If a library is a mirror of a personality, then a photograph of a shelf is a sort of selfie. In that spirit we bring you the shelfie: a series of self-portraits with books.
Today we explore the library of Paolo Marchi, the man who literally transformed food journalism in Italy. Creator of Identità Golose, the first Italian congress format dedicated to the movers and shakers in the country’s fine cuisine and pastry making scene. Highly successful, the event now exports Italian know-how with editions in London and New York.
– How long have you been accumulating cook books?
Practially forever. If pushed to pinpoint an incipit I would say 1989 when I was 25 and went to live on my own. At that point I was obliged to create my own library.
– Do you remember the first cookbooks you bought? Il Cucchiaio d’Argento, a Bible among recipe books, was my first purchase. I like the fact that it evolves and changes with each edition. The much-praised recipe collection of Anna Gosetti della Salda (Le ricette regionali italiane n.d.r.) was published in 1967 and though it’s been reprinted many times, it has never been revised. Its historic value is quite high, but in culinary terms relying on it seems to me like getting a driver’s license using a car from half a century ago.
– How many books make up your personal gastronomical library?
I really don’t know, but I am rather submerged in books. They occupy more than one room of more than one house. I do try to limit myself; the moldy guides get tossed out.
– Do you collect books in more than one language?
Certainly, when I feel they merit interest and when they strike a certain emotional chord, like a volume on the cuisine and traditions of a region of northern Sweden which utterly captivated me. I’ve promised myself that I’ll “read” it when I slow down a bit, sometime in my seventies.
– Where do you keep your books and how are they organized?
I’m afraid my books are neither well-kept nor well-organized. They’re either piled up and boxed in the basement or double- shelved in various places at home or in my study. I’m not terribly proud of this chaos. It’s a bit like living in a constant state of house moving.
– Do you have a system for ferreting out the single tome quickly or does that tend to become a scavenger hunt?
The latter. There is a minimal sort of logic, but it’s feeble.
– Would you define yourself as a serial accumulator or do you, from time to time, eliminate books of less interest to you? I gift, I weed… I refuse to keep certain books that are sent to me in the hope that I’ll review them. These are usually recipe collections so improbable – at least to me – that I find myself wondering if the press agent behind the gesture really knows me or my work.
– How do you imagine your library in 20 years from now?
I’ve really no idea. When I started hearing about the Milan Expo I dreamed of creating a historical library in the Lombard capital city, something along the lines of the Barilla Academy in Parma, but it has remained a fantasy. It would take too much money and too much time to make that one come true.
– Are you interested in culinary APPs and/or e-books? If I said yes it would be a lie.
-Do you think the time will come when you will abandon paper for digital media?
I’m still in the phase where I think it would be like abandoning a real woman for a robot doll. Despite that, I’ve not doubt that the future lies with digital editions, beginning with guides.
– Are you possessive about your books?
Indeed, as I am with all of the things I value.
-Do you ever lend them? No, I would never get them back. Almost always the question “Would you mind lending me?”, should be read as “Will you give me?” or rather, “Might I steal this?”
– Do you ever make gifts of cook books?
Yes, certainly. This seems natural to me. If I don’t believe in something enough to promote it, why should I expect someone less excited about food than myself to do so?
– Do you write in your books? Do you add notes to recipes you’ve tried, insert comments about the text or criticisms of the author?
I do, I’m very hands-on. I also dog-ear pages when I feel they hold something worth remembering. I remember that Albert Einstein once said something to the effect: “If a messy desk is emblematic of a disorderly mind, then what does an empty desk signify?”
– Do cook books ever make it to your bedside table?
Yes, why shouldn’t they?
– Where do you prefer to read them?
Where it’s most comfortable and useful. It’s not as though one can only read Lord Jim while on a pilgrimage to Mecca.
– Is there a particular cookbook you would like to possess, but have never been able to find?
Penso di no, non ho una risposta.
– In the case of a disaster in which you could only save five titles from your gastronomic library, what would you choose? Why? The Grande Enciclopedia Illustrata della Gastronomia by Marco Guarnaschelli Gotti, in the first Readers Digest edition; Alla Ricerca dei cibi perduti by Luigi Veronelli, which was published ages ago by Feltrinelli; Los secretos de El Bulli, recetas, técnicas y reflexiones by Ferran Adrià, published in 1997; Quando lo chef è donna by Elio Chiodi published by Achantus in 1989; and finally Dessert al piatto published by Bibliotheca Culinaria. Twenty or so years ago when it came out, I was pleased to read on the publisher’s website, (the same one that brings you this interview) “In this book Paolo Marchi traces the evolution of the plated dessert. His introductory essay analyzes the silent revolution that transformed a simple slice of cake into a stupendous personalized creation”.
Why these five? I think that together they provide a good overview of the restaurant scene touching on: history, ingredients/products, creative genius, women protagonists, both chefs and mothers, and the sweet side of the dining experience.
Ci sono libri che accompagnano solo certe fasi del proprio apprendimento e altri che rimangono punti di riferimento per sempre. L’Enciclopedia del cioccolato è uno di questi. Quando ha accettato la sfida di creare questa opera, Frédéric Bau era intento a fare qualcosa di molto particolare.
Cuoco senza stelle is an autobiography or perhaps a literary critic might call it a coming-of-age story because it recounts the experiences and emotions that transformed a young man into a professional chef. It’s also an open letter to those contemplating the profession. With its advice for career strategy, the book offers concrete information to those …
A pantry is a sort of mirror. If you’ve ever found yourself searching for coffee in a kitchen that is not your own, you’ve undoubtedly discovered the odd sort of intimacy provoked by such exploration. A quick foray among the canned goods and the flour and you will come away with very precise information: is …
Di norma il segnaposto spunta nelle cene per otto o più persone onde evitare quel balletto imbarazzante quando giunge il momento di sedersi, un rito di esitazioni e attese che rischia di scombinare il ritmo della cucina o di compromettere il livello della conversazione.
The Shelfie – Paolo Marchi
If a library is a mirror of a personality, then a photograph of a shelf is a sort of selfie. In that spirit we bring you the shelfie: a series of self-portraits with books.
Today we explore the library of Paolo Marchi, the man who literally transformed food journalism in Italy. Creator of Identità Golose, the first Italian congress format dedicated to the movers and shakers in the country’s fine cuisine and pastry making scene. Highly successful, the event now exports Italian know-how with editions in London and New York.
Paolo’s collaborations with Bibliotheca Culinaria are multiple: Dessert al Piatto, Cucina di Montagna – Le Alpi Centrali e Cucina di Montagna – Il Trentino. His latest book is: XXL 50 piatti che hanno allargato la mia vita.
– How long have you been accumulating cook books?
Practially forever. If pushed to pinpoint an incipit I would say 1989 when I was 25 and went to live on my own. At that point I was obliged to create my own library.
– Do you remember the first cookbooks you bought?
Il Cucchiaio d’Argento, a Bible among recipe books, was my first purchase. I like the fact that it evolves and changes with each edition. The much-praised recipe collection of Anna Gosetti della Salda (Le ricette regionali italiane n.d.r.) was published in 1967 and though it’s been reprinted many times, it has never been revised. Its historic value is quite high, but in culinary terms relying on it seems to me like getting a driver’s license using a car from half a century ago.
– How many books make up your personal gastronomical library?
I really don’t know, but I am rather submerged in books. They occupy more than one room of more than one house. I do try to limit myself; the moldy guides get tossed out.
– Do you collect books in more than one language?
Certainly, when I feel they merit interest and when they strike a certain emotional chord, like a volume on the cuisine and traditions of a region of northern Sweden which utterly captivated me. I’ve promised myself that I’ll “read” it when I slow down a bit, sometime in my seventies.
– Where do you keep your books and how are they organized?
I’m afraid my books are neither well-kept nor well-organized. They’re either piled up and boxed in the basement or double- shelved in various places at home or in my study. I’m not terribly proud of this chaos. It’s a bit like living in a constant state of house moving.
– Do you have a system for ferreting out the single tome quickly or does that tend to become a scavenger hunt?
The latter. There is a minimal sort of logic, but it’s feeble.
– Would you define yourself as a serial accumulator or do you, from time to time, eliminate books of less interest to you?
I gift, I weed… I refuse to keep certain books that are sent to me in the hope that I’ll review them. These are usually recipe collections so improbable – at least to me – that I find myself wondering if the press agent behind the gesture really knows me or my work.
– How do you imagine your library in 20 years from now?
I’ve really no idea. When I started hearing about the Milan Expo I dreamed of creating a historical library in the Lombard capital city, something along the lines of the Barilla Academy in Parma, but it has remained a fantasy. It would take too much money and too much time to make that one come true.
– Are you interested in culinary APPs and/or e-books?
If I said yes it would be a lie.
-Do you think the time will come when you will abandon paper for digital media?
I’m still in the phase where I think it would be like abandoning a real woman for a robot doll. Despite that, I’ve not doubt that the future lies with digital editions, beginning with guides.
– Are you possessive about your books?
Indeed, as I am with all of the things I value.
-Do you ever lend them?
No, I would never get them back. Almost always the question “Would you mind lending me?”, should be read as “Will you give me?” or rather, “Might I steal this?”
– Do you ever make gifts of cook books?
Yes, certainly. This seems natural to me. If I don’t believe in something enough to promote it, why should I expect someone less excited about food than myself to do so?
– Do you write in your books? Do you add notes to recipes you’ve tried, insert comments about the text or criticisms of the author?
I do, I’m very hands-on. I also dog-ear pages when I feel they hold something worth remembering. I remember that Albert Einstein once said something to the effect: “If a messy desk is emblematic of a disorderly mind, then what does an empty desk signify?”
– Do cook books ever make it to your bedside table?
Yes, why shouldn’t they?
– Where do you prefer to read them?
Where it’s most comfortable and useful. It’s not as though one can only read Lord Jim while on a pilgrimage to Mecca.
– Is there a particular cookbook you would like to possess, but have never been able to find?
Penso di no, non ho una risposta.
– In the case of a disaster in which you could only save five titles from your gastronomic library, what would you choose? Why?
The Grande Enciclopedia Illustrata della Gastronomia by Marco Guarnaschelli Gotti, in the first Readers Digest edition; Alla Ricerca dei cibi perduti by Luigi Veronelli, which was published ages ago by Feltrinelli; Los secretos de El Bulli, recetas, técnicas y reflexiones by Ferran Adrià, published in 1997; Quando lo chef è donna by Elio Chiodi published by Achantus in 1989; and finally Dessert al piatto published by Bibliotheca Culinaria. Twenty or so years ago when it came out, I was pleased to read on the publisher’s website, (the same one that brings you this interview) “In this book Paolo Marchi traces the evolution of the plated dessert. His introductory essay analyzes the silent revolution that transformed a simple slice of cake into a stupendous personalized creation”.
Why these five? I think that together they provide a good overview of the restaurant scene touching on: history, ingredients/products, creative genius, women protagonists, both chefs and mothers, and the sweet side of the dining experience.
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Ci sono libri che accompagnano solo certe fasi del proprio apprendimento e altri che rimangono punti di riferimento per sempre. L’Enciclopedia del cioccolato è uno di questi. Quando ha accettato la sfida di creare questa opera, Frédéric Bau era intento a fare qualcosa di molto particolare.
Cuoco senza stelle
Cuoco senza stelle is an autobiography or perhaps a literary critic might call it a coming-of-age story because it recounts the experiences and emotions that transformed a young man into a professional chef. It’s also an open letter to those contemplating the profession. With its advice for career strategy, the book offers concrete information to those …
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A pantry is a sort of mirror. If you’ve ever found yourself searching for coffee in a kitchen that is not your own, you’ve undoubtedly discovered the odd sort of intimacy provoked by such exploration. A quick foray among the canned goods and the flour and you will come away with very precise information: is …
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Di norma il segnaposto spunta nelle cene per otto o più persone onde evitare quel balletto imbarazzante quando giunge il momento di sedersi, un rito di esitazioni e attese che rischia di scombinare il ritmo della cucina o di compromettere il livello della conversazione.