HD Video = sound
Camera by Tommaso Bertani
My National identity is a rich dish of rigatoni with a heavy and aromatic dressing of crunchy bacon, sautéed with chilli and sprinkled with dark, round wine, simmered in a sauce of plump tomatoes, topped by hand–grated aged pecorino. But then today I feel it’s summer and my morals, my ethics, my dignity, my coherence and my foresight, would be my good shape, my health, my mens sana in corpore sano, and to cut the umbilical chord tying me to my country seems like a more balanced diet, more respectful. And not at all castrating! It reminds me of a wild sea bream, resting in the oven on a bed of potato wedges, its belly stuffed with garlic, parsley and maybe thyme, covered with coarse salt, capers and cherry tomatoes that give it taste and keep it moist.
Sometimes I feel like a bulimic teenager: I eat and discretely puke, I lie to my friends, I avoid them, I don’t eat for days and then one night I go to a café and devour a whole tray of croissants.
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