The Southern Festival of Books is going on this weekend at Legislative Plaza in downtown Nashville. The 30th year of the Festival. Wow. I’m planning on being there, as I have for many of the years since its beginnings in 1989. Some years I go with a mission in mind … to see a particular author speak, or to hear a particular musician, or find a particular book. Other times I go just to browse and feel the good vibes from hanging with smart people who love, love, love to read. And love “books” in general.
This year is one of the latter. No mission in mind. Just hanging out and finding whatever joy I can latch onto.
I have many memories of past Festivals, including hearing some of my favorite authors and getting signed copies of their books, meeting new folks, hearing musicians with whom I had been previously unfamiliar. Or just sitting on a bench at the plaza and watching others browse and enjoy themselves.
La Cucina Di Lidia cover
My all-time favorite Southern Festival of Books memory comes from 1990, when I saw on the schedule that Lidia Bastianich, the famed Italian chef and co-founder of Felidia restaurant in New York was going to be speaking, cooking, and signing copies of her (then) just-published book, La Cucina di Lidia. (Lidia’s Kitchen).
Now, I have to say here that this was at a time when I was first getting seriously interested in all things about Italian food. I was reading, watching cooking shows on PBS (way before “Food TV”), ordering specialty Italian ingredients …. Pastas, pasta flour, San Marzano tomatoes, etc … from importers and retailers in NYC. Things that were NOT available in Middle Tennessee at the time. I had bought a hand-crank pasta machine from Davis Cookware (There was no Bed Bath & Beyond, no local Williams-Sonoma, and no local Sur la Table shop). I had even made a custom fold-up pasta-drying rack similar to one I’d seen in a catalog. I’d already planned on purchasing a copy of Lidia’s book, and was excited about the chance to see her in person at the Festival and getting a signed copy. I had seen Lidia as a guest on some of the PBS shows I watched. At that time, she had not yet had a show of her own.
On the Saturday Lidia was going to speak, I got down to the plaza plenty early and spent time browsing the various bookseller’s booths and soaking up the atmosphere until near time for Lidia’s late-morning talk. At about time for her talk, I went to the place where the seats were arranged outdoors near a tent set up with a couple of tables spread with food and portable cooking gear.
As Lidia was introduced, I was thrilled to hear her say she was going to talk about her childhood growing up on the Istrian Peninsula, as she cooked a mushroom risotto. The Istrian Peninsula is the part of Italy with the closest overland access to Greece, on the north-eastern shore of the Adriatic Sea. Lidia, as a young girl, went to a convent school in the city of Trieste. Trieste is in the region of Friulia, right at the northern tip of that Istrian Peninsula. It’s known for its distinctive food and wine. The reason I was thrilled is that I love love LOVE hearing those kinds of stories. Stories about learning to cook under nonna’s watchful eye. I am not interested in typical “cookbooks” or in simply reading recipes. I want to know the stories that go along with the food. And this food is distinctive, and very different from the tomato-based cuisine of southern Italy, and different from the wines, meats, and cheeses that define the Piedmont region … what Americans typically think of as “Northern Italian”. The food of Istria is truly rustic, peasant food. Lidia says the food is based 50% upon Italian, 30% on Yugoslavian, and the rest a mixture of German and Hungarian.
Lida’s stories were truly wonderful, and she seemed such humble and genuine “nonna” herself, that I was just captivated. More than that though, the way she spoke with such reverence about food, about family, and about the love that goes into cooking was remarkable. I sat there and tried to soak up every bit of her wisdom and her technique, and made mental notes about how I needed to SLOW DOWN next time I made risotto. She kept making the point that “You can NOT rush a risotto … The rice will release its goodness on its own timeframe. Not on yours.”
From where I was sitting near the front I could HEAR the sizzle and see the steam each time she’d lovingly pour another small ladle of stock into the hot skillet, working the rice with her wooden spoon. You cannot get that sound if you’re rushing things. I was close enough to smell the goodness. Wow. A couple of times as she spoke, she made eye contact with me, and smiled. I have to say, I am typically a rapt and enthusiastic listener for things that I am passionate about, so I’m sure she could sense my enthusiasm.
Many of you will know this, but some may not. Risotto is NOT simply “rice”. It is made with a very particular type of rice, typically Arborio. That’s a short grain rice with an immensely higher starch content than the typical long-grain rice that Americans are more familiar with. There are other starchy rice types that can make a good risotto, but Arborio, native to the Po valley in Northern Italy is the traditional choice.
When her talk was over, she invited the attendees … maybe about three dozen of us … down to taste a sample of the mushroom risotto. One of her assistants took over spooning small amounts of risotto into little plastic sample cups, where we could grab one along with a small spoon and have a taste. Lidia moved to a table to begin signing books. As I tasted the risotto ….. WOW!!!! The flavor, the texture, the smell, the … well, the DEPTH, was simply amazing. The musty, earthy character of the mushrooms, the tanginess of the Pecorino Romano cheese …. But above all the unbelievable creaminess given up by the starchy rice and stock.
I lingered around and waited until I could be the last in line to purchase a book and get it signed. (That also gave me a chance to snag a second sample of the risotto!!). When it was my turn with Lidia and the stack of books, she asked who she should make it out to. I said, “Make it out to John”.
She looked up and said, “Ah, John… I saw you smiling and nodding with approval as you were listening to my talk. Are you a Chef?”
I laughed, “No ma’am, I just love good food, and I love to cook for family and friends”
She smiled deeply and said, “Then you already know the most important thing about cooking. It must start with love, and finish with love.”
I smiled back and said, “Your risotto was amazing. I have made risotto several times, and mine is not even HALF as creamy and rich as yours.”
She got a sly look in her eye and said, “Remember, take your time. Making risotto is like making love! Go slow! Don’t rush. Never ever rush. Coax the rice gently to give up its goodness. Small steps, add one ladle at a time, let it incorporate completely before adding the next.”
She signed my book. I thanked her again and left.
The inscription says
“10/90
Dear John,
It was a pleasure meeting you and may you enjoy my recipes with your family and friends.
– Lidia Bastianich”.
I have a few other author-signed books in my collection, but none that I prize as highly.
Janet and I had already made plans to go to dinner that night with her parents. We were celebrating our wedding anniversary and her mother’s birthday, both of which are in early October. Her mom and dad dined out frequently at many of Nashville’s top restaurants. One of their regular spots was Mario’s Italian restaurant, which at the time was one of the undisputed finest restaurants in town. Mario Ferrari, the owner, was a friend of my in-laws. In fact, when they ate at Mario’s they never actually paid the check. My father-in-law just signed, left a cash tip for the staff based on the total, and then at the end of the month Mario would look at their cumulative bill, slash it by half (or often even far more depending on what mood he was in), and that’s what they paid. Mario was born in and grew up in Trieste, Italy.
My in-laws considered many of the staff at Mario’s like family, including the maître‘d Peter, the headwaiter Patrick, and many of the wait-staff. When my father-in-law died earlier this year Peter, Danny, and Danny’s wife from Mario’s all came to his funeral. And Peter has been faithful in looking in regularly on my mother-in-law since then. That’s pretty remarkable, because Mario’s burned and has been closed for over 10 years. Like I said …. family.
So we had made plans to go out for dinner that same Saturday night. After I had been to Lidia’s demonstration and signing earlier in the day. We chose Mario’s. We arrived, said our greetings to staff, and were shown to our table. We began to visit with each other and staff, think about dinner, had drinks delivered to the table, etc. Just a normal night of fine-dining.
At some point I looked up from our table as there was a bit of hubbub near the front door. Mario had come into his restaurant, accompanied by none other than Lidia Biastanich. I smiled and watched as they exchanged pleasantries with the staff at the front of the restaurant. Soon, Mario spied my in-laws and strode across the dining room with Lidia towards our table.
“I’d like to introduce you to great friends of mine, Lloyd and June”, Mario told Lidia.
Lidia smiled and extended a hand to each of them. My Father-in-law said, “Pleased to meet you. I’d like to introduce you to my daughter Janet and son-in-law John.”
“Oh, I know John” Lidia said. “We are old friends. He is soon to be one of the best risotto makers in all of Nashville!”
She hugged me and we shared a laugh that I will never ever forget as Mario, Janet, Lloyd, June and most of the rest of the restaurant looked on with priceless, puzzled expressions.
So, that’s my Southern Festival of Books story.
Wonder what tomorrow will bring?
Wishing you Love and the creamiest of risottos,
John