The Food of Love (37 page)

CD, and a moment later the opening chords of’Rocking All Over

The World’ swept through the dining room. The singers soon

gave up in disgust.

Looking around, Tommaso saw that there were still too many

people without any food in front of them. Everything was fine for the moment, but sooner or later they were going to wonder where

their next course was.

‘Someone should check on Alain,’ Bruno muttered to Tommaso.

‘Make sure he hasn’t had a heart attack.’

‘Don’t you worry about him. I’ll give him some more of your amusegueules,’ Tommaso said.

Going to the coat cupboard, he unlocked it and eased the door

open so that he could peek inside. Alain’s chef’s hat had fallen off, and he was pressing his lips passionately against those of Hugo

Kass.

Tommaso smiled to himself as he quietly shut the door again

and locked it.

At last the secondi were organised and Tommaso, supervising the

flow of food between kitchen and dining room, began to relax.

‘You can concentrate on cooking for Laura now,’ he informed

Bruno.

Sweeping the dish he was working on to one side, Bruno

reached for another set of ingredients.

All around him, Kim’s fellow diners appeared to be intoxicated.

They weren’t even staying in their seats, he saw to his horror:

people were walking around, chatting to complete strangers,

laughing and joking. He made a decision. Better to do this now,

before these noisy Italians ruined the perfect atmosphere he had worked so hard to engineer.

‘Turn that music off, please,’ he told a harassed-looking waiter.

Eventually, the Quo fell silent. Kim stood up. One by one the

other diners stopped whatever they were doing and turned to see

what was going on. Kim nodded to his barbershop quartet, who

began to sing. The hum of laughter died, replaced by the quiet,

solemn harmonies of Allegri’s Miserere.

‘Laura, my darling,’ Kim began in Italian. ‘It was in this very

city that Petrarch wrote some of his most beautiful poems about a girl called Laura. Now, five centuries later, I too have fallen in love with her …’

It’s happening, Laura thought as forty-eight pairs of eyes swivelled to look at her. What on earth am I going to do ?

‘It’s a disaster,’ Tommaso shouted to Bruno as he rushed into the kitchen. ‘The American’s proposing to her.’

‘What?

‘Si. You’d better come quickly.’

Bruno looked at the mess of ingredients on his board. ‘But it’s

not ready.’

‘Too bad. By the time you are ready, it’ll be too late.’

Kim was reaching the end of his speech. It was fine and noble and deeply moving: men as well as women were openly brushing away

tears as Kim finally went down on one knee, pulled out a small box and flipped it open. There was a collective gasp as the ring flashed in the evening sunlight.

‘Laura - bellissima - will you be my wife?’ he said, just as the singers drew to a close.

All around the room, people lifted their hands expectantly,

ready to clap. There was just the little matter of Laura’s response which would undoubtedly be equally as beautiful and equally as

moving - and then they could all go wild.

Laura took a deep breath.

‘Kim, you’ve asked me this question in front of all these people, so it’s in front of all these people that I have to respond. You’re a wonderful, intelligent, sensitive person, and I’ve really enjoyed our time together. But the answer’s no. You can ask me to explain now, or I can explain later, but I’m sorry, my mind’s made up.’

You could have cut the silence with a knife. Kim said quickly,

‘Laura, it’s a lot to take in. Yes, let’s talk about it. Of course we must talk about it. You’ve drunk a little wine, you’ve eaten well you know how stupefied carbohydrate makes you feel - so I’ll take

that as a maybe, and you can have all the time you need—’

‘You’re not listening,’ she interrupted. ‘No isn’t a negotiating position, Kim. You’ve taught me a lot, but you were only ever my rebound from - from something before that went horribly wrong.

I don’t want to spend the rest of my life being told what to do by you, and I don’t want to be told that I have to marry you.’

At the back of the room, Tommaso pushed Bruno forward.

‘It’s now or never, my friend,’ he whispered.

Bruno was holding a plate on which there were some pieces of

pear and a small amount of zabaione sauce - all he had had time to prepare. As he walked towards Laura the other diners, suddenly

sensing that the entertainment wasn’t over yet, swivelled to watch him. Somebody sniggered. Bruno felt his cheeks go red.

At last he was standing in front of her. In her eyes there was

nothing he could read, no expression from which he could take

either comfort or despair.

‘This is for you,’ he began, putting the plate in front of her.

Laura looked at the pear in its little island of zabaione. Suddenly Bruno knew that it wasn’t enough. There was a long, terrible silence.

“I was going to tell you that it expresses what I feel better than I ever could,’ he said helplessly. ‘But that isn’t true, is it? It doesn’t express anything. Sometimes food is just - food.’ He glanced at

Kim, who was staring at him with an expression of fierce disdain.

‘At least he had the guts to tell you what he wanted. Whereas I

always thought that my silence, and my cooking, would somehow

be enough.’

Laura nodded slowly.

‘When I think back to all the meals I made for you,’ he said, I

remember meals that were meant to impress you, meals that were

meant to dazzle you, to excite you, to comfort you, even to

seduce you. But there was never a single dish or recipe that was designed to tell you the simple truth.’

She said nothing.

‘The truth is,’ he began. He stopped, aware that every single

person in the room was staring at him, their expressions varying from amusement to incomprehension. The silence stretched on

for ever. He could taste it. It was filling his mouth like uncooked dough, sticky and cloying, making speech impossible—

‘The truth is that I love you,’ he said softly. ‘I’ve always loved you. I always will love you. And what I want, more than anything else in the world, is to go on loving you.’

‘I’m going home tomorrow,’ Laura said.

“I know,’ he said simply. ‘But we’ve got tonight.’

As she stood up, she took one of the pieces of pear and slid it

into his mouth.

‘In that case,’ she said, ‘let’s not spend it here.’

In a little bar in a side street off the Viale Glorioso, Gennaro had finally finished the modifications to his Gaggia. There was a rudimentary turbo-charger, created from the tractor parts he had

found on his van, and an auxiliary pressure pump adapted from

the engine cooler, as well as various other improvements he felt sure would make a difference. Having packed the barrels with

coffee grounds, he turned on the ignition and stood back.

For a moment nothing happened. Then, with a great clanking

throb, the vast engine caught and began to build the pressure.

Across the street, on the top floor, Bruno and Laura did not

hear the chugging of Gennaro’s coffee machine. Finally, they were oblivious to everything except the sweet, long-awaited taste of

each other’s body.

As the needle on the pressure gauge climbed towards the maximum, Gennaro exhaled a sigh of satisfaction. It was working. He

had achieved his life’s ambition - the perfect cup of coffee. He reached for the valve that would release the pent-up water into the coffee grounds. But he reached for it a moment too late.

There was an explosion that was heard on the other side of the

Tiber, and the sky above Trastevere lit up briefly.

‘What was that?’ Bruno said, pausing for a moment. Then,

because Laura didn’t answer, he went back to what he had been

doing before.

‘The taste [these recipes] have been devised to achieve wants

not to astonish but to reassure. It issues from the cultural

memory, the enduring world of Italian cooks, each generation

setting a place at table where the next one will feel at ease and at home.’

Marcella Hazan, The Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking

To: Bruno

From: Laura

And there you are. A long way away. This place seems very big and stressed-out after Rome. College, though, is exactly the same. Weird, when I’ve done so much, to come back and find the same people

doing exactly the same stuff as before I went away.

In ten weeks it’ll be the holidays, and then I’ll be straight back to see you (thank God for cheap flights). In the meantime… this afternoon I went down to Little Italy and found a deli. OK, it isn’t Gigliemi, but it’s got lots of stuff you’d recognise. And guess what? There’s a cooking class here I can sign up for. You’d better watch your laurels, boy.

love,

L.

PS Where should I start?

To: Laura

From: Bruno

Re:re:Well,here lam.

Spaghetti aio e oio.

This is about as simple as it gets …

Actually, spaghettini - the thin stuff - probably holds the oil

better than spaghetti. If you can’t get that, try linguine or even vermicelli.

Slice a clove of garlic as thinly as you can and fry it in some good oil until it goes soft (not brown). Add some dried chilli flakes. Remove the garlic. Meanwhile, boil the pasta in salted water, drain, and tip it into the frying pan to fry for a minute. Serve with salt, pepper and a lot of grated pecorino romano.

Alternatively:

Tagliatelle con ragu bolognese

The Bolognese are famously undiscerning about what they put in

their mouths, which is why ‘Bolognese’ also means a blow-job. But the classic ragu isn’t too bad.

Fry some chopped vegetables - onion, carrot, celery, maybe a couple of mushrooms. You’ll need about 115g of pancetta or chopped bacon for 325g of minced meat. (Pork is best.) Fry until the meat goes grey, then add a little wine: wait till it evaporates, then add four

tablespoons of tomato paste and season. A dash of chilli helps too.

Gradually add the rest of the bottle and half a pint of stock.

Traditionally you should cook this ‘from sunrise to sunset’, but actually a couple of hours will do.Then stir in some cream and cook, uncovered, until it goes thick and sticky.

Or, if you’re feeling a little braver:

Pappardelle con sugo de lepre

Fry some chopped bacon or pancetta, add your hare in (fairly small) pieces & brown it all over, remove and keep warm. Fry a chopped

onion and some garlic gently until soft but definitely not brown. Stir in a handful of flour (gradually), then add three-quarters of a bottle of wine. Drink the rest. Put the hare back in, season, add a clove and plenty of thyme (not the stalks) and a dash of pepper sauce. Simmer for two hours, then strip the meat off the bones and shred it before returning it to the sauce.Turn the heat up to reduce it further. (If you have the hare’s liver, fry it and blend it with the sauce to thicken it.) Serve with pappardelle and grated parmesan.

Did I tell you I love you?

B

To: Bruno

From: Laura

Re:re:re: Well, here I am.

Yes, several times.

Tried the ragu last night on my new roommate, Lucy. Which led, of course, to the whole story coming out, bit by bit, over dinner… She actually cried. So, to make a long story short, she’s appointed herself your official representative, keeping me from temptation, singles bars and middle-aged lecturers. I think I may be able to give her the slip, though. (Joke.)

Tomorrow I have my first cooking lesson. Apparently we will be

learning how to chop. Ha! I shall soon be a mean hand with a sharp knife, so don’t mess with me, lover boy. I know what you Italians are like, remember.

Laura

PS If you really think we can get hares over here …

To: Bruno

From: Laura

Re:re:re: Well, here I am.

Thanks for the hare. You’re very sweet.The man from FedEx looked a bit puzzled, though.

According to Martha, my cooking teacher, I have nimble fingers!

To: Laura

From: Bruno

Re:re:re:re: Well, here I am.

Actually, I remember those nimble fingers very wel

To: Laura

From: Bruno

Re:re:re:re:re:re:re:re: Well, here I am.

Zabaglione

- eaten as a breakfast dish in the countryside here, I’ll have you know.

Beat 6 fresh egg yolks with 3 tablespoons caster sugar until pale, then stir in a glass of dry white wine. Pour into a bowl which you have placed in a saucepan of gently simmering water, and whisk. It will swell to a thick foam. Lovely.

Serve with asparagus, toast, muffins, desserts, breasts …

To: Bruno

From: Laura

Re:re:re:re:re: Well, here I am.

Speaking of which… phone sex, tonight, about ten p.m. my time?

To: Bruno

From: Laura

Re:re:re:re:re:re:re:re:re: Well, here I am.

That zabaglione … pure heaven. Lucy says: if I am ever unfaithful, can she have you please?

In the meantime, what about dinner?

To: Laura

From: Bruno

Re:re:re:re:re:re: Well, here I am.