This is my Italian flag, honouring the Italian ,,Risorgimento’’ 150 years ago, nowadays still a country of great ,,bellezza’’, but in a deep crisis, because of following a lying cruiseboat-crooner.
Only one huge ,,cuore di bue’’ cut in slices (à la carpaccio) was needed to fill the whole dish, married to the fragrance of genovese basilicum by taggiasca olive oil. You cut the tomato and immediately you see the big heart of Italy, composed of innumerous, wealthy drawing rooms, fleshy and juicy, copious. It remembers me of Pablo Neruda’s ,,Ode to Tomatoes’’, freely translated here:
,,In August, unabated,
the tomato invades the kitchen,
it enters at lunchtime,
takes its ease
on countertops, among glasses,
butter dishes, blue saltcellars.
It sheds its own light,
benign majesty.
Unfortunately,
We must murder it:
the knife sinks into living flesh,
red viscera, a cool sun,…
It’s time! Come on!
and, on the table, at the midpoint of summer,
the tomato, star of earth,
recurrent and fertile star,
displays its convolutions,
its canals, its remarkable amplitude and abundance,
no pit, no husk, no leaves or thorns,
the tomato offers its gift of fiery color and cool completeness.’’
The tomato as metaphor for the revolution. Also for Italy: it’s time! Come on!
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