南イタリアの夕べ・消防署
今週は南イタリア料理のご提供です。
La Stregaには一組のお客様がご予約されています。
高輪の日本最古の現役消防署の話、そしてその近くのがけ崩れのお話、
泉岳寺辺りの
会話をしています。
ちょっと覗いてみましょう・・・・・・。
Rome, nine o’clock at night.
In a semicircular private room at La Strega, a small fire flickered in the fireplace. Two Murano wine glasses stood on the table.
The maître d’ poured the first wine.
Etna Bianco.
A white wine from the slopes of Mount Etna in Sicily, with bright acidity and a distinctive mineral character shaped by the volcanic soil.
The first dish was Sicilian caponata—eggplant with tomatoes, olives and capers, finished with a delicate sweet-and-sour balance.
One of the guests raised his glass.
“I heard that in Takanawa, Tokyo, there’s a fire station said to be housed in Japan’s oldest fire station building still in active use.”
“That’s quite a history.”
“And apparently, there’s an actress who lives somewhere nearby—or so the story goes.”
The other guest smiled.
“Then I have one for you.”
He set down his glass.
“What do an actress living near Japan’s oldest active fire station and a dangerous romance have in common?”
“What?”
He smiled.
“It’s a little too close to the fire station to be playing with fire.”
They both burst out laughing.
Just then, Anne arrived with the next course:
Linguine alle vongole with bottarga.
Clams, white wine, garlic and olive oil, finished with delicate shavings of bottarga.
“But even if the fire station is close,” one of them said, twirling the linguine around his fork, “they still can’t put out the flames of love.”
“Sometimes trying to extinguish them only makes them burn brighter.”
For the main course came charcoal-grilled lamb, fragrant with rosemary.
The wine changed to red.
Primitivo di Manduria.
A rich red from Puglia in southern Italy, with ripe plum and black-cherry notes that paired beautifully with the smoky lamb.
Dessert was simple:
Sicilian lemon granita.
After one cold spoonful, one of the guests stopped and laughed.
“You know, everything tonight has been about fire.”
Mount Etna.
Charcoal-grilled lamb.
The fireplace.
And dangerous love.
The maître d’ placed two espressos on the table.
“Fire,” he said quietly, “is not always something that should be extinguished.”
“Then what should we do with it?”
He smiled.
“A cooking flame belongs in the hands of the chef.
A fireplace is tended with wood.
And the flames of love—
those are best left to the people who started them.”
The two guests laughed.
Across the room, the little fire in the fireplace continued to burn quietly.
著作権ここにあり、転載不可
