Three sumptuous and simple Southern Italian recipes

From a delicious Amalfi linguini to the decadent fruits of Sicily, bring the tastes of the Mezzogiorno to your kitchen

Southern Italy is the Italy of a northern European’s imagination; it means spaghetti, tomatoes, lemons and ice cream, and they brought some of it here. Italians settled in Scotland from the late 19th century and opened ice cream parlours and restaurants. Some ended up in Northern Irish seaside towns too. Ice cream parlours promoted enjoyment, which was a hard sell in Northern Ireland in the 1970s. 
We had one trip a year to Morelli’s in Portstewart. It was always at the end of the summer holidays, designed to ease the return to school. There was a huge photograph of what I now know was the Bay of Naples along one wall. I hugged this place to myself. I would go there one day. The sea was unfathomably blue, the flowers startlingly red. When I eventually got there, as an adult, it was all I had hoped for and more, though I first went out of season, just before Christmas when there were few tourists. It was a real place, not a fantasy place, but Amalfi and Ravello, with their citrus trees and perfectly appointed restaurants, were gorgeous, even on dark evenings.
On successive visits I fell in love with other areas of the south too, places that felt chaotic yet magnificent: Palermo, where they drive like lunatics and eat ice cream and brioche for breakfast; Brindisi, where the passeggiata feels like a festival and you watch it while nibbling olive taralli; Naples, where the air smells of coffee, fried dough and the sea. I dream about living in Naples. I could justify it if I went on one of those intensive language courses, but really, I’d be there for the vibe, the sense that the place might implode. High on Neapolitan adrenalin, you want to jump on one of the Vespas that take the corners so dangerously and explore every layer of the place, the peeling posters, flaking plaster and crumbling stone. 
Colonised first by the Greeks, then the Romans, Normans and Spanish, Naples is a survivor. They have a saying there, ‘It doesn’t matter whether we’re governed by France or Spain, so long as we eat,’ and there’s no shortage of opportunities. Its fighting spirit is energising and you’re more likely to eat on the hoof than sit in a ritzy restaurant. 
You can just snack, buy a paper cone of little deep-fried things at a friggitoria, a hole-in-the-wall shop that sells deep-fried pasta dough, tiny mozzarella sandwiches, potato croquettes and bites of courgette in batter. Don’t sit down until you need an espresso, then pull up a chair and order a sfogliatella – a clam-shaped and exquisitely layered pastry stuffed with ricotta, candied orange peel and cinnamon – as well. Watch how engaged people are with life. At every turn there’s a pizzeria, shops selling creamy orbs of buffalo mozzarella in cloudy whey, sausage links hanging in windows with salamis behind them. 
From Amalfi to Naples and down into Puglia and Calabria, simplicity is the hallmark of most dishes. There are hundreds of pasta shapes and they’re often tossed with nothing more than broccoli and dried chilli, chickpeas with tomato paste and fried breadcrumbs. Vegetables, particularly aubergines, are cooked to a velvety softness. There isn’t a huge array of flavours, but they’re intense. The few complicated dishes that do exist, such as timpano – a pie stuffed with pasta, cheese and vegetables – or Sicilian cassata, are theatrical and worth making once in a while (timpano is a great dish for Christmas or New Year, though you need a day to put it together). 
There’s nothing complex about the dishes here. They’re unadorned and use few ingredients. As you taste them, you’ll be aware of every element. This is good food. Eat it with a happy heart. There’s much to be said for the southern Italian approach to food and to life.
On doctor’s orders Diana Henry is taking a break from her column. We can’t wait to have her back on these pages, but in the meantime we hope you enjoy these previous favourites from her archive