Amore and Amaretti (6 page)

Nella guerra d'amore vince chi fugge

In the war of love he who escapes wins

I am sharing a flat in Via de' Barbadori with two students who study architecture at university. My bedroom is just large enough for a camp bed, a chest of drawers and a Pink Floyd poster. Each morning when I cross the Ponte Vecchio on my way to work at a tiny restaurant, the reflected shimmering of the ochre buildings in water stir me. The restaurant's name, I' Che C'è C'è, is colloquial Florentine, meaning ‘What's there is there', suggesting pot luck as far as the food is concerned. And yet the new owner, Piero, has carefully composed a menu combining traditional meals with inspired modern flourishes. I am assistant chef to Maurizio, who used to work with – of course – Gianfranco. We are assisted in turn by Maurizio's mother, Emba.

Io sono aperta come una finestra in estate

I am as open as a window in summer

Emba is really everybody's mother. In her little girl's voice she calls us by her pet names. She is round and pinkly gleaming and huggable, except my arms do not reach all the way around her. She often describes someone as having a heart as big as a church, but no one I know deserves that accolade as much as she does. She is much more modest about herself. Another favourite expression of hers is,
‘Io sono aperta come una finestra in estate'
– ‘I am as open as a window in summer'. Emba mainly washes up, but two of the pasta dishes on the menu use her special sauces, and our famous tiramisu, which she teaches me, is her own particular version.

We bump along together in the kitchen – Maurizio, with his heroin habit; la Veeky, finding another opportunity to make her cheesecakes; and Emba, who wears floral aprons from home and uses her wide, thick fingers to measure out ingredients. She aspirates the letter ‘c' in true Florentine style, so that it comes out ‘h', like the Florentine teenagers who ask for ‘Hoha-Hola' when ordering a Coke.

Emba's hands scrape out the finely chopped herbs (thyme, tarragon, parsley) and onions from the food processor. Then she stirs them into her simmering tomato sauce before adding cream. This is the exquisite
salsa aI'che c'è c'è
, which is tossed through pasta. The sauce is one of the reasons – along with our desserts – why this is a very busy restaurant. At the entrance of the kitchen she unzips her cloth purse and passes money to Maurizio. When he returns from his outing, he is white and sweaty and begins scrubbing, vigorously, the same square of bench-top for ten minutes as the orders pile up, his eyes pupil-less. Emba and I often manage the whole evening's cooking between us.

Piero is a tall dreamy teacher of Italian at the Leonardo da Vinci Institute who is trying his hand as restaurateur. His best invention is the
insalata aI'che c'è c'è
, a mixture of finely shredded white cabbage, rocket leaves, toasted sesame seeds and grated salted ricotta. The latter comes from Sicily and is hard and white, tangy and creamy all at once. Piero is passionate about cheese and chooses it with great care, as he does the interesting varieties of bread that we serve.

A parade of continental waitresses weaves in and out, most significantly fellow Australian Amanda (because she becomes a great friend) and Marie-Claire. Marie-Claire is chicly Parisian and is studying to be an art restorer – she cycles everywhere, her long legs pedalling underneath short, ruffled skirts.

Because it is restaurant life all over again, it remains a narrow one, with its one day off a week and its late nights, usually spent at other restaurants. Amanda and I often stay back at our restaurant when all the other staff have left, drinking and talking deep into the night. On my day off I am conscious that I am in Italy, where I could be day-tripping to places like Venice or Rome or Cinque Terre instead of wandering the supermarket aisles of UPIM trying to decide what shampoo to buy. There are parts of this beautiful city I know intimately, old tucked-away streets of herbalists and bookbinders and apothecaries and leather repairers. I know where all the good factory-seconds outlets are and the best bars for coffees and aperitifs. It has become a smaller, sweeter, safer world, in contrast to the turbulence that was Gianfranco.

Il primo amore non si scorda mai

You never forget your first love

Gianfranco begins a practice of dropping into I' Che C'è C'è each evening around five o'clock for coffee. He fills the doorway of the little kitchen and chatters to me as I set up for the evening. We have been apart for many months and I am feeling cured and strong, so why do I begin to anticipate the visits with excitement? It feels as if he is courting me again, and Marie-Claire and I start up a game of bets, in which if he comes she must pay me a thousand lire and if not I must pay her. I win lots of money. Late after work over Vin Ruspo and biscotti
I have gradually confided the Gianfranco story to Marie-Claire, who listens with sympathy and, in turn, treats me to amusing accounts of her several ongoing affairs.

I am angry with myself for allowing this love to stir into life again. I remind myself how unhappy he made me, but all I am really conscious of are his eyes and his smile, the familiar fragrance of his aftershave, his crisp white shirts and easy laugh.

One evening he suggests dinner at Artimino, a gracious restaurant outside Florence where we went on one of our first dates. We will make a foursome with Marie-Claire and one of her current beaus. I am heady with happiness and hope. I dress carefully and, even when it transpires that it is just the three of us, because Marie-Claire's boyfriend cannot come, I am only briefly disappointed. We have the sort of special night out Gianfranco is so good at. He disappears into the restaurant kitchen, and when he reappears the menu is all worked out, full of fancy little dishes cooked exclusively for our table. Many fine wines are ordered and drunk, and upon my return from the toilet I am enchanted to see how well Gianfranco and Marie-Claire are getting on, and proud that I have introduced him to such a beautiful and interesting woman. The evening visits continue.