Free The Art of Killing Well by Marco Malvaldi, Howard Curtis

it is an excellent excuse to be alone for a while without anybody asking me what I am doing. I am almost grateful to you. I am surprised, though, that you prefer a creaky wooden gazebo in the rain rather than a comfortable armchair. If I were not afraid of being indiscreet, I should ask you why.”
    Because that old sow, your aunt Cosima, follows me everywhere I go, Artusi would have liked to reply. This morning at breakfast she pestered me for a good hour, and when I went to get my book I heard that cur of hers barking in the drawing room, which meant that the old woman was there and had probably plumped herself down next to the armchair I had singled out for myself. In addition, the beast was barking undisturbed, withoutanybody obeying the impulse to give it a kick, a sign that the old busybody must have been on her own. On her own and ready to make eyes at me all morning. I preferred the rain: at least pneumonia kills you quickly.
    â€œA yearning for peace and quiet, like you, signorina,” he said aloud. “I am accustomed to an outdoor life, and for years loved walking in the rain. I feel almost rejuvenated when I can still summon up the courage to do so. Alas, that rarely happens these days.”
    â€œYou mean you used to do it often?” Cecilia sighed. “You must have had quite an adventurous life, Signor Artusi. My father speaks of you as being a man of a thousand talents.”
    â€œOh, your father is too kind.”
    â€œI wouldn’t say that. You are a successful merchant, you’ve written a cookery book which I have heard is of great value. And I know you have also written about literature.”
    â€œThat is correct,” said Artusi in a self-important tone. “
Some Observations on Thirty Letters of Giusti
, and a
Biography of Foscolo
. I wrote them, and someone somewhere may even have read them, although I seriously doubt it.”
    â€œIn any case, you are a person of encyclopaedic culture, and you know how to apply it to a large number of things.”
    â€œNo, signorina, I am simply someone who has been fooled so many times that he has learned it is better to do things for himself in so far as he can, and trust nothing but his own eyes and his own senses. This is very much the case when it comes to cooking. Anyone can say anything he likes in books, but if once having readmy book, the reader is not able to apply my recipe and derive pleasure and nourishment from it, he certainly can’t invite me to dinner and have me cook for him. As Giusti says,
Making a book is less than nothing, if the book does not remake people
. And that is the sentence, you know, that gave me the idea of writing my own cookery book.”
    Artusi looked at the girl, worried that he might be boring her. Seeing that on the contrary the girl seemed curious, he continued, “I have always liked to eat well. Besides, I come from Romagna, where even though we may not be on the level of Bologna, we have a cuisine worthy of respect. Well, living alone as I do, I began to pay a great deal of attention to the food I was eating, and to become interested in the way it was prepared. I read dozens of books and, believe me, they didn’t get me very far. Until one fine day, something happened which was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I found some fresh lambs’ brains in the market, and wanted to fry them in the Milanese way, because when it comes to fried food there is nobody to touch the Milanese. So I took down Luraschi’s
New Economical Milanese Cook
, opened it and began.”
    Looking at his young listener, Artusi assumed an expression of interest turning to dismay, and opened wide his arms.
    â€œI still recall that recipe. It’s engraved on my memory. This is what it said” – here he adopted a decent imitation of the Milanese accent – “‘Clean and blanch the brain then have it cooked as above: remove it from the brasure, pass it through a