Un Amico Italiano: Eat, Pray, Love in Rome
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
"Luca Spaghetti is not only one of my favorite people in the world, but also a natural-born storyteller. . . . This [is a] marvelous book." -Elizabeth Gilbert
When Luca Spaghetti (yes, that's really his name) was asked to show a writer named Elizabeth Gilbert around Rome, he had no idea how his life was about to change. She embraced his Roman ebullience, and Luca in turn became her guardian angel, determined that his city would help Liz out of her funk.
Filled with colorful anecdotes about food, language, soccer, daily life in Rome, and Luca's own fish-out-of-water moments as a visitor to the United States-and culminating with the episodes in Liz's bestselling memoir, told from Luca's side of the table-Un Amico Italiano is a book that no fan of Eat, Pray, Love will want to miss.
at least once, often twice, a day this heaven-sent manna appears on our dining room tables, at lunch or dinner. There must be something more to it. In Italy, putting a steaming plate of bucatini all’amatriciana in front of someone who’s just returned from a trip abroad is the finest welcome-back gesture you can make. How many times have I overheard phone calls made by compatriots who were returning from overseas? Their one and only concern is that, the minute they turn the front-door key, they
seemed to have been designed expressly to give passengers a spectacular vista of the surrounding landscape, day or night. We were overjoyed, and we immediately began to imagine what an incredible spectacle would meet our eyes when we got to canyon country. The miles and rails slid away rapidly beneath us, and by the end of the first full day we’d become acquainted with more or less everyone on the train, from crew to passengers. One big happy family traveling westward together. And then there
alla romana and maialino al forno, orata con patate and melanzane alla parmigiana. Knowing her as I did, I understood she’d have to draw on superhuman strength to resist thoughts of this kind. By now, Liz was able to navigate with remarkable skill through the sea of Roman culinary lore. Still, there was one last exam she’d have to take before receiving the Certification of Roman Quality, before she could be given the key to the city’s kitchen: pajata. Pajata is the name in Roman dialect for the
I absolutely had to seize the opportunity. I had a new American friend—an excellent, enthusiastic eater—who would be in Rome on Thanksgiving, which was almost the same day as my birthday that year. How could I fail to take advantage of this chance to make a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner? I started courting Liz, begging her to teach me how to stuff and roast a turkey. I would take a day off work and become her sous-chef, helping her from the beginning to the end of the process of preparing this
confirmed they’d be joining us: Deborah, a psychologist who lives in Philadelphia and who had come to stay with her for a few days, and Sofie. At first, Liz did her best to restrain my enthusiasm. She patiently tried to explain to me, as you might a child, what a mammoth organizational enterprise it is to make stuffed turkey for eleven. The turkey would have to be huge, and the cooking times geological, if not actually biblical . . . Still, I was determined. I swore I’d find a smaller turkey,