This is part of a series of Q&A’s about cooking on vacation. The complete list of posts in this series is available here.
Molly Wizenberg writes the blog Orangette, known for its warm, distinctive voice. She is the author of the bestselling memoir A Homemade Life, and with her husband Brandon Pettit she helped open a beloved Seattle pizza restaurant called Delancey. Molly also co-hosts the weekly podcast Spilled Milk with Matthew Amster-Burton, and she is working on her second book.
Here she shares memories of mish-mash lunches, cooking in Saint-Émilion, and a particularly memorable meatball moment.
Did you take a vacation this summer, and did you have a chance to cook while there?
I traveled to Italy with my mother in late June. Brandon and I had been invited to a friend’s wedding near Urbino in the Marche, but he needed to stay behind to manage the restaurant, and I didn’t want to go alone, so my mom joined me. We flew into Rome, drove to Urbino, spent four nights there and made day trips around the region, then drove down the Adriatic coast to Puglia and stayed four nights near Ostuni. We didn’t do much cooking—staying in a hotel in Urbino and a masseria in Puglia left that to the hosts—but we ate extraordinarily well: fava purée with wild chicories, fried zucchini blossoms, generous olive oil, capocollo, and fist-sized green figs. It was all incredible.
In what way do you feel your vacation cooking style differs from your everyday cooking style?
Usually I prefer renting an apartment on vacation and cooking most nights, saving a few splurges for special dinners out. Cooking on the road excites me: I’ll find an ingredient I can’t get at home and build meals around it. The biggest difference is time—vacation gives me more of it. There’s space to daydream about meals, even if the cooking ends up being a simple picnic or a relaxed mish-mash lunch. Food feels more vivid on vacation: flavors, smells, and new ideas register differently, and I notice things more keenly.
Are there utensils or ingredients you always take with you when you go on vacation? If so, what are they? If not, what do you unfailingly regret not taking?
If we drive, I always pack a couple of good knives. Arriving at a picnic or cabin and having only dull blades is a real dampener. When we fly, though, we usually have to improvise and accept whatever’s available.
What is your best vacation cooking memory? And your worst (gruesome details welcome)?
One of my best memories comes from a travel assignment in Bordeaux. We flew in late, picked up a car that smelled oddly of weed, and drove to a vacation rental in Saint-Émilion. After a long day of travel we were lost and only found the house when the rental manager saw us circling a roundabout and came to meet us. The house was modern and the kitchen well equipped. Exhausted and starving, Brandon made a simple pot of pasta—canned tomatoes, capers, a touch of chili—and it felt perfect. That humble meal grounded me: I was on my first travel assignment, newly married, nervous about interviews the next day, and deeply happy to share that quiet, grown-up moment with him.
The worst memory happened on a short trip to a friend’s parents’ house on Whidbey Island. We packed a cooler and I made spaghetti and meatballs for our first night—Brandon’s first time eating meatballs, since he had been a vegetarian for much of his life. He loved them. But when we went to store the leftovers, I noticed small white, rice-like flecks on a meatball. A closer look revealed a fly, and then those flecks began to move—maggots. The thought of a fly laying eggs on our food while we ate was revolting, so we threw it all away. That night left a lasting impression; we still avoid bringing up the subject, and Brandon remains somewhat wary of meatballs.
Do you have a tip or saving-grace recipe that makes your kitchen life easier while on vacation?
My best advice is not to overthink it. Even if I love cooking away from home, I keep things simple: a big pan of spaghetti and meatballs is about as much effort as I want to spend. I’m a big fan of picnics—bread, cheese, cured meats, a simple salad, and a chocolate bar or fruit. Sometimes just bread, cheese, and chocolate is more than enough. The joy of eating well with minimal fuss is often the point of vacation cooking.