When I was a child, my mother told me that I could start an argument in an empty room. Mothers, of course, tend to exaggerate their sons’ superpowers. That said, last Sunday, while sipping on a muchneeded digestive after lunch at my local bar, with just three words, I was able to set about a dozen Italian men in the right direction. ‘Pasta al pomodoro!’ Throw it in casually, like a passing comment of no real significance, and watch the sparks fly. I think my exact words were: ‘Gigi (the bar owner) made a pasta al pomodoro today. It was very good.’ That’s all it takes.
The ensuing argument started good naturedly. Poor Gigi, my host, was bombarded by a wave of questions… fresh pasta or dried? passata, tinned tomatoes or fresh? oregano or basil? with or without garlic? parmesan or grana? …which, as opinions were exchanged, developed into a more heated discussion withor knows the secret to perfect and everyone else simply needed to be put straight. I left after 40 minutes with the argument still in full flow. I needed a siesta. I could always come back later, after I’d slept.
