Amore and Amaretti by Victoria Cosford Page A

gelato into my mouth from a silver dish and feel safe and very young.
    Annunzio’s stories all follow the same pattern: past restaurants he has owned or managed, which failed, leaving him jobless, defeated, disillusioned and desperately poor. People he had trusted who had turned their backs; countries he had lived in, whose languages he had learned, which had finally disenchanted him. The woman he should have married and whom he still loves, instead of the sick woman who is his wife. His huge yellow teeth seem to bite something – perhaps the air – as he speaks. The clicking boats with lives of their own, their rhythmic nodding, canvas clapping, are like some massive beast slumbering restlessly. That he can make me feel like this – sweet, somehow, and pure, and uncorrupted – is one of the best reasons for loving him.
    On my day off, I begin with a sticky, jam-filled croissant and cappuccino at the bar near the newsstand. Then I head off on the bicycle to the beach. I feel blonde, brown, free and promiscuous, and only saved from self-loathing by the tacit forgiveness Annunzio offers me each night when he so cosily buys me ice cream.
    Annunzio’s blunt fingers press mixture into splayed sardines. L’impasto consists of bread soaked in milk, finely chopped parsley and garlic, ground mortadella, grated Parmesan, sultanas and pine nuts. He shows me how to pinch up the sides of the sardines and place them in neat rows in a baking tray, slipping a bay leaf in between each. Then he splashes white wine over the top and bakes them.
    Sarde al beccafico
    (Baked stuffed sardines)
    2 slices day-old rustic bread
    Milk
    2 tablespoons sultanas
    2 tablespoons pine nuts
    80–100 g mortadella, as finely chopped as possible
    2 tablespoons Grana or Parmesan, freshly grated
    Grated rind 1 lemon
    2 fat cloves of garlic, finely chopped
    2/3 bunch parsley, finely chopped
    Salt and pepper
    750 g fresh sardines, filleted and butterflied
    Bay leaves
    White wine
    Olive oil
    Preheat oven to 200°C (400°F, Gas mark 6). Soak bread in milk briefly, then squeeze dry. Place in a bowl together with sultanas, pine nuts, mortadella, cheese, lemon rind, garlic and parsley, season with salt and pepper and combine well. Place about a teaspoon of mixture in the middle of each sardine and arrange on baking tray with a bay leaf either side. Sprinkle wine over the top and drizzle with olive oil. Bake for 10 to 15 minutes. Serve as part of an antipasto.
    A similar mixture fills mussel shells. The mussels are steamed quickly (olive oil, garlic and parsley, a dash of wine) until they open. Half the double shell is discarded and the mussel in the remaining one packed snugly with milk-soaked breadcrumbs, garlic and parsley and grated Parmesan. These are baked until golden brown. Another batch of mussels simmers in a basic tomato sauce into which a little dried chilli is crumbled. These dishes form the basis of the antipasto table that stands at the back of the Robespierre. My favourite is the platter of fresh raw anchovies, which start out pink and plump and end up gleaming a bright white under Annunzio’s emulsion of lemon juice and olive oil, and a scattering of chopped parsley. In a giant vat, Annunzio simmers a huge octopus in red wine for hours. The particular aroma of caramel remains in my nostrils long afterwards. Then Annunzio slips off the skin, chops the fat tentacles into chunks and tosses together a salad with fresh herbs and a touch of chilli.
    Apart from assisting Annunzio with the antipasti, my job is, as usual, the primi – the pasta dishes – and the desserts. I love preparing pasta with the scoglio sauce, which, unlike most others, is made to order. Before me I have containers of well-scrubbed mussels, clams, pipis, date mussels and Venus clams soaking in water. There is a separate container of finely chopped garlic and parsley, which I dollop into a pan of sizzling olive oil. When the aromas rise, I throw