Serendipity, p.1
Serendipity, page 1
OSCAR FARINETTI is an Italian entrepreneur and author. He is the founder of the food store chain Eataly, with thirty-seven locations around the world. His most recent project is Green Pea – a sustainability-themed shopping centre.
BARBARA McGILVRAY has been translating from Italian to English for over forty years and was awarded a Medal of the Order of Australia in 2016.
Published by Black Inc.
an imprint of Schwartz Books Pty Ltd
22–24 Northumberland Street
Collingwood VIC 3066, Australia
enquiries@blackincbooks.com
www.blackincbooks.com
Original title: Serendipity: 50 Storie di successi nati per caso
Copyright © SLOW FOOD EDITORE S.r.l. 2020
Via Audisio, 5, 12042 Bra (CN) Italy
www.slowfoodeditore.it
The English edition published by arrangement with Sebes & Bisseling Literary Agency
English translation © Barbara McGilvray
Oscar Farinetti asserts his right to be known as the author of this work.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior consent of the publishers.
9781760643249 (paperback)
9781743822463 (ebook)
Cover design by Roberto Fidale
Cover image © Erik Bjorn
Illustrations by Aira Pimping
Text design and typesetting by Marilyn de Castro
This project has been assisted by the Australian Government through the Australia Council, its arts funding and advisory body.
To my son Francesco,
eldest of the three.
He’s setting out on a fascinating
new work adventure.
I have a feeling
he’ll find himself dealing
with more than one case of serendipity.
He’s the one
who gave me the idea for this book.
CONTENTS
Serendipity
The beauty of making mistakes
1.Anchovies from the Cantabrian Sea
A timely shipwreck
2.Traditional Balsamic Vinegar of Modena
Silence, do not disturb!
3.Amarone
Bungled wine
4.The Neapolitan Baba
From France, with love
5.Barolo
Call me a madman
6.Jujube Broth
The joy of ‘broth’
7.Brownies
When forgetting means good fortune
8.Caesar Salad
Something spectacular from almost nothing
9.Coffee
Caffeinated goats
10.Champagne
Terroir is not just geography
11.Chartreuse
Elixir for a long life
12.Coca-Cola
Good medicine, that!
13.The Ice-Cream Cone
A democratic and sustainable treat
14.Kellogg’s Corn Flakes
A family feud
15.The Neapolitan Cutlet
The burnt crumb cover-up
16.Crêpes Suzette and Tarte Tatin
A tale of two unexpected treats
17.The Farinata
Simplicity is not easy
18.Finocchiona
From finocchio to infinocchio
19.Chianti’s Black Rooster
The hungry insomniac rooster of Florence
20.Chocolate Ganache
Numbskull! What have you done?
21.The Icy Pole … and the Penguin
Freedom to eat on the move
22.Gianduiotto
The perfume of life
23.Gorgonzola
Churchill’s cheese
24.Burnt Flour
Dignity rediscovered
25.The Grissino
The ‘little sticks of Turin’
26.Guinness
That fortuitous fire
27.Ice Wine/Eiswein
The frosts of the old days
28.Russian Salad
Sometimes things return
29.Marsala
A marvellous victim
30.Negroni Sbagliato
Liquid anthropology
31.Nutella
An optimistic product
32.The Panettone
Toni’s bread
33.Chips
Respect for the humble potato
34.The Chilli
Provoker of unhealthy intentions
35.Popcorn
Crazy edible bomb
36.Ravioli or Agnolotti: Actually, raviole al plin
Serendipity unknown
37.Milanese Risotto
A blank sheet
38.Rum
Contemporary serendipity
39.Worcestershire Sauce
That measure in the Bloody Mary
40.The Panino
The Italian sandwich
41.Sauternes
When mould becomes noble
42.Spaghetti Bolognese
A mischievous prank?
43.The White Truffle
Blessed be that gift
44.Tofu
When a population falls in love
45.Capri Cake
A scrumptious scare
46.Yoghurt
Genghis Khan’s energy drink
47.Verdigris
Don’t steal my grapes
48.Humankind
Absolute serendipity
Epilogue
SERENDIPITY
The beauty of making mistakes
We make a lot of mistakes, and often we take the wrong path. Sometimes we’re looking for something we’ve lost and instead we find something else we were searching for. It happens because we’re imperfect. But that’s not a bad thing.
Anyway, there’s no such thing as perfection. And if there were it would be boring and there’d be no incentive to grow. Imperfection spurs us on to become better; to become better we have to put in the hard yards, and make mistakes along the way. Then there are accidents, events outside our control that we have to live with and adjust to, possibly taking us in a new direction.
Sometimes things happen that actually change the course of history. Think of the meteorite that shattered near Yucatán in Mexico sixty-six million years ago. Basically, it caused the extinction of the dinosaurs. If that meteorite hadn’t smashed into Earth, we human beings probably wouldn’t exist. Or at least we wouldn’t be who we are today.
In short, for about three and a half billion years – ever since life first appeared on Earth – a vast number of accidents, mistakes and adaptations have led to the result we have today. We humans are the product of a series of imperfections that have had some degree of success, you might say, considering that of all the living beings we’re the ones who have taken charge of the planet. At least that’s how it looks to us. We got to this point thanks to our inventions – a multitude of discoveries, from fire right up to the internet.
In order to invent you need to do research. Sometimes you set off in the right direction and get where you wanted to go, or you happen to take the wrong path and you fail. But there are times when you take a particular direction to reach a given goal and stumble on another one you weren’t expecting. Which might be even better. Spectacular examples include Christopher Columbus, who went looking for the Indies and ‘discovered’ America. Penicillin and X-rays were both created by mistake, as were the microwave oven, cellophane, Teflon, dynamite and Post-it Notes.
In 1754, Horace Walpole coined the word ‘serendipity’ to describe a discovery you make by accident when you were looking for something else. His inspiration was an old Persian fable about three princes, the sons of King Giaffer of Serendip (modern-day Sri Lanka). The princes travelled the world, continually (and always accidentally) discovering things they weren’t looking for.
But the word ‘serendipity’ is not just used for inventions. There’s serendipity in love (you miss your train, get the next one and find the person of your dreams), in literature (‘Serendipity is common when you’re writing a poem: you’re aiming to conquer the Indies and you get to America,’ wrote Andrea Zanzotto) and in film (think Sliding Doors).
In this book I tell the great serendipitous stories relating to my area of work: food. I’ve been involved with food and wine as a professional for nearly twenty years, but as an amateur for more than double that. In studying the history of various foods, I’ve come across some amazing cases of serendipity. A good many of the stories I tell in this book are conventional, in the sense that they’re about hugely successful and well-known dishes or drinks, like Coca-Cola and gorgonzola. Others are about great things that have come from trying to fix a mistake, an oversight or an accident; for example, panettone, Russian salad and Guinness. Others are about dishes, ingredients or drinks worth including just because their origins are so bizarre, such as chilli, Barolo and Milanese risotto.
While I was writing these stories it occurred to me there’s an ‘absolute’ serendipity, the most important of all – humankind – and so, with the help of a scholar, I have included that story too.
In order to tell these stories, I had a conversation with people who know a lot more than I do about the inventions in question. Producers, bon vivants, cooks, pastry chefs, artists, scientists – a varied slice of humanity I think provides crucial added value to this book. A book by someone who meets people with more talent than himself every day, and would like to pass on what he’s learnt. I hope you enjoy the read.
PS: A suggestion for all of you who enjoy good food and drink: as you’re reading, I recommend sampling the product that’s the subject of the chapter. Our enjoyment is doubled when we know more about what we’re tasting. I’ve done this experiment with friends and, trust me, it works!
OSCAR FARINETTI
1
ANCHOVIES FROM THE CANTABRIAN SEA
A timely shipwreck
WITH JOSÉ MARINO
‘The anchovy is a dangerous and vindictive animal. Many people who’ve tried to feather their nest at the anchovy’s expense have ended up ruined and destitute, and a few have committed suicide. Sometimes if there’s an abundance of fish at the end of the season, prices crash, so anyone who foolishly bought them at high prices at the start of the season suddenly finds they’re losing a lot of money. This can be so overwhelming that nothing seems worthwhile anymore. It’s the revenge of the little silver fish!’
This is my great friend José Marino, an awesome guy. José was my first supplier of acciughe alla vera carne, the name given to anchovies from the Cantabrian Sea that are caught before the eggs are laid, when the flesh has just the right amount of fat. He splits his time between Genoa and Biarritz in French Basque Country on the Atlantic Coast near the Spanish border. I’ve been there with José and watched the Basque women hand-select the anchovies one by one according to size, dividing them into at least four categories numbered 0 to 3. It’s done with efficiency, speed and precision that no machine could hope to match.
‘José, all I’ll say to you is this: Serendipity is not a book all about anchovies. So please, do try to be brief.’ He looks at me for a moment. He’s casting his mind back in time, and after a few seconds we’re at the end of the 1800s. Am I ready? Sure. Is he ready? Silly question: getting him to talk won’t be hard, but stopping him will be.
‘My uncle Antonino, who was my grandfather’s uncle, although they were the same age, told me that in around 1880 a few Palermo locals from the Terrasini area were in a merchant vessel that was wrecked in the Cantabrian Sea near Euskal Herria, the land of the Basques. It was spring. They were rescued and fed by the local fishermen, and over the next few days they watched as the traineras – big fishing boats with oars – unloaded vast quantities of anchovies, more than could be eaten fresh or even sold at the local markets, no matter how low the price.
That’s when the Sicilian shipwreck survivors realised that the Basques didn’t know about the art of salting. Salted fish had been processed in Sicily and the Mediterranean since the time of the Phoenicians, who had to spend long periods at sea. So instead of going home straight away, the Italians shipwrecked at Euskal Herria stayed and taught the locals how to salt the fish they caught. A few started families and set up businesses and got rich.
‘Is this a myth? I don’t know. Maybe I put it out there myself.’ José chuckles to himself.
There’s another story he wants to tell me – another tale bordering on the truth. It’s the story of some Sicilians on Basque whaling boats who spotted vast schools of young anchovies and sardines, known in Italian as bianchetti or whitebait. They’re a delicacy for cetaceans. Up to the beginning of the twentieth century the Basques were great whale hunters, sailing from Greenland to Terranova and further south to the Cantabrian Sea. On these journeys they used the expertise of the Sicilian mariners, and they were the ones who spread the word about the indescribable, wondrous treasure trove of anchovies in those waters.
And what really happened?
José shrugs. ‘I prefer to believe the first version, but however it went the point is they discovered there was this wealth of poor man’s fish in the Cantabrian Sea, and anchovies were considered the poorest of the poor. Even the sardines had more taste! And the mackerel too. The local companies were already preserving mackerel and tuna.’
He goes on to explain that the best anchovies are the Engraulis encrasicolus, fished in both the Mediterranean and the temperate waters of the Atlantic. But it’s the Engraulis encrasicolus in the Cantabrian Sea that are the world’s finest anchovies, found during the costera, the period between March and June when they come in to the shore to deposit their eggs.
The anchovies in other areas like the American Atlantic and the Pacific and Indian Oceans belong to different families – Engraulis ringens and Engraulis japonicus – and José seems perfectly sincere when he says their quality and taste is barely passable, if not awful.
The time machine revs up again and he continues his story.
‘The Sicilian salters needed funding to set up in the new areas, to lease spaces for salting and to buy the necessary equipment, so they asked their main clients for help. That’s how this Italian community in the north of the Iberian Peninsula started. It was mainly Sicilian, and most of the Sicilians were from Palermo – from Porticello and Sant’Elia in Santa Flavia, or from Terrasini. Later there were companies set up by Genoans from Darsena, by Livornese and a few Piedmontese. The first Italian company was in Bermeo in the Basque Country, financed by Genoans with Sicilian salters.’
It’s as if José was part of that Sicilian, Genoan, Italian and Basque dynasty where the link is not blood, but experience, technique, a specific kind of knowledge, and especially the recognition of all those ancestors brought together by just one thing. He calls it the art of salting. It’s a technique of preserving in salt ‘so simple that it’s difficult to learn’. The details are what make the difference.
It’s simple to buy the anchovies, take them to where they’re processed and give them an initial salting in special containers; it’s simple to remove the heads and intestines in a single movement and halve them lengthwise. The trickier part comes when the men are at sea, and the women are required to place the anchovies meticulously in tins, sprinkling a good handful of salt between one layer and the next. José explains that the layering must continue well beyond the limit of the tin.
‘How far?’
‘The women make that decision depending on the size of the anchovies. They put a heavy weight on top of the layers, and over a few months the anchovies lose fat and become leaner, until the last layer is level with the top of the tin.’
‘And then?’
‘Then every three days (or five at most) they have to be washed with a saturated brine solution at 25 degrees Celsius. But I’m not going to explain it to you because you’ll think our work is too easy.’
He chuckles, knowing exactly where he will steer the conversation. ‘The difference is in the details,’ he repeats. ‘It’s in the experience of the salter. It’s in knowing how to choose the best specimens when you’re making the purchase. It’s in knowing how to clean them with the right brine solution, accurately assess their size and salt them correctly taking into account the different conditions of each fish. Has it come a long distance? It needs lots of hours. Was it caught close to home? Just a few hours. Has it been refrigerated on the boat? Are the females full of eggs? Are they fat or thin? And so on. It’s about knowledge with a capital “K”, which you learn with experience.’
Maybe you also need to be born into it, or at least practise it every day. José has worked hard to honour his family name and carry it forward. His history testifies to this, so here’s the short version. His maternal grandfather, Don Liborio Orlando, a native of Terrasini, went to Getaria in the Basque Country in 1895 aged fourteen and settled there. His paternal grandfather, Don Santo Marino, set out for the United States as a boy, around 1885, and headed west. They called him ‘cave devil’ because he came from Porticello, famous for its pumice caves. When his son Vincenzo Marino, José’s father, was born they were living in Louisville, but Don Santo Marino became fed up with the violence in America and eventually returned to Italy. He had heard about his countrymen emigrating to Spain for the anchovies, and although he had zero expertise in the trade he moved his family to Orio, near San Sebastian.
Years later, when Vincenzo (now called Vicente) married Carolina Orlando, it was as if all the Sicilian families involved in producing anchovies had united: on the maternal side the Terrasini family (Orlando, Cusimano and Tocco), and on the paternal side the Porticello and Sant’Elia branch (Marino, Dentici, Billante, Zizzo, Tarantino, Corrao and Scardina).
The first Sicilians who moved to Spain were people who’d never been outside their village, completely underprepared and some of them illiterate (as was the local population, incidentally). In a few cases when they made a bit of money it went to their heads and they frittered it away on women, gambling and the high life. Many ended up ruined, while the more responsible struggled on and succeeded in the end. José’s father was one of these. Today, the family’s anchovies still carry the brand name Vicente Marino, ‘with the rooster image my grandfather chose’, José adds. But the precious anchovies did have their moment of crisis.
