The Art of Killing Well (20 page)

Cauliflower in béchamel sauce

All cabbages, whether they be white, black, yellow or green, are the sons or stepsons of Eolus, the God of the winds, something that those who can't bear wind should be aware of. The plants are known as “crucifers” because their flowers have four petals in the shape of a cross.

Remove the leaves from a large cauliflower, make a deep X-shaped cut in the stalk, and boil in salted water until the florets are tender. Drain, cut the cauliflower into little pieces, and sauté in a pan with 2 tablespoons of butter, seasoning with salt and pepper. Transfer to an ovenproof dish, cover with grated parmesan and béchamel sauce, and put in a 200°C oven for 10 minutes, or place under the grill until the top is browned.

Serve the cauliflower as a savoury or, even better, with stewed meat or boiled chicken.

Rags

Combine all the ingredients into a fairly stiff dough and knead thoroughly, adding flour if the dough is too sticky. Sprinkle with flour and cover, then allow to rest. Roll out the dough to a thickness of around 3mm, and cut with a knife or pastry wheel into strips two fingers wide and a palm's length. Twist and crinkle the strips, fry in hot oil or lard, then allow to cool before dusting with icing sugar. This recipe will make a large bowlful. If the dough forms a crust while resting, knead again before rolling out.

Lemon pudding

Simmer the lemon whole for 2 hours, pat dry and taste. If the lemon is bitter, soak in water until the bitterness has leached out. Pass the lemon through a sieve. Add the sugar, almonds – peeled and ground to a fine powder – the 6 egg yolks and the cognac or rum. Mix well. Whip the whites and fold them into the mixture. Transfer the mixture to a mould that has been greased and lined with breadcrumbs. Bake in an oven at 170°C for half an hour. This pudding can be served either hot or chilled.

It's no coincidence

Sometimes, when reading a book, we wonder whether the author has chosen a detail (a particular name, a specific year, etc.) for a definite reason, or whether that detail has been put there by chance.

It has to be admitted that recognising a deeper meaning in an apparently random detail gives us a wonderful feeling; in a word, it gratifies us. It makes us feel alert, cultured, collaborative: we have deciphered the author's secret code, and not everyone can do that.

Sometimes, though, this feeling is disrupted by a background noise: the possibility that everything has been invented. Perhaps that character is called what he is because the author thought it sounded good, that's all. That is why, without explaining more than I have to, and giving those who have ears to hear the satisfaction they deserve, it seems to me only right to specify which details have not been chosen at random.

The book takes place in 1895, and that is no coincidence. It was a year when a certain number of rather significant events took place. On December 8, Guglielmo Marconi succeeded in sending the first radio signal over a hill, and the rifle shot with which his butler signalled that the transmission had arrived was one of the few cases of a firearm determining the course of history without anyone being killed. That same year, the Lumière brothers held
the first public demonstration of a contraption called the “cinematograph” in Paris on December 28, Maria Montessori became the first woman to be admitted to the Società Lancisiana (the association of Roman doctors and teachers of medicine) and Pellegrino Artusi published the second edition of his
Science in the Kitchen and the Art of Eating Well
, complete with a hundred new recipes, ranging from doughnuts to Neapolitan macaroni.

In a word, the world was changing. It was becoming a more open place, a place where it was possible to communicate more easily, and in which certain forms of discrimination were starting to show their senselessness thanks to the inspired madness of a number of pioneers.

The noble protagonist of this novel has the title of baron, and that is no coincidence either; without enlarging too much on this, nowadays this title is used in a very specific context, to refer to a certain kind of person and their use of public institutions.

The most alert and erudite readers will have recognised the book that Cecilia reads aloud to her grandmother:
The Emperor's Tomb
by Joseph Roth. That was no random choice either, even though it involves taking some liberties with historical reality.

Finally, the pie that goes through the whole book is a gypsy recipe: and as you will by now have guessed, that is no coincidence either.

This book would never have seen the light of day without the passion, care and sincerity of Antonio Sellerio, who approved of the plot when I told it to him, and suggested I set it in Tuscany, not in England as I had originally planned.

In the same way, this book would never have occurred to me if as a young university student I had not wasted time when I should have been studying reading the exhilarating revival of
Il Libro Cuore (forse)
by Federico Maria Sardelli and the learned but still hilarious
Novissimo Borzacchini Universale
by Ettore Borzacchini. I am indebted to both these authors, and in the book there are two explicit tributes to their brilliant humour.

I thank Piergiorgio, Pierino, Ciccio, Valeria for giving me, when I went to live on my own, a copy of
Science in the Kitchen and the Art of Eating Well
, and Pino and Leonora Rossi for helping me to appreciate the culinary and literary contents of the book. I thank Maurizio Vento for lending me the autobiography of Pellegrino Artusi: one day I'll give it back, but not yet.

I thank Laura Caponi, Cinzia Chiappe, Christian Pomelli, Mimmo Tripoli and my wife's mother Liana for preventing me from making too many blunders.

I thank my friends, who have read, examined, criticised and exhorted: Virgilio, Serena, Letizia, Rino, my fellow citizens of Olmo Marmorito (with an honourable mention to Sara, the only one to send me notes on time) and all those I have forgotten.

Last but not least, that I was able to start writing again after a year's silence is thanks to the patience of Liana, Gianna, Salvina, Giovanna, Gino and Tina, who have nursed and fed little Leonardo; and thanks to Samantha, who apart from pampering the little man of the house has also taken care of the big one and his manuscript. Without her, neither would have got anywhere.

MARCO MALVALDI

MARCO MALVALDI
was born in Pisa in 1974, and is both a crime novelist and a chemist. His first novels made up the Bar Lume series set on the Tuscan coast, and he has since published
Argento Vivo
, which was a number one bestseller in Italy in 2013. For
The Art of Killing Well
he was awarded both the Isola d'Elba Award and the Castiglioncello Prize.

HOWARD CURTIS
is a translator from Italian, French and Spanish, most recently of novels by Jean-Claude Izzo, Gianrico Carofiglio and Luis Sepúlveda. He has won several awards, and his translations have twice been nominated for the
Independent
Foreign Fiction Prize.