Chivasso, October 25—
WELL, NOT LITERALLY; we did that a few days ago. We weren't in an airplane yesterday; we once again and for the third day running on our feet, almost every minute; it was our last day at the Salone di Gusto. Only when we looked in at Terra Madre did we sit down for an hour.
But we nibbled less. We'd tasted the anchovies, cheeses, mortadellas, prosciutti, celery, and endless breads, cookies, and cakes the previous days; by yesterday we were nodding familiarly to the woman threading cherry tomatoes into clusters, the man with the delicious olive paste, the dark bee lady, and so on. Yesterday was more a day for conversation, and for futile searches for things vaguely recalled, given insufficient attention.
So the principal meal was a sit-down affair in the enormous shopping mall installed in the former automobile factory at Lingotto, where we split a huge salad of lettuces, arugula, carrot, and tomato; and a ham-and-cheese toast (one of the hundred plates, you'll recall); and I had a plate of slightly undercooked fusilli alla puttanesca.
Earlier, though, we'd had a wonderful sandwich, completey unthought before: chopped lettuce spotted with bagna cauda, on a soft roll. Mine had also a little ricotta. We'll do this again, next time we have leftover bagna cauda.
Undistinguished Chardonnay (Italy?)
No comments:
Post a Comment