The question posed at the lunch table today was this:
"What's the first thing that springs to mind when you think of Italy ?"
The response:
"Ferraris, pizza and a particularly randy septuagenarian Prime Minister."
Now before anyone takes umbrage to these sweeping generalisations let us not forget that every nation is a victim of certain stereotypes and not all are as endearing as those of Bella Italia. For me though there is one true characteristic of this wonderful stiletto-esque land mass that transcends all others and that characteristic is passion.
Everything in Italy is accompanied by it. Watch an Italian describe the weather and you'd be forgiven for thinking that his numbers had just come up on the Euro Millions. The plosives, the intensity and the way he grabs the air as though he were grabbing your collar with both hands to pull you closer. I swear if you tied up his hands he'd be mute.
And what of the young Italian lovers who seem to carry the mantle of Romeo & Juliet as they shun all sense of public modesty and swap their masticated chewing gum in front of you on the train ? The more prudish may balk but they still yearn to experience such thoroughbred abandon.
Anthropomorphically speaking though its all about the nosh. The image of the Italian Mamma, that ladle wielding matriarch of the homestead, is one that has endured for decades. The image is in fact so powerful that on a recent trip to Italy I saw a restaurant that had parked their Mamma outside on a chair as if to prove their authenticity. A clever ruse it was too as they palmed me off with a microwave lasagna. She was clearly a professional actor.
This week as an homage I've decided to make that most traditional of dishes: Spaghetti Bolognese. And trust me, I approached the task with no small feeling of trepidation - everyone knows you screw with an Italian's Bolognese at your peril.
Like chili con carne everyone seems to have a definitive opinion on the cooking method so I have tried to combine all the best parts of the numerous lectures I received and do them justice in one dish. The result is a really rich, gamey Bolognese that I left to simmer for 3 hours before my hunger could take no more...
"What's the first thing that springs to mind when you think of Italy ?"
The response:
"Ferraris, pizza and a particularly randy septuagenarian Prime Minister."
Now before anyone takes umbrage to these sweeping generalisations let us not forget that every nation is a victim of certain stereotypes and not all are as endearing as those of Bella Italia. For me though there is one true characteristic of this wonderful stiletto-esque land mass that transcends all others and that characteristic is passion.
Everything in Italy is accompanied by it. Watch an Italian describe the weather and you'd be forgiven for thinking that his numbers had just come up on the Euro Millions. The plosives, the intensity and the way he grabs the air as though he were grabbing your collar with both hands to pull you closer. I swear if you tied up his hands he'd be mute.
And what of the young Italian lovers who seem to carry the mantle of Romeo & Juliet as they shun all sense of public modesty and swap their masticated chewing gum in front of you on the train ? The more prudish may balk but they still yearn to experience such thoroughbred abandon.
Anthropomorphically speaking though its all about the nosh. The image of the Italian Mamma, that ladle wielding matriarch of the homestead, is one that has endured for decades. The image is in fact so powerful that on a recent trip to Italy I saw a restaurant that had parked their Mamma outside on a chair as if to prove their authenticity. A clever ruse it was too as they palmed me off with a microwave lasagna. She was clearly a professional actor.
This week as an homage I've decided to make that most traditional of dishes: Spaghetti Bolognese. And trust me, I approached the task with no small feeling of trepidation - everyone knows you screw with an Italian's Bolognese at your peril.
Like chili con carne everyone seems to have a definitive opinion on the cooking method so I have tried to combine all the best parts of the numerous lectures I received and do them justice in one dish. The result is a really rich, gamey Bolognese that I left to simmer for 3 hours before my hunger could take no more...
I hope you like it and nota bene: if this is my last post I'm more than likely sleeping with the fishes ;-)
