Nonno Carlo Sforza and Nonna Valentine de Dudzeele were my mother’s parents, and this is their love story. Valentine’s parents were in the Belgian diplomatic corps and distant cousins of the King of Belgium, so the family was always being posted off to various, often exotic, locations. In 1900, when the story begins, the de Dudzeeles had been stationed in Constantinople for five years.
The handsome, tall, charismatic Carlo Sforza, then about thirty years old, was just beginning his career as a diplomat. He was posted to Constantinople at the Italian Embassy in 1900. Valentine and Carlo, like all the younger set of the diplomatic corps, were very much a part of the social whirl, so it was inevitable that they should meet at the parties, banquets, picnics, or musical soirées that were organized for their collective entertainment and distraction. One summer’s day, while boarding a gulet moored on the Bosphorus for a Turkish picnic on the water, Valentine slipped on the wooden jetty, crushing her foot badly against the heavy wooden hull of the boat. Carried home in agony, she was confined to the veranda of her home, where she lay for hours on a chaise-longue with her badly broken foot resting on a stool.
My mother told me she was sure that this painful injury was engineered by Valentine, so that her burgeoning friendship with Carlo would have the chance to develop further. On her veranda, Valentine and Carlo would have the perfect opportunity to get to know each other, away from everybody else. It would not have surprised me if Valentine had carried out such an act, although it impressed me greatly, as my Nonna’s ability to remain courageous and clear-headed in any situation was her salvation many times over the years.
During her recovery, Carlo became Valentine’s constant companion, often reading aloud to her, always respectful and decorous, and with a chaperone always within earshot. He would bring her boxes of almond sweetmeats, on which she would nibble while sipping endless cups of sweetened mint tea. (My Nonna had a very sweet tooth, and I remember that there was always a silver bowl of sweetmeats, such as Turkish delight studded with emerald green pistachios, at her home when I visited her as a child. Her lifelong passion for sticky, nutty confections was probably born in Turkey, where she would have had her pick of a vast range of sweets and honey-soaked pastries.)
In time, my grandparents pledged their love to one another and became engaged, in secret. Carlo left for Peking soon after. In her diary entry on the day of his departure, Valentine recorded: “I shall marry him, or nobody!”
The de Dudzeele family stayed on in Constantinople, but Valentine decided she was not going to mope, and that the cure for her aching heart would be to keep herself as busy as possible. As well as conducting various diplomatic duties that her father gave her, she decided to help the Armenian women, who were being persecuted in the slow build-up to what was finally to become a bloodbath in April 1915, when the Ottoman government embarked upon the systematic decimation of its civilian Armenian population. By 1923, virtually the entire Armenian population of Anatolian Turkey had disappeared. When Valentine was living in Constantinople, at the turn of the 20th century, massacres were occurring throughout the empire. Her letters home to Brussels during this period are filled with descriptions of the terrible fighting that raged around her. In one letter, Valentine vividly describes being in the besieged Belgian Legation, while gunfire rained down on the house. Two of Valentine’s best friends were Armenian: Sophie Markarion and her husband Gabriel. Realizing what was likely to happen to them, Valentine and her sister Germaine set about to save them. The sisters had a very deep wardrobe in their bedroom and persuaded Sophie and Gabriel to live in it while they worked out what to do. They were assisted in their mission by their friend, the novelist Pierre Loti, who was at that time lieutenant de vaisseau (first lieutenant) in the French Navy’s fleet in the Bosphorus.
For several days, Sophie and Gabriel sat and slept in two comfortable armchairs that the sisters had dragged into the wardrobe. Nobody could risk the staff finding out, as they would most likely tell the girls’ father what was happening. A few days later, the sisters had secured tickets to Paris. For the first and most dangerous part of the journey, Sophie and Gabriel were hidden under the sisters’ wide, long skirts on the floor of their official horse-drawn carriage, before finally being smuggled out of the country to safety.
Sophie remained a close friend of my grandmother – known to us all as Madame Markarion – and, after Valentine died, she stayed in touch with my mother for several years. The Markarions eventually settled in Paris, where Sophie made a simple living for herself, often making Sirop d’Oranges (Orange Cordial, see page 63) in the bidet of her bathroom.
The King and Queen of Belgium, seated back, with their family and Nonno Carlo, far right.
The intrepid escapades of the de Dudzeele sisters, for which they often disguised themselves as men or dressed up in traditional Turkish peasant clothing, worried Carlo enormously. Through Valentine’s letters to him, he learned how frequently the girls put themselves in danger. He begged Valentine to be careful, but, despite his pleas, her determination was unshakable and many Armenian women owed much to her courage.
During the eleven years of their engagement, Valentine kept the secret of her decision to marry Carlo from everyone except for her sister Germaine. Germaine always kept a very comprehensive diary and, along with all the other little details of their daily life, she recorded the details of her sister’s romance with great care, writing in violet ink with a distinctive, looping hand.
Throughout those years, Carlo worked hard and travelled widely to further his career, determined not to marry Valentine until he was wealthy and successful enough to offer her what he considered to be a worthy future. Fortunately, this did not mean that they remained entirely separated over these years. Once the de Dudzeeles had left Constantinople, Valentine and Carlo had the opportunity to see each other at functions in various different countries, always in an official capacity as part of the diplomatic corps.
Carlo and Valentine kept their love alive by writing letters to each other and they were finally married in Vienna on 4 March 1911. Carlo’s brothers refused to attend, even though my Nonna’s lineage was impeccable, declaring that she was not a good financial catch. In their mind, the family had made sacrifices in order to help Carlo further his diplomatic career and they felt that, by marrying Valentine, he was throwing these back in their faces. Germaine, however, loved Carlo dearly and thought he was a perfect match for her sister.
My grandparents’ wedding took place in the cathedral of St. Stephen in Vienna, the city where Valentine’s father was then Belgian Minister for Austria. A very small sapphire and diamond brooch was sent as a wedding gift for the 36-year-old bride from the Sforza family. Valentine’s wedding dress was trimmed with lace that she and Germaine had made together, dipping the strips of exquisitely delicate fabric in coffee to stain it to the right shade.
After a traditional Viennese meal of rindsuppe (meat soup), topfen strudel (cheese strudel) and tafelspitz (boiled beef with apple sauce and horseradish), they cut into a beautiful Sacher torte that had been made for their wedding. (Many years later in Rome, my mother described her mother’s wedding feast, as I practised stretching the finest of strudel pastry, and furiously beating air into my eggs to create the perfect Sacher torte for my end-of-year chef exams.) After their honeymoon in Venice, the newlyweds, now Count and Countess Sforza, went on to Montignoso, Italy, to meet Giovanni, Carlo’s father.
Giovanni, a widower, was a curmudgeonly, very serious man who had retired from his life in Turin to live in almost complete solitude on the ground floor of the immense Sforza family palace on the Via Aurelia. There he developed his passion as a local historian and wrote many books.
Valentine’s meeting with her father-in-law was to remain etched in her memory forever, especially their first lunch together. They followed him meekly to the dining room where the maid served several simple Tuscan dishes, which they ate in silence: bowls of boiled beans drizzled with home-pressed olive oil; plates of hand-sliced, home-cured ham with generous slices of homemade unsalted bread; and a thick soup, made using the vegetables grown in the small vegetable patch outside the kitchen door. This first lunch, as with the many other meals that the three of them shared over time, took place without conversation.
My grandparents’ long-awaited move to Peking, where Carlo was to take up his first posting as Italian ambassador, did not come a moment too soon. They finally set sail for China in May 1911.
A little taste of Turkey – my mother used to cook this dish often and it would provoke my father to talk to us about his favourite book The Arabian Nights.
Serves 4
Preparation time: 30 minutes, plus cooling and 20 minutes soaking
Cooking time: about 1 hour
2 large tomatoes
45g/1½oz unsalted butter
4 skinless, boneless chicken breasts, cut into large cubes
4 small onions, roughly chopped
4 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
2 red peppers, deseeded and chopped
1 tsp chilli powder
500ml/17fl oz/2 cups chicken stock
sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
Aubergine cream:
2kg/4lb 8oz aubergines
juice of ½ lemon
1 tbsp salt
45g/1½oz unsalted butter
3 tbsp plain flour
300ml/10½fl oz/scant 1¼ cups milk
4 tbsp grated hard cheese, preferably Turkish, or Parmesan, Pecorino or Regato
2 tbsp pomegranate seeds, paper-thin slices of lemon and 2 tbsp chopped parsley leaves, to serve
Preheat the oven to 180°C/350°F/Gas 4. Cut a cross in the base of each tomato, using a sharp knife, then put them in a heatproof bowl and cover with boiling water. Leave to stand for 2–3 minutes, then drain. Peel off and discard the skins, then roughly chop the flesh and leave to one side.
To make the aubergine cream, pierce the aubergines all over with a fork and put them on a roasting rack over a roasting tin. Bake for 35 minutes, or until soft. Leave to cool, then peel and cut off the tops. Pour 300ml/10½fl oz/scant 1¼ cups water into a bowl and stir in the lemon juice and salt. Add the aubergine pulp and soak for 20 minutes, or until required.
To cook the spicy chicken, melt the butter in a large frying pan over a medium heat. Add the chicken and fry until lightly browned all over. Add the onions, garlic, red peppers, tomatoes, chilli powder and stock and season with salt and pepper. Stir well and bring to the boil. Reduce the heat, cover and simmer for 15–20 minutes until the chicken is cooked through.
Drain the aubergines, then squeeze dry. Melt the butter in a large frying pan, then stir in the flour until smooth. Add the aubergine pulp and mash into the butter paste with a fork. Gradually add the milk and whisk together, then stir in the cheese and cook until thickened. Serve the aubergine cream topped with the chicken, pomegranate seeds, lemon and parsley.
This is a gorgeous-to-look-at and simply scrumptious salad that my mother would often make for us. It was always guaranteed to make her reminisce about her own mother’s escapades in faraway Constantinople.
Serves 4–6
Preparation time: 20 minutes, plus cooling
Cooking time: 15 minutes
200g/7oz/1 heaped cup coarse bulgar wheat
400g/14oz cherry tomatoes, halved
5 tbsp slivered almonds
1 pomegranate
200g/7oz/1 cup tinned chickpeas, drained and rinsed
3 tbsp roughly chopped mint leaves
grated zest of 1 unwaxed lemon
sea salt
Dressing:
2 tbsp pomegranate molasses
2 tbsp lemon juice
3 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
½ tsp dried chilli flakes
Bring a large saucepan of water to the boil, then add the bulgar wheat and cook according to the packet instructions. Drain and leave to cool.
Meanwhile, preheat the grill to medium. Put the cherry tomatoes on a baking sheet and grill for 8–10 minutes until softened, then transfer to a bowl and leave to cool. Scatter the almonds on the baking sheet and grill for a minute or two until lightly browned, checking frequently to ensure they don’t burn. Leave to cool.
Roll the pomegranate on a flat work surface until the skin begins to loosen from the fruit. Cut it in half and then, over a bowl, remove the seeds from the membrane using a teaspoon. Remove any skin or pith and leave to one side.
Put the cooked bulgar, chickpeas, cherry tomatoes, almonds, 4 tablespoons of the pomegranate seeds, mint and lemon zest in a large serving bowl. Toss to combine and season with salt.
Mix together all the dressing ingredients in a small bowl and season with salt. Just before serving, pour the dressing over the salad and toss together well.
This very traditional Turkish sweetmeat might well have been the kind of thing my grandparents would have nibbled together at the start of their romance, when they were falling in love in Constantinople.
Serves 16
Preparation time: 30 minutes, plus 15 minutes resting and 10 minutes standing
Cooking time: 40 minutes
250g/9oz unsalted butter, softened
125g/4½oz/1 cup icing sugar, sifted
2 egg yolks
150g/5½oz/scant 1¼ cups fine semolina
250g/9oz/2 cups plain white flour, sifted
1 tsp baking powder
16 blanched almonds
fresh mint tea, to serve
Syrup:
250g/9oz/heaped 1 cup caster sugar
2 tbsp lemon juice
To make the syrup, put the sugar, lemon juice and 500ml/17fl oz/2 cups water in a saucepan and bring to the boil. Boil for 15 minutes, stirring occasionally, until thickened and syrupy, then remove from the heat and leave to cool.
Meanwhile, combine the butter and icing sugar in a mixing bowl, add the egg yolks and mix well with your hands. Add the semolina, then mix in the flour and baking powder gradually (otherwise the mixture will clump together). Add a few drops of water if the dough looks dry and mix until it comes together into a ball of dough. Continue to work the dough with your hands until it is very soft and pale. Wrap the dough in cling film and leave to rest for 15 minutes.
Preheat the oven to 160°C/315°F/Gas 2–3 and line a baking sheet with greaseproof paper. Shape the dough into 16 even-sized, small balls and put them on the prepared baking sheet. Lightly press the top of each piece to flatten slightly and push an almond into the centre.
Bake for 20–25 minutes, or until light golden brown. Remove the pastries from the baking sheet with a spatula, place on a wire rack to cool slightly, then transfer to a shallow baking tin.
Gently reheat the syrup, then, using a tablespoon, spoon the warm syrup over the pastries. Repeat a few times so that a puddle of syrup forms in the tin, then leave the pastries to sit in the syrup for about 10 minutes to soak it up. Remove the pastries from the syrup, arrange on a plate and serve with fresh mint tea.
I always make this in memory of Madame Markarion and my Nonna’s amazing courage. It is really refreshing on a hot summer’s day, diluted with water and served on ice. Decorate with a sprig or two of fresh mint before serving.
Makes 1l/35fl oz/4 cups
Preparation time: 20 minutes, plus cooling
Cooking time: 1 hour
1l/35fl oz/4 cups freshly squeezed orange juice
1.25kg/2lb 12oz/scant 5½ cups caster sugar
grated zest of 2 large unwaxed oranges
Mix the orange juice and sugar together thoroughly in a large saucepan, then stir in the orange zest.
Heat gently over a low heat for 1 hour, stirring continuously until the sugar has dissolved and the mixture thickened. Do not allow to boil.
Leave to cool completely, then pour into sterilized glass bottles (see Cook’s Note, page 40) and seal tightly with the caps. Once sealed, the cordial will keep for up to 4 months until opened.
Nonna Valentine, centre, and Nonno Carlo, second from right, with friends on an informal outing in the Chinese countryside.
