What a difference a month makes! When we were in Montalcino a little over a month ago, we were still bundled up in down and scarves, complaining about the cold. But on this visit, how things have changed! This was a solo trip, and as I drove north along the coast toward Grosseto, I had the car windows rolled down, Radio Subasio (my favorite Italian radio station) blaring, and the scent of the sea and spring in the air. Pure magic.

As I turned up the hill to Montalcino, the vines surrounding the road were pushing out leaves so bright that they almost looked lit from within. Spring had sprung in all its glory. After decades of springs in this valley, it still takes my breath away every time.

I have mentioned this before, but one of the small but important rituals for me while in Montalcino is to get up to watch the sunrise. I am so incredibly fortunate to have the view I do from my apartment that I feel almost guilty about staying in bed.

In spring, when the alarm goes off, I usually make a coffee, wrap myself in a sweater, and, with coffee in hand, head out to my little balcony to wait patiently for the first rays of the sun to appear. The growing chorus of birds and the occasional crow of a rooster keep me company while I wait.

After all these years with these windows, it still surprises me how much the sun moves. In winter, the sun rise is visible from my dining room window, which looks out over the main bell tower in the piazza. By spring, it wanders all the way around to my balcony, on the other side of my apartment.

The valley below is often still pooled in fog. Some mornings, clouds completely block my view of the horizon. (Back to bed I go!) Other mornings, it’s a complete white sea, swallowing the village beneath me. And still other mornings, like this one, just the tops of the hills peek through.

Each spring, I listen for the swallows (rondini in Italian). How I love these birds!! They weren’t here in March. Now the sky is full of them. I could hang out my window for hours watching them swoop and soar above the rooftops and the valley, until suddenly they come together and cry out as they wheel through the air. Their song is, for me, the real harbinger of spring in this valley. It makes my heart so happy when I hear them.

My friend reminded me of an old Italian saying: “Una rondine non fa primavera.” One swallow does not make a spring. But a whole sky full of them? I think that settles it.

It was a fun time to be in the village. May 8th is the feast day of the Madonna del Soccorso, patron of Montalcino, and the village usually turns out in full. The flags of the four quartieri (neighborhoods) were flying from every street. In the village, they say that the Madonna always brings rain on her feast day, and the sky threatened all morning, true to form.

In the late afternoon, I headed down to the piazza. I had the perfect perch as the festivities kicked off with the local Montalcino band marching into the piazza.

Slowly, the villagers moseyed on down to the piazza for the annual game of tombola (the Italian version of bingo) under the logge. A pure joy to watch as neighbors greeted each other, picked up their tombola cards, and grabbed a seat, ready for action.

By evening, the drizzle had arrived right on schedule. The Madonna had kept her word. I made my way back up the hill, settled at my apartment window with a glass of vino, and waited for the sky to light up.

Gold above the bell tower, the cathedral glowing beneath, the village watching together from a hundred different windows. Pure magic.

One of the best things about this time of year is that it is the beginning of cherry season – one of my absolute favorite fruits.

The view from my bedroom window is up to the top of the village, where one of the churches sits above the rooftops. And just below it sits a massive cherry tree I have watched for as long as I have owned the apartment. Bare in winter, leafing out in spring, heavy with fruit in summer, then bare again. Over a decade of watching its seasons (and the woman who tends to her garden).

As you see in the photo, the tree grows behind a tall stone wall in a private garden. When I walk up or down the hill in summer, there are always a few branches, filled with ripe, plump cherries hanging over the wall, way above my head, and, frustratingly, completely out of reach.

I have stood beneath that tree more times than I can count, looking up, scheming how to get just one from those branches. A few years ago, as I walked down the hill, there was a young guy perched on the wall, munching cherries in the sunshine, helping himself. I pretended to be outraged that he would help himself to another’s tree, but I have to admit that I was completely jealous.

But our Friday market delivered as promised. Cherries were there alongside the rest of the beautiful spring bounty. Piles of purple artichokes of all sizes, fava beans in their crates, plump apricots, and yes – the cherries (and all mine this time!)

Sbriciolata con Ricotta e Ciliegie

I had friends arriving for lunch in a few days, and so the cherries came home with me. A sbriciolata is one of the simplest and easiest desserts in the Italian repertoire. (I make this dessert in various forms quite a bit! Lemon version is HERE.) The name comes from sbriciolare, which means “to crumble,” and that is exactly the technique. There is no rolling, no fussing with a pastry. The only real effort is a little elbow grease to work the cold butter into the flour. Consider it a bonus arm workout.

You make a buttery, almond-scented crumble, scatter half of it into the pan, layer it with sweetened ricotta and fresh fruit, and then scatter the rest of the crumble loosely on top. Into the oven it goes, and out comes something that looks like it took far more effort than it did.

I love that it is rustic, a little uneven, and full of fruit and ricotta (need I say more?) Exactly the kind of thing you want to serve to friends gathered around a table on a spring afternoon.

A few recipe notes for when you make this at home:

• Little prep is needed for the cherries. They are pitted and tossed with a squeeze of lemon juice. The lemon brightens them and keeps the color vivid as they bake.
• The ricotta absolutely must be well-drained. If it’s too wet, the filling will weep into the crumble, and you’ll end up with a soggy base. I usually drain mine in a fine-mesh sieve over a bowl for at least 30 minutes before mixing.
• This recipe uses fine semolina flour (sometimes labeled semola rimacinata), which gives the crumble a delicate crispness and golden color. Be sure to use the fine variety, not coarse semolina. If you can’t find it at all, simply replace it with an equal amount of all-purpose flour. The crumble will be very slightly less crisp, but still delicious.
• Do not pack the crumble base. Just scatter it loosely and press gently. The whole charm of a sbriciolata is that the texture stays craggy and tender, never compressed like a tart shell.
• The almond extract in the filling is a nice note against the cherries. If you want to lean further into the Tuscan table, a tablespoon of Vin Santo in the ricotta would be beautiful.
• A sbriciolata is genuinely better the next day. The crumble settles, the ricotta firms up, and it slices more cleanly. Keep it refrigerated and bring it back to room temperature before serving.

I am writing this back at my kitchen table in Pennsylvania, but as always, a part of me is still at that bedroom window, watching that cherry tree, listening for the swallows, waiting for the sun to come up over the balcony.

Wishing a beautiful spring to all,

Alla prossima! (Until next time)

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