meals with memory
from the pan, not the plan
the
KITCHEN NOTES
Years of work inside Italian kitchens taught me this: what ends up on the plate is never just about food. It’s about decisions when to add heat, when to hold back, and how to respect the ingredients in front of you. The Kitchen Notes is where I share those decisions. You’ll find techniques I rely on, visuals from real sessions, and recipes shaped by memory, repetition, and precision. Everything here has been tested in practice. If it’s written down, it’s because it works.
Kitchen-Proven
Renzo Leopoldo
— Proven on the Line —
21.3957.02° N
22.134° E
Kitchen-Proven
“You don’t learn food by styling it. You learn it by working through it. Every plate here started with a mistake.
That’s how I know it works.”
The chef had one rule—if your sauce is too thin, it’s not done. If it’s too thick, it’s not yours. You wait, you stir, and you stop when it tells you.
There was a boy shelling fava beans barefoot in the alley. Said his nonna taught him to press each one with the side of a spoon. Said it tasted less green that way. He was right.
The stockpot hadn’t moved in six hours. He kept adding bones and peeling garlic straight into it. No timer, no scale. Just instinct. By the end of the night, the lid still hadn’t gone on. It didn’t need to.
03⁰ N
📍Mar 2023, Rome
02⁰ N
📍 Jul 2020, Palermo
01⁰ N
📍 Oct 2019, Napoli
the KITCHEN LEGDER
next →
the KITCHEN DISPATCH
This is the kind of meal you don’t rush. You start it mid-morning, before the phone rings, before anyone starts asking questions. A heavy cut of beef—shoulder or cheek—goes into the pan hard, no oil at first, just heat and patience. Then garlic, crushed under your palm, not sliced. Let it burn a little. Add tomato—real ones, peeled and broken by hand. Salt. A pour of white wine, dry and bitter, nothing sweet. Cover it and walk away. You come back hours later, and it’s changed completely. The meat falls apart. The sauce turns deep and sharp. Serve it in a low bowl, with bread that can take a beating. This is not a dinner party dish. It’s for people who know you. Who don’t ask for substitutions.
02 — Plate No. 2
They didn’t call it a recipe in Campania—just something that showed up when summer ran long. The squash came from a neighbor, the ricotta from a cousin who owed me a favor, and the burnt lemon oil? That was an accident the first time. Now it’s the only way I make it. You grill the squash until the edges blister. Spoon over the ricotta while it’s still warm. Drizzle the oil—dark, sharp, and heavy with peel. I serve this when I don’t want conversation to get too comfortable. It wakes people up.
01 — Kitchen Circa ’72
Grilled Squash with Ricotta & Burnt Lemon Oil
Braised Beef with Tomato, Garlic & White Wine
No frosting. No glaze. Just texture and warmth. The batter is built with ground walnuts and olive oil—dense but not heavy. The syrup’s made with fresh blood orange, steeped with a clove or two. Pour it warm over each slice right before serving. This is the cake you cut with a spoon, not a knife.
04 — Sweet Exit
It’s a pizza, but not a casual one. The dough rests for 36 hours—because that’s how long it takes to get the edges right. You’ll want it blistered, almost burnt, and strong enough to hold weight. The base is garlic cream. Then a sharp anchovy oil. Then whole oregano leaves, straight from the stem. Serve it hot, cut small. People talk less when they eat this.
03 — Oven Notes
Charred Crust Pizza with Anchovy Oil & Fresh Oregano
Walnut Cake with Olive Oil & Blood Orange Syrup
This is for when you want something that holds. The polenta cooks low—no shortcuts—with bay, salt, and whole milk. Then comes the garlic: slow-roasted until soft enough to spread, folded in with grated pecorino just before it sets. Pour it into a dish and broil the top until golden. Eat it hot, with a spoon. No garnish.
06 — Table Heat
I don’t flip the eggs. I let them steam just until the yolk pulls in at the edges. The toast gets a spoonful of brown butter and a splash of white vinegar—yes, vinegar. It sharpens the fat and wakes everything up. Serve with salt, pepper, and no apology. This one’s for mornings when the table is still quiet.
05 — Morning Frame
Soft Eggs with Brown Butter & Vinegar Toast
Baked Polenta with Roasted Garlic & Pecorino
— Giulia Serafini
05⁰ N
Bari, Italy
“Renzo’s recipes make me want to be in the kitchen. Not because they’re easy because they’re real. I’ve made the same sauce three times now, and each time, it gets better. There’s a rhythm to the way he writes that calms you down. It makes the steps feel natural, not mechanical. I’m not a confident cook, but somehow I end up with something that tastes like it was meant to be. That’s not luck, that’s trust.”
— Sandro Bellini
04⁰ N
Bologna, Italy
“We hosted dinner for twelve last week using only Renzo’s notes. The food was honest and full of heart just like the man who gave it. No fuss, no fluff, just generosity. His dishes don’t try to impress; they stay with you. The frittata he shared was gone before I even sat down. It wasn’t fancy, but everyone kept asking, where did this come from? That’s the kind of food you want to make again.”
— Delphine Marais
03⁰ N
Lyon, France
“I don’t usually follow recipes. But these felt different. They didn’t just tell me what to do, they told me why. That changed how I cook and how I think in the kitchen. I slowed down. I tasted more. I stopped overworking the dish. His writing gives you permission to not chase perfection. Just to make something good, with your hands, in your own time. I didn’t expect that to stay with me, but it has.”
— Chiara Montalto
01⁰ N
Amalfi, Italy
“I didn’t know a recipe could feel like a gift. Renzo’s notes made me cook slower, listen harder, and trust the ingredients. Every dish came out better not just because of the steps, but because of the way he wrote them. You can feel his presence in every line, like a friend standing quietly in the room, guiding you through it without ever taking over. That’s rare. That’s what made it feel like more than just a recipe.”
— Leo Strada
Modena, Italy
“There’s something in the way Renzo gives without pretense, without catch. His recipes are like stories passed down, not instructions. I printed mine, scribbled all over it, and taped it to the fridge.”
These recipes are a record of everything I’ve learned. Years of kitchens, conversations, and quiet observation written down the only way that made sense: clearly, honestly, and without pretension. Some were passed down, others built from memory. Each one was tested in real time, adjusted with care, and written to be used not performed. This is the full collection, pulled from notebooks, margins, and scraps of paper. No chapters. No rules. Just the way it happened.
A complete collection from Renzo’s kitchen
By Flavour
BY FLAVOUR
13.4932° E
“Ciao. I’m Renzo Leopoldo, photographer, traveler, and lifelong student off the plate. My work is dedicated to documenting cuisine not as trend, but as truth: a reflection of culture, memory, and the skill behind the scenes. I collaborate with chefs, artisans, and institutions across Europe to create images that preserve the story behind each dish.
When I’m not on the road, I’m home in Italy, testing light in the kitchen, refining recipes, or studying the way food moves from the hands to the lens. This archive is part work, part devotion. If you’ve made it here, benvenuto.”
A cinematic documentation offering designed for chefs or culinary institutions archiving their work. Includes both stills and motion, with full creative p
Always toast your spices. Even the ones you think don’t need it. Dry heat wakes them up.
Every pasta shape has a purpose. Don’t pair orecchiette with a broth. Don’t put sauce on spaghetti if it’s too thin to hold it.
If your knife is slipping, it’s not just dull, it’s disrespecting the work. Sharpen it before you touch anything raw.
If the pan’s too clean after a sear, something’s missing. Leave a mark.
Aroma tells the truth before the taste does. Trust your nose before your tongue.
Salt needs time. Don’t correct it too early, wait until the steam’s gone
