chestnut honey.

To the question ‘‘Are you carrying any

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food items?’’ on the customs form, I must answer yes. As long as products are sealed, no one seems to care. A friend who had special sausages from his hometown of Ferrara stuffed in his rain-coat pockets was sniffed by airport beagles and stripped of his heirlooms.

The only kitchen item I usually bring with me to Italy is plastic wrap; the Italian kind always gets off to a bad start, leaving me untangling a two-inch strip. This time, however, I have brought one bag of Georgia pecans and a can of cane syrup, pecan pie being a necessary ingredient of Christmas. All the other ingredients of Christmas in Tuscany seem new. One pleasure of the cook is that now and then you learn all over again.

Winter food here recalls the hunter stepping in the door with his jacket pockets filled with birds, the farmer bringing in the olive harvest and beginning the cold-weather work of clearing and preparing the trees, trimming back vines for spring. Tuscan food of this season calls for massive appetites. For us, long walks build us up to the hefty dishes that we order in trattorie: pasta with wild boar rag ù, lepre, hare, fried mushrooms, and polenta. The rich smells drifting from our kitchen are different in winter. The light summer fragrances of basil, lemon balm, and tomatoes are replaced by aromas of succulent pork roast glazed with honey, guinea hens roasting under a layer of pancetta, and ribollita, that heartiest of soups. Subtle and earthy, the fine shavings of Umbrian truffle over a bowl of pasta prick the senses. At breakfast, the perfumed melons of summer are forgotten and we use leftover bread for slabs of French toast spread with plum jam I made last summer from the delicate coscia di monaca, nun’s thigh, variety that grows along the back of the house. The eggs always startle me; they’re so yellow. The freshness does make a tremendous difference, so that a platter of eggs scrambled with a big dollop of mascarpone becomes a very special treat.

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winter here, there are no asparagus from Peru, no grapes from Chile. What’s available, primarily, is what grows, though citrus comes up from the south and Sicily. A mound of tiny orange clementines, bright as ornaments, shines in a blue bowl on the windowsill. Ed eats two or three at a time, tossing the peels into the fire, where they blacken and shrivel, sending out the pungent scent of their burning oil. Because the days are so short, the evening dinners are long, and long prepared for.

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Winter Bruschette

Crostini, the antipasti that appear on every menu in Tuscany, and bruschette are both pieces of bread onto which various toppings are piled or spread. The crostini are rounds of bread; the baguette-shaped loaves are sold at the forno. A typical platter of crostini includes several choices; crostini di fegatini, chicken liver spread, is the most popular. I often serve crostini with garlic paste and a grilled shrimp on each. Bruschette are made from regular bread, sliced, dipped quickly in olive oil, grilled or broiled, then rubbed with a clove of garlic. In summer, topped with chopped tomatoes and basil, it appears frequently as a first course or snack. Winter’s robust bruschette are fun to prepare at the fireplace. When friends stop in, we open a hefty vino nobile.

Bruschette with Pecorino and Nuts

C Prepare bruschette as described above. For each bruschetta, slowly melt a slice of pecorino (or fontina) in a pan on hot coals or on the stove. When slightly melted, sprinkle chopped walnuts over the cheese.

With a spatula, slide the cheese onto the grilled bread.

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Bruschette with Pecorino and Prosciutto

C Prepare bruschette. In an iron skillet over the coals or in a nonstick pan on the stove, slightly melt slices of pecorino, top with prosciutto, then another slice of pecorino. Flip over so that both sides melt and are crisp around the edges. Slide onto bread.

Bruschette with Greens

C Chop cavolo nero, black cabbage (or Swiss chard). Season and sauté in olive oil with 2 cloves of minced garlic. Spread 1 or 2 tablespoons on each bruschetta.

Bruschette con Pesto di Rucola

This variation on the standard pesto is equally good with pasta.

Arugula is satisfying to grow. It sprouts quickly and the young peppery leaves are best. By the time the leaves are large, the taste usually turns bitter.

C Prepare bruschette, this time cutting the bread into small pieces. In a food processor or mortar, combine a bunch of arugula, salt and pepper, 2 cloves of garlic, and 1/4 cup of pine nuts. Blend together, then slowly incorporate enough olive oil to make a thick paste. Add 1/2 cup of grated parmigiano. Spread on grilled bread. Makes about 1-1/2 cups.

Bruschette with Grilled Eggplant

I’ve often burned eggplant on the grill—by the time it’s done it’s black—so now I bake the whole eggplant in the oven for about 20

minutes, then slice it and, for taste, just finish it off on the grill.

C Bake an eggplant on a piece of foil in a moderate oven until it is almost done. Slice and salt. Let rest on paper towels for a few minutes.

Brush each slice lightly with olive oil, sprinkle with pepper, and grill.

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marjoram. Lightly brush the eggplant with oil again if it looks dry. Place a slice on a piece of prepared bruschetta, sprinkle with some of the herb mixture and a little grated pecorino or parmigiano. Heat briefly in the broiler to melt cheese slightly.

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Wild Mushroom Lasagna

Dried lasagna in boxes leaves me cold—those wavy edges like tractor tires, the gummy pasta. Thin sheets of fresh pasta create a light, light lasagna. I watched a real pro with pasta in a local shop.

Hers is thin as a bedsheet and supple. In summer, this recipe works well with vegetables instead of mushrooms: sliced zucchini, tomatoes, onions, and eggplant, seasoned with fresh herbs. Both recipes can be used as a filling for long, rolled crespelle, crêpes, as well.

C Cut sheets of pasta to fit 6 layers in a large baking dish. (Some of the middle layers can be in more than 1 piece.) Prepare a béchamel sauce: Melt 4 tablespoons of butter. Stir in 4 tablespoons of flour, and cook but do not brown. After 3 or 4 minutes, remove from heat and whisk in 2

cups of milk all at once. Return to heat, stir and simmer until the sauce thickens. Mince 3 cloves of garlic and add it to the sauce, along with 1

tablespoon of chopped thyme, salt and pepper. Grate 1-1/2 cups of parmigiano. In a large pan, heat 2 tablespoons of olive oil or butter and sauté 3 cups of sliced fresh mushrooms—preferably porcini or portobello.