There
was no expense spared at the British launch of Italy's favourite
fresh pasta brand last week. All of Giovanni Rana's
big guns had flown in from Verona
for the day to convince us that no other tortellini is as thin, as silky, as
amply filled. So it was that a dozen men in suits slaved over huge cauldrons of
boiling water, shaving white Alba truffles over plates of shiny ravioli,
drizzling 100-year-old balsamic vinegar on three-year-old parmesan - you
know, the way guys in senior management in Italy clearly always do.
Capo di tutti capi was the eponymous
80-year-old founder, who launched the company nearly 50 years ago, delivering
pasta on his motorbike. Now he owns a chain of restaurants and it is his cheery
face that smiles out from every packet, a cross between Antonio Carluccio and Father Christmas. "This is very, very
special," says an aide breathlessly. "In Italy he is very famous man.
Everyone respect him and what he do for food. He star in all his own commercials." More
an Italian Michael Winner, then? "I not know this Signor Weena."
Clearly, the
British market is one they take very seriously. Apparently, we are discerning
pasta buyers, with subtle palates and an interest in quality. Nearly a quarter
of us buy fresh filled pasta, with sales worth #67million, and, get this, those
of us who do buy it, eat more per head than the Italians. "The Italians
eat dried pasta every day, but fresh only once a week," I am told. Who'd
have thought it: we have the potential to out-Italian the Italians.
Especially in the
light of some totally unscientific research that came to light on the day. I
know these guys were all here promoting ready-made pasta (it is noticeably
better than the supermarkets- own label offerings, by the way), but they are
first and foremost the sons and daughters of Italy, never happier than when
four generations are gathered around the kitchen table churning out their own taglioni and cappelletti. Or, er, not. How often do you make
your own pasta, Giovanni? "I never make it. My sister, she is 90, she
still makes her own, but only her." What about the sales and marketing
director? "My wife, never. My mother, she
probably knows how, but never does." I asked eight people, and only the
current CEO, Giovanni's son Gian Luca, was able to claim that he still
regularly ate home-made pasta.
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Rana's own research is even more
revealing. Only 5-10 per cent of households in the Emilia Romagna region, Italy's fresh
pasta-eating heartland, ever make their own, and you can be sure the figure is
considerably lower in other parts, where dried, durum wheat pasta, which no one
ever makes at home, is the mainstay.
One manager
admits sheepishly: "I wouldn't say this in Italy, where we always have to say
that bought pasta can never be as good as your grandmother's, but the simple
truth is, it is. We have access to the best ingredients, we have all the
know-how" And, of course you just open the packet, and it's ready in one
minute."
Is that such a
dirty secret? To the Italians, maybe, but for us I think it is rather
reassuring. We are so used to beating ourselves up for being the laziest cooks
in Europe, for lacking a culinary heritage and
succumbing to convenience, that it's nice to know that our friends on the
continent aren't above taking the odd shortcut. The likes of Jamie Oliver give
the impression that an Italian mama would sooner put pineapple and sweetcorn in her hair and call herself
a Hawaiian than serve up shop-bought pasta. But now we know the truth, we can
blow the dust off our pasta-rolling machines - and throw them straight in
the bin.