Holiday Homes: Why It’s (Sometimes) Fun To Improvise

Today finds us comfortably ensconced in Ravenna, the eastern town, and sometime capital, of Emilia Romagna. Very happily ensconced, it must be said. L's researches have found for us a second floor apartment with large balcony, ten minutes from the city centre. While the website pictures will show you the accommodation, I would suggest that for the cooks among us (about 95% of the readership?) there is an omission which all letting agents should be obliged to remedy, under pain of something nasty.

Lay out and photograph the entire batterie de cuisine. They never do, of course. How do you prepare? if you are a first timer, you may have concentrated on shorts, swim suits and sandals and omitted the fundamenatals. Then when the fun of kitchen discovery begins you may be in for an unpleasant surprise or two.

In fact this is a charming place. The lady who keeps an eye on it for the management lives upstairs. No, here's the code for the key safe. We are met personally. There are fresh flowers on the table, peaches and nectarines in the fridge. Adequate supplies of soaps, shampoo, dishwasher tablets - but no washing liquid. The little narrow cupboard next to the cooker has some basic condiments, some oil and vinegar, and enough tiny dried peperoncini to blow the head off an elephant. This is not a criticism: sometimes in such places the cupboards are literally bare.

It's when you get to the nitty gritty of equipment that eccentricities come to light. No potato peeler, but, this being Italy, a nutmeg grater. (Don't write in and say your knife does a better job with potatoes. No it doesn't, unless you want to waste a quarter of the spud.) No tin opener, no scissors. But we're sort of OK, as I never travel anywhere without the trusty Swiss Army Knife.

Even so, tins can represent a problem. Yes, I have used the contraption on the trusty Swiss. It usually results in a mangled, lethal weapon of a tin, not open far enough to allow anything to come out, and threatening your very life if you try to poke in. Make mental note to self: buy only tins with ring pulls. And opening packs of coffee? I can laugh in the face of such adversity with the scissors attachment.

Why do the Italians close the bottles and jars of food stuffs with twice the torque of the rest of Europe? And did we remember to pack the clever gizmo which aids their opening? Of course not? Exercise can indeed be good for you, but not the type that makes you look as though a blood vessel is about to burst.

It's getting into the every day that you realise how much you spoil yourself in your own kitchen. We have our routines and the equipment to make life easy. Our breakfast coffee ritual involves a full cafetiere, which of course we remembered to pack. And wrapped it in a couple of dishcloths and napkins. It's unlikely you'll be well provided for there.

For a hot second cup, we zap ours in the microwave. We lack one here. Hmm. I know, pour into a pan and stick it on the hob. See me, see culinary genius.

This is a kitchen almost completely devoid of cooking bowls and jugs. But it has plenty of pots. They too hold things. A slotted spoon to remove the fat from the chicken stock? No, but a good wadge or two of kitchen paper does the trick equally well. And if we really want to get into first world problems, you will have noted that I didn't pack the meat thermometer. So how do I know if the chicken breast that I'm poaching is done? Take it out of the pan and cut into it, you diddy.

In any kitchen there are work arounds to be done; however, the cooker is not one of these. I'm sure we've all had our share of stove nightmares. Here, on the other hand, I was delighted to see a very new looking induction hob and electric oven. If you haven't been inducted to the delights, try soon. Rings which can bring a massive pot of water to a rolling boil inside a minute, then have it down to the tamest simmer in seconds.

Well here is living proof that not all induction hobs are the same. The chicken legs and thighs were for a stew. One of my many pet hates is a stew with a runny sauce. The chicken, being cooked, was removed from the pan to allow the sauce reduction to begin. On the highest setting of course, chef on hand to stir as required.  This usually takes 2 - 3 minutes. On an induction, you can go beyond 9. To P. That stands for Power Boost, except here where it stands for, Piss Off Tom. Ten minutes later about 15% of the liquid had evaporated. Runny gravy it was.

But enough of hot food. When the mercury gets perilously close to 40 in the hottest part of the day, an endless supply of cold drinks is essential. Not just fridge cold. That doesn't cut it. Ice is required. Not for the first time, our freezer contained a tiny container. It would have yielded a dozen little lozenges, with a total melting time of 92.4 seconds. You may ask if the one large tray which we brought was much better. A little, but the difference was the IKEA food bag, filled as soon as the ice formed, which meant we regularly had a sack of the stuff.

What else may have you forgotten? Oh yes, your two favourite sharp knives. Pack these. Slice and chop with your customary ease and expertise and everything else will be relegated to the minor issue that it really is.

My word, aren't we spoiled in our own kitchens?