Italiano
Remembering Bonilli
To remember Stefano, eight years after his passing, I publish one of his last pieces by taking it from the Papero Giallo. He wrote and narrated like this, just to make it clear what we have lost.
Cavalier Penazzi
by Stefano Bonilli
We soon arrived at the address, a small villa a little outside the center, you went up to the second floor, were greeted by Cavalier Penazzi himself and escorted to the dining room.
An indelible memory, that was really the dining room of a private house, rectangular, a large table set for ten people, a sideboard with a mirror and on the shelf a couple of little dolls, a glass ball of the kind that when you shake them they fill with snow, little silver boxes of various sizes, one that played the waltz if you opened it.
On a short side of the room was the door leading to the kitchen where Cavalier Penazzi's two sisters reigned, young ladies, great cooks, who lived with him.
The other guests for the evening we did not know, there were introductions, and then everyone came to the table for the appetizer of fried crescentine and prosciutto and salami.
It was served by the first of the Penazzi sisters who entered the room dressed in a white apron, a gentle air, very shy or perhaps silent because the gestures were now habitual to her.
This was a first for us, the crescentine were light and fried to perfection, the prosciutto a little salty and the salami really good, coarse-grained, seasoned just right.
Then here triumphantly entered the white soup tureen with tortellini, which the second of the Penazzi sisters placed on one side of the table, uncovered it and began serving from the nearest diner, as is the custom in families when it is Sunday lunch.
And since this is the 1970s and quantity is quality here it is that after the tortellini another Miss Penazzi entered the dining room with another white soup tureen, this time with passatelli.
I don't remember what wine we drank, nor who the other diners were, nor how much we spent, in the notes I wrote down once I got home it is noted only that we had roast stuffed with frittata, fried potatoes, friggione, zuppa inglese, crema fritta, coffee and bitter from the Penazzi family.
On our way out we looked out into the kitchen to say goodbye to the Penazzi ladies, and the Cavaliere escorted us to the door and made an appointment for the next one.
I heard nothing more from him.
Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version)
