The multi-talented American writer Adriana Trigiani (Funny, charming and original, says Fannie Flagg) is not so disconnected from her Italian heritage that she misses an opportunity to describe the preparation of a fine pasta. It's a long, long section in her book Milk Glass Moon, which I shall not copy out here. Instead, here's a small passage that should appeal to every sweet-tooth out there.
"Here we go." Pete takes my hand and leads me up a small staircase into a quiet bistro filled with mahogany antiques, odd chairs with needlepoint seats, and benches along the wall. The only light is coming from a refrigerator case that holds some of the most ornate pastries I've ever seen: tortes layered with frosting, eclairs festooned with tiny pink roses on their chocolate sleeves, a strawberry napoleon with stripes of custard and jam nestled between paper-thin crust.
"They have real food too."
"This is real food," I insist.