Anna del Conte writes with such disarming honesty about her life, work and relationships that you can understand why, as she tells us towards the end of this lovely book, her mother once commented that she'd better watch out as any husband would want to throw her out of a window after two months. This book contains, I believe, one of the most moving accounts I've read of what it is to lose a life partner, to be alone and bereft - at least, until a troupe of lively grandchildren reappear to brighten the shadows of old age - but there's nothing but sharp observation and energy in this account of an Italian childhood and the terribly English life that followed it after an entirely accidental encounter in Westminster Abbey just after the war.
The author's laconic sense of humour is evident throughout: she takes several hefty swipes at the English, teasing with a discussion of the relative merits of horse, donkey and mule meat that's guaranteed, as she perfectly well knows, to send a shiver up the spine of the average English reader. Using language most editors would normally prefer to avoid, there's a recipe for kids that she allows them to name as `Elephant's Turd', and she relies on what she recognises as a characteristically English disengagement from anything to do with continental Europe to use pretty strong language - but in Italian, so that's alright - about the war.
Those who are interested in social history will find a tremendous resource in the account here of the impact war had on one family and its friends, as well as fascinatingly articulate testimony from someone who belongs both to the culture she was born into, and the one she adopted. There are character sketches of the friends and colleagues who became important at different stages in the author's life which are so vivid that you want to know what has happened to the people since. There's also an absolutely aristocratic disdain for those who have not been liked, who are for the most part conspicuous only by their absence; only Augusta, a thieving servant, is given her just desserts. Anna del Conte admits that there were just two people she didn't get on with amongst the many who emerged to help us improve our eating habits in the 60s and 70s - but she doesn't name them, only remarking that she, like Elizabeth David and Jane Grigson, didn't enjoy encounters with the new, peering television cameras that have come to dominate our lives.
Anna del Conte claims only to have had three fans. Actually I am sure she has many admirers who think she has made an important contribution to the British discovery that good food is good for you. For me, her outstanding achievement is
Classic Food of Northern Italy (Great Cooks) which, despite her strictures in Risotto with Nettles on `the English smell' of boiled cabbage and Bisto, includes a startling recipe for savoy cabbage that is stewed for one and half hours! This new book sprinkles stardust on an already successful career, and is a valuable contribution to our culinary literature.