Marcella’s spine lengthened defensively. ‘No, no. Not the same. Not ever.La cucina romanais built onguanciale. It is the very essence of the Roman kitchen. Roma withoutguancialeis like . . .No, I can’t even think of an example. It makes no sense.’
‘Andcarbonarais the one with the cream sauce, right?’ He took the plastic-wrappedguancialeportion from her to inspect it properly.
‘Cream?Santa Maria! Never ever put cream in acarbonara!’ Her face tightened as if preparing to retch at the very thought. ‘Tonight we eat old schoolcucina romana. You live in Roma, you need to know these things.’ She took theguancialefrom Vincent, made the sign of the cross, and returned it to the shallow meats drawer in the fridge.
‘Just as long as you don’t make me eat tripe, or any of that typical Roman offal I’ve heard about.’ Vincent was open to new experiences, though his tastebuds were often a few paces behind.
‘No,trippa, no. How aboutghiandole salivari?’
‘Which would be?’
‘Salivary glands.’ She playfully dipped behind the door from view.
‘Absolutely not! No way. Do you people actually eat that stuff?’
‘Sure, we do. Here, it’s calledil quinto quarto. The fifth quarter. We don’t waste anything. Those parts have the most flavour and they are the best things for you. You just need to know how to prepare them properly.’ She made out as if she were dusting some lint from her shoulder.
He began pacing the kitchen. ‘Marcella, you can’t honestly tell me that stuff tastes good. This is Italy. Italy is famous for its amazing food. Who in their right mind would choose glands over pasta?’
‘Me. I would.Ghiandoleare quite good. You just need to find a place that does them well. Not the touristy places,no,no.’
The turn of a key in the front door signalled Stella’s arrival. Entering with a few paper bags, she stepped into their little kitchen.
‘Ciao!’ She planted kisses on both of them, finishing with a large embrace for Vincent. ‘I have some groceries for the sad, empty fridge. And by “groceries”, I mean an obscene amount of chocolate. But don’t judge me, as it’s medicinal for my ego. I received not one, buttwogallery rejections today! Apparently, now I’moverqualified!’
‘I’m sorry, Stellina. I’m sure Marco helped soften the blow today withbiscottiandcaffé.’
Stella managed a wry smile. ‘He did, actually. An endless stream. Of both.’
Vincent’s jaw tensed behind a fabricated smile.
With a tilt of the head, Marcella suggested, ‘How about we go out tonight forrognoniandfegato? Take your mind off it.Cambiamo aria, no?’
Stella moaned and flopped onto Marcella’s shoulder. ‘Yes, please.’
‘Hold up! What arerognoniandfegato?’ Vincent’s eyes narrowed as they flicked cautiously between Stella and Marcella.
‘Kidneys and livers,’ they replied in unison.
‘Oh, we should go back to that little place on Via—’ Stella began, but was cut short by a hand that muffled her mouth.
‘I won’t eat that.’ He was adamant.
Stella, a little rattled, broke free from her muzzle. ‘Really? You won’t even try it?’
‘No. You can order whatever you like, and I will order a pizza. Nice and simple. A reliable and safe pizza,with non-terrifying toppings.’
Marcella sighed in defeat. ‘Ok, but your loss,turista.’
The waiter arrived with a variety of dishes perfectly balanced along the lengths of his arms. They quickly shifted phones, glasses, cutlery and the tea light to make room for the feast.
‘Signorine, la baccalà fritta, il broccolo romanesco, la saltimbocca, i carciofi, la cicoria, il piccione.’ The waiter arranged the plates in front of Marcella and Stella, who gleefully commented on the vibrant colour of thebroccolo. A second waiter joined the table, handing a pizza to his colleague. The waiter placed it in front of Vincent, rather disapprovingly. ‘E una pizza margherita. Buon appetito.’ He left graciously after offering pepper to the table.
Incensed, Vincent threw his arms in the air. ‘What the hell was that about?’ He was hoping the girls would join him, but he had no audience. Marcella and Stella were elbow-deep in their food, oblivious to his reaction.
‘Santa Maria, thispiccioneisfenomenale!’ Marcella cooed, feeding Stella a mouthful from her fork. Though it wasn’t her intention, Marcella’s gesture only stoked his temper.
‘Oh, it’s to die for!’ Stella agreed, motioning that she would like another bite.
