Moveable feasts

[shewhomust]

The Guardian reports a new phenomenon in Italy: the private trattoria. At its most basic, this is a group of friends pooling the cost of cooking for a dinner party. But the examples described in the article sound more like full-scale restaurants, like this one, to which a British visitor was directed by a friend:

"He'd drawn us a map in the countryside and the directions were along the lines of, drive out of town for four kilometres, take the first road to the right at the war memorial, drive for another two kilometres and turn left at a big tree," she says. "We drove out and we came across this barn which had a lot of cars parked beside it. The barn was lit by candles and gas lanterns and people were just sitting there - in the middle of the countryside - eating this wonderful food that was being cooked on a barbecue and giant gas cooking rings. There was no menu and the wine was a choice of white or red in jugs. We were a bit intimidated because we couldn't speak any Italian, but we muddled through and we had a wonderful dinner."

It sounds like the fantasy of most good domestic cooks: Hey, I could run a restaurant if it weren't for all those regulations about hygiene and keeping accounts, and having to cook different dishes at different times for all those picky customers.

It sounds, specifically, like this fantasy:
In G.K. Chesterton's The Flying Inn, the pubs of England are being closed down by an Islamic government. But all is not lost:

"Wherever I find an inn sign permitted by the police, I may go in and ask for a glass of beer - also permitted by the police."
"If you find any such, yes," answered Ivywood, quite temperately. "But we hope soon to have removed them altogether."
Captain Patrick Dalroy rose enormously from his seat with a sort of stretch and yawn.
"Well, Hump," he said to his friend, "the best thing, it seems to me, is to take the important things with us."
With two sight-staggering kicks he sent the keg of rum and the round cheese flying over the fence, in such a direction that they bounded on the descending road and rolled more and more rapidly down towards the dark woods into which the path disappeared. Then he gripped the pole of the inn sign, shook it twice, and plucked it out of the turf like a tuft of grass.

In both cases, I suspect, the idea is enormously attractive, but the reality has major drawbacks.

Comments

[profane-stencil.livejournal.com]

I used to have the fantasy, too. But I am perfectly happy being the personal chef of someone I love.

That does recall another fantasy of mine, however- being the personal chef/nutrition consultant for a Formula One driver.

[sekhmets-song.livejournal.com]

I am perfectly happy having you be the personal chef of someone you love, too.

[samarcand.livejournal.com]

Of course, some of us have a personal chef - when we can persuade Chaz to cook for us. Which, let's face it, isn't really that difficult...