La mia infanzia l’ho trascorsa in un panificio, quello del mio nonno. Sono cresciuta tra l’odore del pane appena sfornato, i sacchi di farina e la pasta di scarto. Il mio mondo di bambina era popolato di creature meravigliose, tutte quelle che sapevo creare affondando le mani nell’acqua e nel lievito inventando nuove forme, e quindi nuova vita. Per mio nonno, che era stato partigiano in guerra, non si poteva mangiare senza pane. Quando raccontava a noi bambini, nella piazza del paese, di come era sopravissuto ai tedeschi, raccontava in realtà una storia di pane. Di come fosse stato il pane, conservato delle tasche dei pantaloni, a nutrirlo durante la sua fuga tra le montagne. La sua storia di eroe era una storia di pane. E mangiare, nella sua memoria come nella sua cultura, significava mangiare pane. Tutto il resto era un di più, buono forse, ma un di più e mai più buono del pane e mai più essenziale del pane. Diventando adulta non ho smesso di mangiare pane. Ho abituato il palato a tutti i tipi di cucina, alle spezie come al sushi, a certi piatti belli a vedersi ma fatti prevalentemente di aria e a mangiare in piedi, in fretta, cibi messi insieme senza anima in una città come Milano che a volte, nella fretta e nel caos, l’anima sembra averla persa. Poi un giorno ho ritrovato un pezzo della mia casa, dei miei ricordi, un angolo di cuore. Si chiama 93gradi, ed è un luogo caldo e accogliente in cui puoi mangiare il pane in tutti i momenti della giornata, come piace fare a me. Come si faceva una volta. La mattina per la colazione e poi a pranzo, ma anche a merenda, quando pensi che niente sia meglio del caro vecchio pane burro e marmellata. Sono 93gradi di calore che ti accolgono con la semplicità di cose fatte bene e con amore. Sono 93gradi la dimensione in cui, nel centro di una città che corre sempre, ti puoi fermare un attimo a guardare la ruota di un vecchio mulino, pochi istanti di poesia. Ci sono voluti 93gradi per ritornare a casa. 93gradi, per raccontare la mia storia di pane.
Location: 93gradi, Corso Monforte 26 Milano (Italy) www.93gradi.com – info@93gradi.com
Photo by Nils Rossi
Translation by Chris Alborghetti
A STORY OF BREAD
I spent my childhood in my granddad’s bakery. I grew up between the smell of freshly baked bread, sacks of flour and the scrap dough. My world as a child, was densely populated with marvellous creatures. I am talking about these things I used to create when I immersed my hands in water and yeast inventing new shapes and bringing them to life. My granddad who had been a partisan during the second world war, claimed that a meal with no bread on the table was not a meal at all. When he told us kids in the square of the village, how he survived the Nazis, he was fundamentally telling a story of a hero which in turn, was a story of bread too. He told us that it was the bread kept in the pockets of his trousers to nourish him while he was making his escape in the mountains. To him, eating meant eating bread. That was an important aspect of his culture as well as of his past vivid memories. All the rest, food-wise I mean, even though it was delicious and tasty, to him was just something to add to the bread nonetheless, never as essential and as good as bread is. I am a grown-up and I still eat bread. My palate is used to all sorts of cuisine, spicy food, sushi and also all these dishes that look inviting and tasty but that in the end are not nourishing. You know, I am talking about these courses or meals that you have standing, when you are in a hurry and rushing about like those who cook or prepare them. That is why there is neither soul nor love in all these things you eat. In a city like Milan, rush and chaos reign in such a way that the city has lost its soul and so have many people who dwell there. Then, one day I found a piece of my home, of my memories and a corner of my heart. Its name is 93gradi (93degrees Celsius). It is a warm and cosy place where you can eat bread at any time during the day, which I have always loved. As people did once, they had bread at breakfast, at lunch and also during the afternoon snack where nothing is better than the old bread, butter and jam. The 93gradi I am talking about, are 93gradi of warmth that welcome you with the simplicity of little things made with love. 93gradi, which is located in the centre of a frenetic and hectic city like Milan, is the right spot where one can stop for a while and chill out staring at an old mill wheel mill. 93gradi represents a few instants of pure poetry that somehow conjures up images and evokes memories of my home and childhood. 93gradi brings me back home and it is exactly what I needed to tell you my story of bread.
Location: 93gradi, Corso Monforte, 26 Milan (Italy) www.93gradi.com – info@93gradi.com
Photo by Nils Rossi
Translation by Chris Alborghetti
