“A time is coming when men will go mad, and when they see someone who is not mad, they will attack him, saying, ‘You are mad; you are not like us.'” ― St. Anthony the Great
That is a great movie and scene
So don't go into the restaurant business. If you're such a purist cook only for select private gatherings of foodies.I'm sorry but with age comes an understanding of philistines, dare I say it, even sympathy for philistines.P.S. You think Italian Restaurants in Italy don't have to put up with Italian food philistines? Ha.
I know but it is a great slice of life. A pizza slice.I grew up at this time. I know those guys. I am those guys. Plus Louie Prima is a big part of the plot.It's a great movie.
One time I made fettuccine Alfredo for Al and Fred, I meant to say just now for my parents, at their house. I made hand rolled and hand cut wide noodles, a fantastic sauce, basically cream, mustard, and parmesan cheese, the real deal, Parmigiano-Reggiano, but I added mushrooms and spring onions for interest, and nice tossed salad, and the first thing both of them did before even tasting, was douse their plates with soy sauce and I blew my stack right there. I could not have been more offended. Gravely offended, just like this here movie cook. I was nonplussed. It was incomprehensible. What the fuck were they thinking? It put me off cooking for them permanently.You know what they were thinking? They were thinking they sure do like soy sauce. And that's all. Plus, if this guy in the movie is going to get all bent out of shape over double starches then he'll have to eliminate toasted garlic bread with his spaghetti or else risk being ideologically inconsistent. I like the scene in another movie that I didn't watch where the mafia guy is in prison or something and he's cooking something for his gangster pals and shaving off paper thin slices of garlic with a razor blade. Because garlic is easily overdone.Wanna hear something personal? This sort of thing does not happen often.Today my oder brother called to wish me a happy birthday a month behind. But who's counting?He said the sweetest thing. Wanna hear what he told me?
*high-pitched ventriloquist voice* "Sure, Chip, do. Tell us."He said when he lived in Ohio whenever our parents called him they'd end up bragging about me. Obnoxiously so. They constantly hammered him with the trivialities that I got up to, the languages I learned and others I was learning, my reading the Bible from beginning to end, (I never told them I did that 3 times), my getting a degree on my own, the art that I sold that they did not understand, my design projects, my hang gliding exploration, my ski trips, the places I went, my friends that they met, the people I was associating with, the place where I worked, the things that I wrote, my home projects. And it pissed him off. He's was all, "What about me?" I sensed his annoyance with all that by his recalling it. He had his own home, his own family, his own career accomplishments, his own education, and his own projects, after all. He was always my hero whom I admired. Even more so than my dad because he was closer and more consistently present.And I'm really glad he told me all that. It cheered me greatly because my own perception differed completely. From my point of view they just flat did not understand me and both enjoyed embarrassing me so far and so often as they could. Then he told me Mum wanted to host a surprise birthday party for him but he detected her plans and foiled them by taking off to camp out in the mountains. He made himself scarce.Which would be fine except this was December around Christmas. He woke up to two feet of snow and his vee-hickle was stuck. So he had to stay up there for a few days longer.Then I told him Mum actually did plan a surprise party for me but I'm too thick to detect her plans even when she comes way out of character beforehand. I did not even think of putting pieces together and associate all type of planning signals with my own imminent birthday. Even to the last moment when she urgently demanded that I answer the door instead of my younger brother who already jumped up and was already nearest to the door. She demanded he sit down and I get up from a more distant room. I'm really dumb when it comes to detection and association of irregularities. I encountered my whole tribe standing there with lawn chairs in one hand, each of them. Filling the whole front porch and front yard, holding collapsable chairs. I was completely taken by surprise. And these people were all over the house. My sanctuary! They were all into old photographs, all into my parents collections of family artifacts, all over every floor, in every room, digging through everything like overly curious snoops. Nobody drank. Nobody smoked anything. Nothing at all like that. How they had such a great time was beyond me. All the normal partying things people do were absent, substituted for intense snooping. My God, these people were nosey. I'm not particularly private but my friends were intensely curious about my upbringing. Extremely weirdly so. I looked at them all differently thereafter. And my sanctuary was ruined. Then he asked my how to approach making a particular pop-up card. He has an idea he wants to do. He, with his incomprehensibly vast mechanical knowledge, asking me about paper.
I think that's the first film I saw Stanley Tucci act in.
The scene reminds me of my time Italy when I was 19. My Italian friend and I were driven to a tiny rustic ristorante in the Florentine hills. They had pizze -- all regulation sized pies cooked in the right ovens the right distance from the perfect wood fire made using the correct wood. I was disappointed that I couldn't get pepperoni on pizza.
Trooper, Great scene and flick. I remember Gene Siskel raved about this movie and said you could tell all folks involved obviously LOVED food. He really pushed this movie. Gene Siskel was a Yale grad. My sister worked for Yale Alumni. They sent her to Chicago to open a midwest office. Gene Siskel was gracious and welcoming to my sister and made many appearances to attract folks to alumni gatherings to help my sister succeed.
ricpic, This movie operates on several levels. To your point, Pascal represents the Italian who was driven to succeed, not remain "pure" and blame his failure on other people. You see this pathology in all walks of life. Blaming failure on other people and then walking through life w/ a huge chip on your shoulder, drinking heavily and getting nasty.
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