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“Welcome, restaurateurs, to the biggest challenge of your life!” the man proclaimed to the camera. He wore a fedora, a pair of thick black rimmed glasses, a corolla of black curls and the camera presence of a show star. “We are in the wonderful city of Bassano del Grappa, motherland of the asparagus!” he continued, showing with a big gesture towards the camera the wooden bridge he was standing on and the placid river twinkling underneath it. “I am here today with our main opponents to finally answer the question: who does it better?” he wagged the finger at the camera and winked. The three men standing behind him also looked at the camera: the first man, a burly man with olive skin, a salt and pepper beard and grey hair gathered in a ponytail, jutted his chin out; the second man, an older middle eastern gentleman with kind, tired eyes, a web of wrinkles and a red jacket, smiled; and the third man, a middle aged white man with a slight hunch and a lick of baldness, awkwardly waived.
“My name is Alessandro Borghese, and you are watching I 4 ristoranti!”
The camerawoman counted down to zero and cut off the registration. Alessandro immediately dropped his smile and removed his glasses with a sigh. “Where is the third contestant? It’s four restaurants, not three restaurants and a no show who got cold feet!” he complained rubbing his eyes. “Yeah, he was… Indisposed” said the first man, shooting a glance to a man hanging with the shooting crew, although instead of the proper shirt identifying him as such, he was sporting a snazzy red bomber jacket and a black bob cut. He shrugged nonchalantly and looked at him with big, innocent eyes. “Yeah, sure, whatever. We’ll shoot his part in a different moment, then. Now we’ll reconvene at your respective restaurants, we have to shoot the presentations”.
At this the second man blanched and sneaked towards one of the camera crew, which also suspiciously did not sport the proper shirt but instead a white windbreaker and big blue reflective rayban glasses.
“Giovanni, I can’t do it”
The other man threw him a grin and two big thumbs up.
“C’mon boss, you’re doing great! We’ll show them how it’s done”
Mister Borghese was riding his iconic van and showing a million dollar smile to the camera.
“In today’s episode, our two main contestants have along and stormy history. Orione and Morgan started collaborating together to contrast the cock of the coup of the whole Bassano, the disgraced restaurant owner Zagario Primi, who was later arrested for fiscal fraught and health code violations. However, their partnership was cut short for different cooking ethics, and now they battle in the fields of flavor and appetite! Oh and also there’s Giacomino. Say hi Giacomino”.
The camera panned to Giacomino. He propped his shoulders up and fixed his hat. “Hello!” he said smiling politely. “My name is Giacomino, I married my wife Flavinia in 2013 and helped her with her enterprise, and now we’re co-owners of our restaurant, and I really hope to win today so I can show my step-son Marchetto that her mom chose well and-“
“That’s enough Giacomino”
The third occupant of the car, Orione, grimaced empathetically.
Alessandro shoved himself in front of the camera and flashed another million dollar smile.
“Let’s go to our first contestant!”
Morgan was standing in the front of his restaurant with his massive arms crossed over his chest. “You are late” he proclaimed when the van rolled to a stop. “Would it kill you to smile?” hissed the same red clad man as before, squeezing one of his biceps. “Hello! Salve! Ciao! Welcome, welcome!” he exclaimed throwing his hands out and honeyed smiles towards both the camera and the show host. An especially sharp smile was thrown to Orione, climbing out, followed by Giovanni. Morgan sighed and showed his teeth in a great gesture of self-restraint. “Gentlemen, this is Stefano. He is… Our sommelier”
“Co-owner” Stefano corrected twirling back to Morgan’s side and clawing at his arm again.
“Over my cold dead body”
“Give it time”
Morgan grabbed Stefano’s hand and crushed it against his arm.
“Come inside, will you? I’ll present you the rest of the crew”
The inner chambers of the restaurant were dark and, to the untrained eye, a bit gloomy. The walls were covered up to chest height with mahogany plaques, which the tables recalled, while the tablecloths were a deep purple. The only splashes of color were the bright red roses adorning the tables, one for each, and the various mining tools glinting in the penumbra of the locale. Morgan called with a gesture two men.
“This is Shaq, our chef”
A purple clad black man with an eye patch stepped forward and nodded towards the camera operator. “And this is Sandro, our maître and barman”
The second man, a white man with a blue chef uniform, a white facemask and an impressive pair of red glasses, stepped forward and nodded towards the whole group.
Morgan stepped between them and circled their shoulders with his arms. “Their work is irreplaceable and I wouldn’t be where I am without their help” he exclaimed. Stefano nosily cleared his throat, so Morgan ignored him. “I know well how a restaurant is nothing but a ship, with an intrepid captain, but what is a ship without a crew manning her sails?”
Stefano cleared his throat, again.
“Yes, Stefano?”
“Are you not forgetting someone?”
“No I am not”
“Oh you rat bastard”
The two men started squabbling and Sandro rolled his eyes and looked at Giovanni, who was spectating (and clearly enjoying) the show.
“Vuto no spriss?” he asked.
“Famene do” answered Giovanni with a grin.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen, please!” yelled Alessandro. “We’re rolling tape! We’re rolling, right?” he asked turning towards the camera crew. “Um” answered eloquently the camera operator, whose camera in that moment in time was filming the attentive face of an African gray, who was inspecting the camera lenses and coincidently covering the whole spectacle from view. “Is this hygienic?” asked nervously Giacomino. “As hygienic the cat is” answered flatly Orione, who was scratching the chin of a black cat perched on his shoulder. In that moment the doors of the kitchen opened and in marched two young adults who could only be defined as a mixture between “extremely rad” and “radically punk”. “This are Michele and Francesca, they will be our waiters tonight” said Sandro with a smooth voice. “Ah, a familial conducted restaurant! How quaint!” commented Alessandro, who was dying to roll some good, actually usable footage. He gestured to the camera and turned towards one of the twins. “And you you might be, sonny?” he asked with a five hundred thousand dollar smiles (he flashed so many to the camera, the inflation was throwing their prices out of wack). The boy looked at him from the tip of his head to the tip of his toes, then backwards.
“Casso vuto?”
“Uhm”
Alessandro blinked and decided to save the salvageable by getting up and clapping.
“Well, “la Nemesi della Fame” sure is full of strong-willed workers, isn’t she? We’ll see how strongly they fight tonight!”
Coming nightfall the restaurant slowly started to get more and more full. Amongst its patrons, a construction crew decked in bright purple and green, three flight pilots off-duty, a gaggle of eccentric lawyers captained by a man wearing a purple face mask, a fiery red doctor with a burly but well-mannered blue husband, and three photographers discussing their next exhibition.
“Wow, what a colorful crowd!” exclaimed Alessandro. “You should see ours” said Giovanni with a grin. “We’ll have to wait for your great performance, then!” Alessandro said with a laugh, wagging his finger at Orione. “Mh-mhh” the man hummed with a frown. He was staring with knitted eyebrows at the plates display in front of their table. But before he could say anything else Stefano materialized at their table. “Lorsignori are having fun?” he asked with a flashing smile that did not reach his eyes. “I brought you some of our red in-house wine, made here in the Colli Euganei. I’m sure you’ll appreciate it” he said, showing a bottle full of dark liquid. But before he could pour it in the glass in front of Orione Giovanni’s hand flew out to cover it. “Yeah, sorry, my man is taking some heart pills that do not agree with alcohol” he said shooting back the same fake smile. “Oh, I’d love some wine!” piped up Giacomino. “No he takes the same pills he can’t” rushed over to say Giovanni covering his glass as well. Stefano pursed his lips. “A pity” he commented, and then left. Alessandro jumped on his seat and looked at his empty wine glass. “He just left! That was so rude! I was dying to try that” he exclaimed. “Oh you would” murmured Giovanni. The precipitation of the situation (and the subsequential points loss) was avoided by Francesca, who brought the ordered dishes, and by Morgan, who brought another bottle of wine. “Here, the actual order” he said, showing a different bottle. He proudly stood up and puffed out his chest. “These are our prized asparagi alla bassanese, boiled in water enriched with white wine and served over grated boiled egg, with a-“
“Morgan, is that Sandrello’s plates” Orione interrupted him with a tired voice.
“What”
The man gestured towards the painted plates hanged on the wall.
“They are. You can clearly read his signature on the bottom. Morgan, those were a gift for Silvio’s new house, you can’t have them”
“No they’re not! MY Sandro made them!”
“No he didn’t he has a completely different handwriting!”
“How do you know Sandro’s handwriting?!”
“The asparagus id really well cooked” said Giacomino.
“Shut up Giacomino, it’s not. I don’t even have to check it to know”
Orione got up.
“Asparagus to be cooked well needs tenderness, and you wouldn’t know the first thing about tenderness” he said jutting out his chin.
“It’s that it? Mh? It’s that the problem? It really surprises me that you noticed, considering that you didn’t notice how my handwriting changed after that terrible incident with the fryer back with Zagario!”
“It happened a long time ago, and that note that you wrote where we broke up wasn’t even real”
“It was real to me dammit!”
Alessandro turned to the camera crew. “Please tell me that you’re filming this”. The camera operator nodded, unaware of the small but powerful magnet hidden in Giovanni’s windbreaker pocket.
Orione was pacing nervously in front of his restaurant, sneaking glances towards the road. He saw the 4 restaurant van approach and grimaced, and flinched at the pain that shot up from his broken lower lip. “Hello, welcome” he saluted. When Alessandro, Morgan and Giacomino all climbed out, he grimaced again. “I… Wanted to apologize for yesterday. It was an untowardously scene, and unbecoming of me”
“It’s fine it happens” croaked Morgan, squinting from one of his black eyes. Giacomino laughed.
“Well, that sure was intense! I haven’t felt so many emotions since me and Flavinia married in-“
“Yeah sure let’s just go in” grumbled Alessandro. He was of a very sour mood, not because of the barfight happened the day before, but because the camera had an apparent malfunction and they didn’t manage to get any of it on tape. That was some juicy drama, and he couldn’t even catch one drop! Orione cleared his throat and ushered the guests inside. While the Nemesi della Fame was a somber place, the Arca del Gusto was the opposite: the yellow walls were covered in bookshelves, and the tables were covered with bright red tablecloths with a small blue forget-me-nots bouquet as the centerpiece. “Oh, how lovely!” Giacomino exclaimed. Orione smiled sheepishly.
“Thank you. Come, come, I’ll present you the others”
Giovanni was waiting for them leaning on the wooden entrance counter, with two other men at his side. The younger man was a black guy not much over 30, with a big yellow jacket and a big mane of curly hair, while the older man was a white person either going for the 50th birthday with grace, or a 40 year old with deep frown lines, with a black and white jacket and red bangs.
“This is Beniamino” and the first man politely waved with a smile, “- and this is Paolo. You already know Giovanni”. The second man saluted with a sharp nod.
“Beniamino is the lead chef, while Paolo is the maître”
Giovanni leaned towards Alessandro with a conspiratory grin. “He runs this shit like the navy”
“I execute my tasks flawlessly, as we all should do here” Paolo said with a raised voice. “Yes! Yes, and we’re all very grateful for your hard work, truly” said Orione hurriedly, clasping his shoulders in a side hug. Paolo ignored him and pointed his finger towards the camera. “May I see the certifications for that, please?” he asked calmly. Orione sighed and unclasped himself from the other man’s side.
“Would you like to take a seat?”
Like the Nemesi, the Arca really came alive at dinner time: a flock of aerial pilot students were loudly discussing who did the deathroll better, a group of medics was tiredly nursing their drinks after a long shift at the hospital, an orange clad postman with fiery red hair and bright blue eyes was laughing with an older man that could only be described as “red Crocodile Dundee”, and an older woman dressed in white and pink was chatting with a small medic and a young man clad in green. “They sure have a colorful crowd!” laughed Alessandro, looking around. Morgan hummed in agreement and pointed a man in white winter gear with his chin. “That’s Stefano’s ex” he said. Immediately following the alpinist a dark-skinned Japanese man, with white hair and red streaks under his eyes, made his entrance, locked eyes with Morgan, and promptly left. “Oh, your ex?” Alessandro asked wiggling his eyebrows. “Eh” answered Morgan, which explained absolutely nothing and left more questions than answers. “Gentlemen” a dry voice said. Paolo materialized in front of the table with his hands clasped behind his back and a sharp expression on his face. “Why isn’t Orione here?” Morgan asked crossing his arms.
“I don’t want you talking to him”
“Oh I talked to him plenty last night”
“I saw, and the moment you two will stop interacting will never be too soon”
Giacomino turned to Alessandro, bewildered, only to find the man impudently recording the scene with his cellphone. Fool me once, and all that jazz. “Can we order? Can we please order something?” Giacomino bellowed to a cold and uncaring god (Paolo).
“Paolo my man, they need you at the front”
Giovanni appeared out of thin air and grabbed his colleague by the shoulders, corralling him out of the spat.
“I’ll cut your head off” Paolo hissed.
“I’ll wait for you with my head on the log, executioner” Morgan answered baring his teeth.
“What the hell just happened?” Alessandro asked. “Nothing, let’s drink” Morgan answered pouring himself a glass of white wine. Giacomino wordlessly accepted the offer, and then held the glass looking at the void.
“Hello! Sorry about that, here’s your asparagus” Orione said with an apologetic smile. He and Giovanni served the dishes, sporting the main star of the dinner. “Your dog barked at me” Morgan commented lightly. Orione, the gentleman, decided to not engage and continued his presentation.
“We opted to boil them, as tradition asks, but we serve them on a bed of foam of egg white and drizzled with a sauce made from the red of the egg”
Morgan pursed his lips.
“That’s not a full egg, is it. How daring. I thought you didn’t like subversing the status quo”
The cook shot him an indecipherable look.
“Straying from your pre-fixed ideals can be good sometimes, especially if they lead you to self destruction and culinary chaos”
“ “Culinary chaos”? An alliteration Orione, really? You broke the egg”
“It’s a stylistic choice”
“Oh, so now the man that thinks that Anita dresses fashionably is gonna preach to me about style”
“She dresses fashionably!”
“She wears total pink”
“I like total pink!” Giacomino piped up.
“SHUT UP GIACOMINO!” yelled both the men simultaneously.
“What the hell is your problem?!” Orione shouted.
“Your face is my problem!” Morgan shouted back while standing up so abruptly the chair fell down.
“Give me back Sandrello’s plates!” Orione yelled.
And then all hell broke loose.
A person (presumably Sandrello) started slinging curses like they were shurikens, which in turn caught the attention of the woman dressed in white and pink. Alessandro was, as one good show host would, filming everything with his phone. At least he was, up until someone ripped it out of his hands and threw it out of a window, breaking the glass in the process. “Sorry, no photos allowed in the establishment” Paolo said with an accommodating tone. “Let’s skedaddle!” Giacomino exclaimed as he grabbed Alessandro and a flabbergasted camera operator on the way. He guided them outside, where they stumbled in the street, dazed and shocked. They didn’t stay alone for long, however, because Morgan followed after them.
Quickly.
Through a window.
The man bounced on the concrete and immediately shot up to his feet. “You missed the wall idiot!!!” he roared. “I won’t miss this time!” Paolo yelled back slightly crouching behind the table and preparing to violently present it to the outside road too. “God fucking dammit where’s my other phone” grumbled Alessandro. “Uhm” Giacomino said, and pointed at the more pressing matter of the small crowd gathering outside the Nemesi, at the opposite end of the Bassano bridge. The crowd, composed by the staff of the locale and its patrons, marched towards the Arca captained by Stefano (and two other people who wore a striking resemblance to him, down to wearing matching bombers in blue and purple).
“Gentlemen, please! We’re all civilized men!” Giacomino yelled interposing himself between the two riotous masses and sticking his hands out.
As an answer Sandro picked him up and tossed him over the bridge’s parapet.
“Please call the firefighters but no worries if you caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan’t!”
Giacomino’s defenestration sparked the actual battle. Stefano tried to claw off Giovanni’s raybans, who in turn bodychecked him into his entourage. Sandro, in the meantime, was trying with all of his might to fight the orange postman, whose main strategies consisted in “shit talking” and throwing bengalas at people. Shaq was trying (and failing) to fight a total pink woman who was waving around a honest to god ’56 Beretta pistol.
At the eye of this storm stood the two main antagonists of this story, Orione and Morgan.
“We were brothers once! You promised! You promised me never to use white pepper on a steak!”
“Pink pepper is superior to white in every conceivable way!”
“Choosing which pepper to use is the right to all sentient beings!”
“I’m not gonna get lectured by a PENNE LISCE ENJOYER!!!”
The two men bellowed and huffed, fighting with all of their might.
In the middle of this chaos Alessandro crawled towards the sidewalk in front of the Arca, on which his phone twinkled weakly. With shaky hands he opened the front camera and filmed himself.
“Hello restaurants!” he gasped with labored breath.
“Today’s episode must be cut short because of external factors, but stay tuned! Next episode we will go to the green lands of Scotland, hopefully in a less warring environment! AHHHHHHHHHH!”