Italian cuisine was undergoing a transformation: shedding its old skin to give way to what would undeniably come to be known as
"contemporary Italian cuisine".
capturing the tangy pleasure of lime within fresh pasta, distilling saffron risotto into a savory meringue:
every day, chefs across the world create dishes
their mentors could never have imagined,
yet none of these would be possible
without the culinary philosophy and wisdom
of those who came before them.
To me, the connection between the past and the present is like a wave reaching the shore,
flowing from the vast and restless majesty of the sea:
just as its embrace upon the shore grows wider,
it is already receding, and behind it—inevitably
another wave is on its way, one that no one
has encountered before.
When she cooked, Aunt Emilia, who took care of me, would tie me to her waist.
I remember her, I remember the pots:
I was almost four years old, and she would still hold me close to her chest with a kitchen towel, like a sling.
It wasn’t comfortable, believe me, but the sound of her heartbeat reassured me.
I don’t count mistakes, nor do I count tastings.
The sensations on the palate set ideas spinning in my mind like tadpoles:
they must be tested, they must be dared, they must be seized as they whirl through the world of ideas.
Hands are the only irreplaceable tool a chef has to offer their guests a taste of the joy of living, the very joy that food can bring.
Hands must touch, wash, peel, grasp.
Arrange.
Elevate.
They soothe and refine the sometimes tumultuous journey of raw ingredients, from nature to plate.
when a restaurant gears up for lunch and dinner service.
That’s when the rhythm shifts, surges, explodes, stepping into another dimension where, like the negative of a photograph, black and white stand out in stark contrast:
the first guests are taking their seats, and our small world has split in two
the inferno of the kitchen and the paradise of gourmets in the dining room.