Conad supermarket on Via Nazionale Appia, Curti. Tuesday morning, 10:30. The smell is typical: a mixture of freshly baked bread, floor detergent and that constant electric hum from the refrigerators. I'm following Magdalena, my wife, around 40 years old. She's wearing a light beige coat and holding ...
There is a scene that repeats itself almost every week in my studio in Caserta. A producer walks in — one of those whose hands bear the marks of hard work and whose eyes light up when they talk about their land. On the table they place a glass jar or a cardboard box. The contents are ambrosial: an e...
I remember the exact moment I realised the rules were breaking down. I was in London, in a Sainsbury's in Islington. It was raining — which in London is never news — and I was drifting down the drinks aisle with that autopilot gaze we all use when doing the shopping. Dozens of water bottles. Blue, c...
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