Cooking Stripped of Artifice

I love shopping, cooking and eating with my friend Filippo. He is a quietly spoken sort of chap whose utterings, in a noisy household, are taken as absolute wisdom. He is the most undemonstrative of Italians, incapable of raising his voice or even waving his hands in the air, yet it is not difficult to sense his pleasure or displeasure. Despite my lack of Italian and his occasionally faltering English, we get along very well. In the macelleria he will distract the butcher with talk of local politics while I scrutinise the meat. He will nod approvingly when I instruct the butcher to cut us some ridiculously extravagant veal chops, and purr with pleasure as we are offered some titbit of lardo di Colonnata or salami to taste.