Pastificio Serenissima | Venice: I am not making this up

My day got off to a superb start with the discovery of the Boron family. *Pace* Tom Lehrer, I am now hopefully (note rare correct usage) awaiting the appearance of more relatives from the chemical elements clan. You remember them: fermium, mendelevium, einsteinium, nobelium…. But joking to one side, I think the Boron family should be respected. I have received no compensation for this mention, they don’t even know I exist. Also that I do not drink alcohol. But boron isn’t a name you expect to see around, especially if it’s attached to wine. I mean, to people.

While we’re on the subject of food — and when are we not? — here are a few worthy character actors on the great Venetian culinary stage who may have been hidden in the swarm of the stereotypical food cluttering every Venetian menu.

Apples: There seemed to be no surprises left in the winter starting lineup. Here almost all of those seen in Venice come from the great northern valleys of Non and Venosta — Delicious (or Melinda), Royal, Gala, Pink Lady, Fuji. But the other day a newcomer found a place at the end of the bench, so to speak: The annurca/anurka apple, officially known as the *Melannurca Campana* I.G.P. (Indicazione Geografica Protetta). Luca on the fruit and vegetable barge told us that it is an autochthonous breed, native to the Campania region. Its admirers refer to it as “the queen of the Caudine valley.” I’m sorry to bring up a sensitive subject, but it’s nice to know that that particular area is famous for something other than one of Rome’s most humiliating defeats. Read up on the Battle of the Caudine Forks (321 B.C.) if you want to re-evaluate some of your life choices.

The annurca (*Malus pumila*) is one of the symbols of the Campania region, where it has been cultivated for at least two millennia; it is depicted in frescoes in Herculaneum and mentioned by Pliny the Elder. Why haven’t we seen it here before? (Or more to the point, why are we seeing it now?) This delectable sweet, firm, slightly acidic little fruit represents a mere five percent of the national apple production, and two-thirds of the crop is absorbed by Campania and Lazio, while another 20 percent reaches Lombardy, Piemonte and Tuscany. That leaves precious little for the rest of us, but somehow the Veneto is now on their delivery route, and this trusty little veteran is a wonderful discovery. Or, if it could talk, it might well say “I’ve been around for thousands of years; where have YOU been?”

It really is the most agreeable little apple. I’m glad it’s managed to hang on.

These gnarly little knobs are not ginger. They are a wintry visitor that usually appears so briefly that you could easily overlook them. This year, for some reason, they have lingered longer. Meet *topinambur* (toe-pin-am-BOOR), or *Helianthus tuberosus*. Jerusalem artichoke, Canadian sunflower, sunchoke, sunroot, and/or German turnip. It is a South American plant; its curious name here probably derives from the Tupinamba’, an indigenous people of Brazil. One method of preparing it is to scrape away the surface dirt, saute’ some garlic in extravirgin olive oil, cut the tubers into very thin slices, toss them into the oil and garlic, adding salt and pepper and a little vegetable broth, if needed, to keep them from drying out. They’re very pleasant, something like a potato, or maybe a water chestnut, with a slight flavor of artichoke.

This is just sad. How could this celestial espresso machine end up in this condition? Sex? Drugs? Rock and roll? And why is it sitting outside the front door of this restaurant? Isn’t it supposed to be in rehab somewhere?

“All hat, no cattle” is a common, if cutting, judgment given as necessary in the American West. It comes to mind in the case of this marvelous –judging by appearances — mollusk. Are you tired of clams? You should be, they’re the prime, and sometimes only, bivalve on Venetian restaurant menus. (Stop right there: Of course there are often mussels on offer, but they don’t fall in the “clam” category of this cadenza.) If you should happen to see “*spaghetti con telline*,” which has happened to me exactly once, know that you will have a plate that cries out to be photographed. But as for the telline (tell-EE-neh) themselves, you may not even realize you’ve eaten something. They are so tiny and so insipid that you will be happier admiring their shells than consuming their contents. I have never seen them in the fish markets, although they come from the shallow Adriatic shoreline, Lino tells me. So they are local, in one sense. They’re out there somewhere. Bonus points: Skip the first course and just buy a batch of “purple tellin shells” from Etsy. Not made up. Look for the ones called “purple coquina shells.”

Somebody loves pasta. Somebody is selling pasta. This sculpture was in the window of the Pastificio Serenissima some while back. The can is not leaning on the shelf; it is being held aloft by the column of stuck-together bowties (or what they call butterflies here) and some nubbin I can’t identify. This photo is here for fun, not for erudition.

Nothing to do with food, but I just can’t keep it to myself. Wandering around, I came across these clarion phrases. An anonymous door on the street is talking to YOU. The first sign in heavy black letters in equally heavy Venetian dialect translates as “And until I come back nobody can come in!” That clearly wasn’t enough, because a second notice is taped above it, saying “I repeat until I come back nobody is allowed to come in. And he that can has my number.” So nobody except somebody is permitted to enter. From behind the door came loud noises of a chainsaw and the tiny gleam of a lightbulb. Conclusion: The proprietor is not far away on a cruise to the North Cape, but slaving away at something. Building a replica of the Kon-Tiki? Whatever it is, nobody is permitted to see it until he comes back, and only if you know the guy who has his number. Update: I went by today, and the two signs have been removed, leaving the bit you can barely see is already taped beneath. That bit carries one word: “Chiuso.” Closed. You can’t quibble with that, it’s final.

This is not a comestible. It is merely a cat so remarkable he/she/it looks as if it were designed. Even the nose is part of the scheme. The eyes, though, give me the strange sensation of being weighed in the balance and found wanting. If a person looks at you like that you can try to do something. But cats don’t care.

A brief article in the Gazzettino Saturday added a few details about this artefact, which I pass along.

It’s called “Castello Cube.” I hadn’t realized it had a name, it seemed such a generic object. Not that the name is any less generic.

The creator goes by the nom de guerre Niclas Castello. Now I begin to comprehend. And it is being shown in Castello! It’s almost like destiny.

His real name is Norbert Zerbs. I myself would have totally kept this name. Be proud of your heritage, Zerbs!

The cube sat on the riva Ca’ di Dio for 24 hours, it says here, so that would also explain the security guards. There were ten of them.

It weighs 186 kilos (410 pounds) of 24-carat 999.9 fine gold. I’ll admit that for some reason I didn’t want this to be true. I was telling Lino that it was probably an empty cube made of iron sheets covered with gold leaf. Nope. It is precisely what it appears to be: A block of solid gold.

Never before in history has this much gold been worked into one artwork.

The value of this mass of metal is about 12,000,000 dollars.

Zerbs’s net worth is listed at 51,000,000 dollars.

I notice how many facts about this object have to do with quantities. Don’t know why this seems to fascinate people. A man in Alaska told me that a tourist looking at Denali once asked him how much it weighed.

It was displayed in Central Park in New York City last February.

An art historian named Dieter Buchhart made the following declaration (I translate): “It is a conceptual work that seems to have arrived from another world and now is standing on the paving-stones of Venice, without a pedestal.”

I’m as keen on conceptual works as the next person, even if the concept eludes me, but here’s a concept: By all means bring us a cube of gold that seems to have arrived from another world. Just stop talking drivel.

“The artwork is exhibited in public places so that it is accessible to everyone,” said another expert, “and people have the opportunity to rediscover art in the open space.”

I’ll tell you what — you’d need 186 kilos of self-confidence to put something you call art into an open space in a city that is composed almost entirely of art. I might discern something artistic about it if it were standing, say, in an acre of alfalfa, or drifting on a raft down the Monongahela river. But placing an object purporting to be art in Venice takes nerves of tungsten carbide.

Anyway, it’s gone now, continuing its quest to find a pedestal.

comestible curiosities, and more

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