I’ve been in Europe for three weeks. We went to see my parents in Southeast London, and then spent a few days in Italy. In Treviso, near Venice, we went with my friend Billy to a fish shop. It was magical. The place, Albertini’s, is in the town’s university district. It’s quite near a spot where two rivers meet, which featured in Dante’s inferno in 1,300 A.D.
Billy used to live in this specific area of Treviso. It’s around the corner from the central district. We met him after having had a cappuccino for two Euros each in the “plaza dei signori”, or the “gentlemen’s square”. Before that I bought Freddy a gelato for one euro and fifty cents.
Billy’s wife’s father used to drive a truck around for Albertini’s, selling fried fish. Before that, he and his wife ran a delicatessen, and he showed up twice during our visit with sandwiches. In Italy, sandwiches are “tramezzini.” They cut the crusts off. They put olives in. The tramezzini were outrageous in their deliciousness. Their maker is retired, now. This means the world doesn’t get to enjoy his sandwiches, but we did.
Billy and I waited in line for 10 minutes or so along with other unhurried locals. People waited in a hush. Billy ordered in Italian which his friend told me earlier “is better than an Italian’s.” I tried to keep quiet too, but they clocked me as a foreigner. I could tell. I wanted them to know I have a 692-day Italian streak on Duolingo.
We bought three things. The first was some ravioli filled with local fish. The second was a pair of skewers with squid, prawns, and tomatoes on it. The third was a tub of anchovy-and-onion-based pasta sauce. You eat the sauce with a specific kind of pasta called bigoli. We had to go to the supermarket to buy the bigoli. It looked to me like spaghetti, but Billy insisted, it’s darker. These differences are important, he said.
The bigoli sauce was an extravagance. We didn’t need it on top of the ravioli and the skewers. It was too much. But they brought it out as we were leaving, and it seemed so fresh. Billy asked me if I wanted to try it and I couldn’t resist. I felt gluttonous.
Billy paid. I kept trying to pay for things when we were there, but Billy kept insisting. This is an Italian hospitality thing. Billy and I grew up together in Croydon. But he’s lived in Italy for almost 20 years now and has a wife and child there. He left England before Brexit and is now an official resident of Italy. He has assimilated as much as any immigrant can do, anywhere. He likes to drive his Volvo around and listen to Warren Zevon songs.
We went home to Billy’s place, reheated all these fish delights, and ate them. Everything we ate was delicious. I haven’t experienced fish like it in New York apart from at a famous restaurant in Midtown. Although our bill there came to 20 times what Billy paid for our fish in Treviso. I wish I were exaggerating. I’m not even sure it was as good. There was nothing fussy about the preparation of this fish. It was simple, local food, very fresh, prepared with care by people who have carried on a tradition for a while. They’re able to do so because a community of local people in their small town believe in and support what they are doing. The people pay homage to Albertini’s with their custom. Everybody agrees it matters.
Meanwhile, it is wonderful to maintain a friendship across three decades. I asked Billy to form a band with me and another friend, Ron, in 1994. Neither of us could predict at that moment that we would end up eating bigoli with anchovies together in Italy in 2023. But that’s how life goes. You start off in one place and if you’re kind, and optimistic, and with luck, you end up somewhere else, unexpected.
I hope your summer has brought you to similar unexpected places and that you enjoyed it as much as I did my bigoli. On our return to Manhattan, I paid $17 including a tip for a single cappuccino with an almond croissant. Then $9 including tip for a single scoop of ice cream for our child. At another fish restaurant in Italy, tipping wasn’t expected. We went there every night for a few days and gave the guy a modest tip on the last night. He told me, “I’m so happy.” And he seemed sincere. So, I got to feel like a big man, too.
Thanks for reading, as always.
