I had an epiphany recently. And it was, the new reality in America is that the old maxim – Money talks, Bullshit walks – has been hacked. It appears that bullshit also talks, and man, oh man, are we wading in it, up to our eyeballs these days. That said, I walked into a new Italian-themed restaurant. The “chef” greets me with a “Ciao y’all.” Boy, I must be in a real genuine, authentic Eyetalian restaurant.
He comes over to the table and first thing he shows me a Facebook reel which has this heading: “Not to be a drama king, but we’ve opened the most genuine, authentic Italian deli-market and Pizzaria this part of the world has seen.” He then goes on to tell me his recipes are all from his Neapolitan grandfather. “Things like Volcano Roasted Mushroom Fettuccine,” he exclaims. I ask him how it came to be.
“My grandfather loved to hunt and forage. So, he’d climb up to Mt. Vesuvius and gather wild mushrooms. While there, he would find some lava and place the mushrooms on top so they would not only be fire roasted, they’d be volcano curated! Very bespoke don’t you think? Then he would take the trip down to Naples. On his way down, he’d stop off at a latteria and get some fresh cream for the sauce. Back home, he had truffles sitting in olive oil, truffles he’d foraged from nearby Abruzzo and Umbria on one of his long-trips on his scooter. They’d last forever that way. He had a Spanish friend who sent him some special sherry for the cream sauce, it was delizioso! And then he would go about making his famous Fettuccine with eggs from his back yard.”
I interrupted him” “Fettuccine, not Paccheri?” He looked dumbfounded. “What?” he asked. “I’m talking authentic Neapolitan, not some transplanted oversized rigatoni that you can get anywhere. No, real, genuine Neapolitan!”
“What about this Wild-Foraged Herb Chicken Alfredo? How did your nonno come to devise that delicious dish in post-WWII Naples?” I queried.
He could barely contain himself. “Well, my nonno, as you called him, already had his famous Fettuccine, and when the chickens were past their egg-laying stage, he would harvest the chicken and grill it with fresh herbs from one of his many walks through Nature. He also picked fresh asparagus and added it to the dish, when he found them on his walks. He once took a trip to Rome and was working in a restaurant there, where he invented a dish with butter cream and cheese. His little dog was with him, named Alfredo, so he named it Alfredo sauce. True story. Then the owner of the restaurant sent my grandfather back to Naples and stole the idea and took credit for it. But my grandfather was the inventor of the sauce. And even though it isn’t Neapolitan, it is “his” recipe. So, it has Neapolitan roots. He finished it off with Parmesan and parsley, as that is a classic Neapolitan adornment. He was also the inventor of the Caesar salad dressing, but that’s another story.”
At this point I thanked him for his input and excused myself to go to the restroom to wash my hands. I was looking for a rear exit that wouldn’t sound an alarm. But to no avail, I feared I was stuck on this ride for the duration.
Back at the table he met up with me again. “Any questions?” he asked.
“Yes” I replied, “Two. One: Do you ever serve Pasta alla Genovese, did you grandfather have a recipe for that? And two: What white wine do you have by the glass?”
 |
| Pasta alla Genovese - Slow Cooked Meat and Onion Ragu with Paccheri Pasta. Despite its name, Pasta alla Genovese hails from Naples. |
“Genovese? No, my grandfather never made it that far north. We do a pesto sauce but only because we have to. Customer demand.”
[ed. note: I figured that was also the reason why he served chicken tenders, spicy adobo wings and Philly cheesesteak – customer demand.]
Back to Chef. “ Funny you would ask about Genovese. A couple of other folks have asked about it. But I tell them, no, my recipes are the real genuine article from Naples. No transplants. No exceptions.”
[ed. note: even though he already said he served pesto because some of his better customers requested it. Oh well…]
“What was the second question? Oh yeah, white wine. Well, we only serve Italian wine. And we have a very nice Chardonnay by the glass. It’s not from Campania, but nearby in Puglia. It’s very rich and buttery. It’s like an Italian version of Rombauer chardonnay. All the ladies love it up here.”
I bet. A rich buttery chardonnay, just the thing to go with a truffled pasta or an Alfredo sauce.
I didn’t know how I was going to get out of there, so I went to my tried-and-true excuse for extricating myself from a social situation that I was stuck in. The good ‘ol emergency call.
“Oh, God, Chef, I’m so sorry, my uncle has fallen and he can’t get up. He’s just a few miles away and his family is on vacation, skiing in Colorado. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to excuse myself and come back at another time.”
Chef was gracious, “Sure, family first. I understand. But let me send you back with a couple of my famous Tiramisu. My grandfather's wife, my nonna, was the original creator of that recipe in Naples, but we spiced it up a little bit with a South-of-the-border kick, with Kahlua. Is OK?”
“Sure,” I said “Very kind of you. And when my uncle gets back on his feet, I’ll make sure and bring him by and we’ll celebrate and try all kinds of wonderful things on your menu. As soon as he is able.” I concluded.
“I look forward to it. Give him my best.” chef replied.
As I got into my car and headed away, I didn’t know how I’d explain - God forbid I ever saw that chef again - that my uncle died 10 years ago. Lucky him.
Or, as my zio might say, "Nemmeno per sogno!"
