ROMANO: Perfetto. Tre fagio— E poi?
MARCELLO: Umm…？
Marcello is unsure as to what he would like. He’s so human.
ROMANO: Forse un po d’agnello.
MARCELLO: Cotellette?
ROMANO: Si. Dolcissimi. Lo faccio semplice, olio, vino bianco, aglio, sale, rosemarino.
MARCELLO: Perfetto.
Marcello turns to us to see if that is suitable. Jon is confused. I translate.
ME: Lamb chops with olive oil, white wine, garlic, salt, and rosemary.
JON: Sounds great.
I turn to my new friend Marcello.
ME: Perfetto. Grazie.
MARCELLO: Allora.
ROMANO: Perfetto. Tre cotolette.
Exit Romano.
After our drinks a carafe of red house wine is brought to the table, which I nervously swill, Jon sips, and Marcello waters down as per doctor’s orders. The pasta fagioli arrives and it is an absolutely delicious creamy bowl of what I remember being a mix of cannellini and borlotti beans with a short pasta. It is very comforting and reminds me of something my grandmother would make.
Soon after, the lamb chops arrive, and as per Romano’s description, they are small and sweet and cooked perfectly. They need nothing more than just a touch of the few ingredients to make them mouthwateringly good. There was probably a salad and some kind of vegetable but I cannot recollect them. However, I do remember after the wine and the delicious food my translating skills improved, or at least I imagined they did, and I was finally a bit more at ease dining with one of the people I admired most in the world.
After dinner Marcello ordered a digestivo. This consisted of a half a shot of amaro and a half a shot of Fernet-Branca. Jon and I naturally ordered the same. I introduced it to my father and it is still something we drink together to this day. We have of course named it after my oldest and closest friend. Yes, it is called a Marcello.
The next day I told my friends on the film not only how lovely the evening was but also that I had discovered a wonderful, authentic Italian restaurant. A few nights later we all gathered around a table at Romano’s, more than ready for a great meal. However, when the food came there was little about it that resembled anything vaguely related to Italian cuisine. I should have known I was going to be disappointed when I asked the waiter if they had pasta fagioli and he looked at me as if I were mad. I ordered a piece of salmon, which I imagined would be cooked as simply as the lamb chops I had shared just the other night with my best friend in the world, Marcello Mastroianni. Instead I was presented with an overbaked slice of fish that was swimming in cream and covered with a carapace of cheese. Looking at the dishes my friends had ordered, I realized that they were all versions of Italian recipes altered to satisfy the most base of Parisian tastes. It seems that Romano’s stayed in business catering to their clientele’s questionable palates even if it meant denying the delicate, delicious simplicity of their native recipes. Although this is very common （it is in fact the primary plot device in Big Night）， and it’s understandable that restaurants do have to make a living, it is always sad to know that in kitchens everywhere around the world many talented chefs are reining in the culinary gifts they have learned from their families in order to accommodate what is the mediocrity of the status quo.
Obviously I never returned to Romano’s, and as far as I can tell they are no longer in business. Sadly, I never saw Marcello Mastroianni again, but I still have the memory of that wonderful night and the piece of paper on which he penned the restaurant’s address, which, as stated in my will, is to be buried with me.
I?（Bob Altman did what he could to help us bring Big Night to fruition, including making an announcement at Cannes one year that he was producing a film called “Pasta Fazool.” Because he hated the title Big Night, he came up with this terrible title, which I think probably did more harm than good. However, although he never ended up seeing the film through as a producer, we remained friends until his death.）
12
Making Nora Ephron’s film Julie & Julia and playing Julia Child’s husband, Paul, to Meryl’s Julia was an honor and a pleasure. As I’ve said, from an early age I was enamored of Julia Child and therefore more than keen to enter the world that Nora so lovingly realized. For certain projects a lot of research is necessary, but it is not always as enjoyable as it was this time around. In this case, I read as much as possible about Julia and Paul, spent time with Paul’s great-nephew the wonderful writer Alex Prud’homme, and, to get a real taste of his life （pun intended and achieved）， cooked a number of recipes from my copy of Julia’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking that my mother had given me years ago. （In fact, Meryl and I made blanquette de veau together for Kate and our friend Wren Arthur one night, which surprisingly turned out very well. Although due to disorganization and poor planning, we served dinner two hours later than intended. I blame the star of the film.）