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horny,’ Bruno continued, ‘well, that’s
    harder than crying, but certainly not impossible. Seafood, of
    course, has aphrodisiac qualities. Molluscs, too - like lanarche ajo e ojo, snails in oil and garlic. Perhaps some carciofioni - baby artichokes cooked with mint, pulled apart with the fingers and dipped
    in soft, melted butter. Wine, obviously. And then, to finish, a
    burst of sugar, something light but artificial, so that you feel full of energy and happiness … but that’s only one side of the story. If you wanted someone to fall in love with you, you would cook
    them something very different, something perfectly simple but
    intense. Something that shows you understand their very soul.’
    ‘Such as?’
    ‘Well, that’s the difficulty. It will vary from individual to individual.
    You’d have to really know the person concerned: their
    history; their background; whether they are raw or refined, dry or oily. You would have to have tasted them, to know whether their
    own flesh is sweet or savoury, salty or bland. In short, you would have to love them, and even then you might not truly know them
    well enough to cook a dish that would capture their heart.’
    Parla come t’hafatto mammeta*,’ Tommaso laughed. ‘This is
     
    From ‘Hai voluto la bicicletta? E pedala!’ A saying meaning, literally: ‘You wanted the bicycle, so pedal it.’
     
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    “Speak as your mother showed you’, i.e. cut the bullshit.
    too much thinking for me. Just get her into my bed and your
    cooking will have done all that I ask of it.’
    “My cooking? I thought I was just providing a few ideas.’
    ‘Ah.’ Tommaso looked a bit shamefaced. ‘It’s just that - think
    how terrible it would be if I ruined your wonderful menu. You’d
    be unhappy, and then I’d be unhappy, and then I wouldn’t be able to make Laura happy, and that would be a terrible thing to have
    on your conscience, wouldn’t it? Besides,’ he added craftily, ‘how often do you get the chance to try out your dishes on a real live American? Your own dishes, I mean?’
    ‘That’s true,’ Bruno said sombrely. ‘I’m just a factory worker
    up there at Templi. A very high-quality worker in a gilded factory, but it’s a production line all the same. Every day I make Alain’s pastries, Alain’s dolci, Alain’s famous creme caramelwith the baked vanilla pod in the centre - even when I could do something better, he doesn’t want it. And as for Roman ideas …’ He mimicked the chef’s Swiss accent, ‘“We don’t want any of those peasant recipes here, thank you.” It’s Michelin, Michelin, Michelin. Foie gras,
    white truffles, champagne sauce. Why? When a simple Roman coda alia vaccinara is more satisfying than any of them? And—’
    ‘So you’ll do it?’ Tommaso said quickly, having heard his friend make this particular speech many times before. ‘You’ll cook something fantastic I can pretend to Laura I prepared myself?’
    Bruno laughed and punched his friend lightly on the arm. ‘Of
    course. I’ll get you your bicicletta. Just make sure you know how to pedal it, OK?’
     
    Braised oxtail. Vaccinara is the old Roman word for butchers, whose favourite dish this was said to be.
     
    Laura phoned Carlotta the next morning and told her the
    news.
    ‘I’ve found a chef. And, cara, he’s so good-looking. Like a
    Michelangelo. He gave me a pasta recipe already and talked me
    through how to cook it. And I’m going round tonight for him to
    cook for me—’
    lLentamente, Laura. Slow down. You’re going to his apartment?
    On the first date?’
    ‘Well, yes. Where else would he cook for me?’
    ‘Are you going to sleep with him?’
    ‘Of course not. I’ve only met him once.’
    ‘If you go to his apartment, he’ll think you’re going to sleep
    with him,’ Carlotta said flatly.
    ‘He didn’t seem like that.’
    Siamo in Italia, Laura. We’re in Italy. Trust me, he thinks
    you’re going to sleep with him.’
    Laura sighed.