Seafood Risotto

I ate as soon as I woke today, putting an end to that particular drama, if only because I heated up a risotto with a nice helping of fish, seafood, and it made two meals, recalling the early sequence in Big Nightwhere Tucci's lone customers are baffled by the seafood risotto that Shalhoub's character would see as a metaphysical victory for the culinary arts. I ain't quite sure what it is about my hard-fuck love for this film, perhaps nostalgia for basically fictional constructs, but it involves inimitable qualities: I equally would have needed a culinary education on the miraculous properties of risotto as a rice, just as the couple and I would have also indulged in an unschooled query over the lack of shrimp, or mussels in the shell.



Love is a many splendid thing. Be patient with me until next week, and understand that my penetrations take time, even if I may not have the luxury to complete them, entirely.

Big Night is not a perfect metaphor, and corollary relatives like Tampopo have a slightly better infused aesthetic sense, but nothing makes me long to be fully Roman more than this quiet masterpiece, which is just a shade off, by that much, with a made for television look.

Please, be kind, and come fetch me back to Tuscany. Spastic only longs for a small glimmer of happiness. Ciao!