I have started to read an Italian classics: “Science in the Kitchen and Art of Eating Well”, by Pellegrino Artusi (in Italian: La scienza in cucina e l’arte di mangiar bene), written in 1891 (!!!!). It’s a great book. The following poem depicts it’s spirit:
“Tutte le societa, tutte le feste
Cominciamo e finiscono in pappate
E prima che s’accomodin le teste
Voglion essere le pance accomodate.
I preti che non son dei meno accorti,
Fan dieci miglia per un desinare.
O che si faccia l’uffizio dei morti,
O la festa del santo titolare,
Se non v’e dopo la sua pappatoria
Il salmo non finisce con la gloria.”
Every social gathering and holiday
in s with a feats begun and terminated;
and before our heads can have their say
our bellies must be fully sated.
Priests, who are said to know a thing or two,
will walk ten miles for a meal.
Wheater giving last rites with little ado
or calling on the local saint to heal,
if food and drink don’t close the story,
they cannot end the psalm in glory.
I raise my virtual glass of wine and drink to the poet Filippo Pananti.
PS: My Yellow-vented Bulbul birds have left the nest today which came quite as a surprise. I wanted to check on them this morning and take a photo but there was only one bird in the nest. When I lifted my camera, the remaining bird flew away. Nobody could see my face, but I wonder what it looked like. They are gone. So fast. How could they grow up so quickly? Hope they survive, and come back from time to time. there are no cats on our terrace.