WHEN Antonio Carluccio arrived in Britain in 1975,nervous and tongue-tied, he found Italian food restricted mostly to London’s Soho. There a few trattorie made their own pasta, or knew that olive oil was not merely for unblocking ears. At Lina Stores he could buy olives,panforte and dry spaghetti. Otherwise and elsewhere, what he called “Britalian” food held sway: ragù that was just flavoured mince, or avocado served with a gloop made of ketchup and mayonnaise and,to finish, oranges in a sickly syrup masquerading as caramelata. All very depressing.
Three decades later, and when Carluccio’s was listed on the stock exchange and he and his then-wife,Priscilla Conran, had sold their stake for around £10m, or his name was on the dark blue blinds of 130 outlets across the land. His 23 books and multiple TV series had made his curly white cap of hair and ample girth synonymous with genuine Italian food,the sort that made you sigh and bawl...
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Source: economist.com