A Literary Culinary Journal
2 jars of Genoese pesto for 500 g of chestnut Trofie pasta
3 potatoes, peeled and cut into thin Julienne strips
75 g of French-style green beans, ends cut off and cut in half
Fresh Parmesan cheese to taste
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A wildly inventive take on a well-loved Italian dish: wild boar and licorice: food photography by Alessandro Boscolo Agostini.
Bio of Alessandro Boscolo Agostini
My first love for photography started with a little theft: as a little boy I stole my father’s Vöiglander and I started taking pictures on my own, just using my instinct. At that time my father’s camera seemed to me the best camera possible in the whole world, until I reached junior high school and I gave it up for a Bencini all my own. But my little theft came all back to me; my girlfriend to whom I had lent my camera never gave it back to me: that can be considered petty theft, no?
Growing up, I robbed again: in high school I stole time I might have devoted to photography and dedicated myself to my other passion, music. I studied drums and played jazz music. But it was just an infatuation, because I went back to my first love and never left it again. And as a pledge of love, I gave up my history studies in college, causing great distress to many people, but not to myself.
Today, I rob with no qualms, and I confess it with no shame. My spoils are my sensations, emotions, lines, colours, compositions: I catch everything that stops in front of my camera, I catch it with a click to close it in a graphic cage. It doesn’t matter if its a catalogue or a magazine. What I’m really interested in is the look, my view of the world. In the millions of images that pass in front of my eyes every day, that go on around me, that chase me in my silence. For this reason I photograph subjects of any kind and still do it every day without specializing in anything in particular. From a luxury hotel suite, to the sexy transparencies of Murano glass. From art exhibitions to a ballet. From a golf course to actors on a stage. The list can go on and on, while this bio must finish here. I hope that I haven’t once more been a thief, that I haven’t taken up to much of your time. If this was the case, please don’t report me to the police, because I will give myself immediately up: I’m Alessandro Boscolo Agostini!
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My first love for photography started with a little theft: as a little boy I stole my father’s Vöiglander and I started taking pictures on my own, just using my instinct. At that time my father’s camera seemed to me the best camera possible in the whole world, until I reached junior high school and I gave it up for a Bencini all my own. But my little theft came all back to me; my girlfriend to whom I had lent my camera never gave it back to me: that can be considered petty theft, no?
Growing up, I robbed again: in high school I stole time I might have devoted to photography and dedicated myself to my other passion, music. I studied drums and played jazz music. But it was just an infatuation, because I went back to my first love and never left it again. And as a pledge of love, I gave up my history studies in college, causing great distress to many people, but not to myself.
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My first love for photography started with a little theft: as a little boy I stole my father’s Vöiglander and I started taking pictures on my own, just using my instinct. At that time my father’s camera seemed to me the best camera possible in the whole world, until I reached junior high school and I gave it up for a Bencini all my own. But my little theft came all back to me; my girlfriend to whom I had lent my camera never gave it back to me: that can be considered petty theft, no?
Growing up, I robbed again: in high school I stole time I might have devoted to photography and dedicated myself to my other passion, music. I studied drums and played jazz music. But it was just an infatuation, because I went back to my first love and never left it again. And as a pledge of love, I gave up my history studies in college, causing great distress to many people, but not to myself.
Today, I rob with no qualms, and I confess it with no shame. My spoils are my sensations, emotions, lines, colours, compositions: I catch everything that stops in front of my camera, I catch it with a click to close it in a graphic cage. It doesn’t matter if its a catalogue or a magazine. What I’m really interested in is the look, my view of the world. In the millions of images that pass in front of my eyes every day, that go on around me, that chase me in my silence. For this reason I photograph subjects of any kind and still do it every day without specializing in anything in particular. From a luxury hotel suite, to the sexy transparencies of Murano glass. From art exhibitions to a ballet. From a golf course to actors on a stage. The list can go on and on, while this bio must finish here. I hope that I haven’t once more been a thief, that I haven’t taken up to much of your time. If this was the case, please don’t report me to the police, because I will give myself immediately up: I’m Alessandro Boscolo Agostini!
Il mio amore per la fotografia ha inizio con un furto: da piccolo rubai la Vöiglander di mio padre e cominciai a scattare così, d’istinto. All’epoca quella mi sembrava la macchina fotografica più bella del mondo, almeno fino a quando, in prima media, non la tradii per una Bencini tutta mia. Ma il contrappasso per il piccolo delinquente che ero arrivò molto presto, perché una fidanzatina a cui la prestai, non me la restituì mai: di fatto, anche quello fu un piccolo furto! Crescendo, ho rubato ancora: ai tempi del Liceo ho sottratto tempo alla passione per la fotografia dedicandomi per alcuni anni al jazz e allo studio della batteria, altro mio grande amore. Ma è stata solo una gran bella bionda di passaggio, perché alla fine sono tornato dalla mia “vecchia” per non lasciarla più. Anzi, come pegno d’amore, per lei ho mandato a quel paese gli studi storici con sommo dolore di parecchie persone, ma non certo il mio. Oggi, lo confesso, rubo senza più sensi di colpa. Il mio bottino sono sensazioni, emozioni, linee, colori, composizioni: ciò che si ferma davanti al mio obiettivo lo faccio mio, lo catturo con un click, magari per rinchiuderlo in una gabbia grafica. Non importa se è la gabbia di un catalogo oppure quella di una rivista. A me interessa lo sguardo, il mio sguardo sul mondo. Sui miliardi di immagini che ogni giorno attraversano la mia vita, le scorrono intorno, mi seguono in silenzio. Per questo ho fotografato di tutto e continuo a farlo, senza scegliere di dedicarmi a un settore soltanto. Perché tutto può essere immagine, una buona immagine. Da una suite di un hotel di lusso, alle trasparenze seducenti di un vetro di Murano. Da una mostra d’arte a uno spettacolo di danza. Da un campo da golf, agli attori su un set di un film. L’elenco potrebbe continuare, mentre questo scritto si chiude qui. Spero di non aver compiuto l’ultimo furto di questa storia, ossia di avervi rubato troppo tempo. Se fosse così, non denunciatemi, perché mi costituisco subito: sono Alessandro Boscolo Agostini!
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My first love for photography started with a little theft: as a little boy I stole my father’s Vöiglander and I started taking pictures on my own, just using my instinct. At that time my father’s camera seemed to me the best camera possible in the whole world, until I reached junior high school and I gave it up for a Bencini all my own. But my little theft came all back to me; my girlfriend to whom I had lent my camera never gave it back to me: that can be considered petty theft, no?
Growing up, I robbed again: in high school I stole time I might have devoted to photography and dedicated myself to my other passion, music. I studied drums and played jazz music. But it was just an infatuation, because I went back to my first love and never left it again. And as a pledge of love, I gave up my history studies in college, causing great distress to many people, but not to myself.
Today, I rob with no qualms, and I confess it with no shame. My spoils are my sensations, emotions, lines, colours, compositions: I catch everything that stops in front of my camera, I catch it with a click to close it in a graphic cage. It doesn’t matter if its a catalogue or a magazine. What I’m really interested in is the look, my view of the world. In the millions of images that pass in front of my eyes every day, that go on around me, that chase me in my silence. For this reason I photograph subjects of any kind and still do it every day without specializing in anything in particular. From a luxury hotel suite, to the sexy transparencies of Murano glass. From art exhibitions to a ballet. From a golf course to actors on a stage. The list can go on and on, while this bio must finish here. I hope that I haven’t once more been a thief, that I haven’t taken up to much of your time. If this was the case, please don’t report me to the police, because I will give myself immediately up: I’m Alessandro Boscolo Agostini!
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by Leonor White
Celeste, located on Amsterdam Avenue between 84th and 85th, in New York, is one of my favorite places when I’m facing a cash squeeze. Thanks to the excellent value it offers, as well as the authentic Italian food it serves, it has deservedly become a popular fixture in the neighborhood.
After being greeted by the owner, you are taken to your table and presented with fantastic Italian bread and extra-virgin olive oil. The antipasti range from Fegatini Di Pollo (chicken livers) to Saute Di Cozze (sautéed clams) to Crostini Con Alici (breadsticks wrapped in anchovies), and my personal favorite, the Involtini De Melanzane, consisting of eggplant rolls stuffed with prosciutto and pecorino cheese baked with tomato sauce.
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From the archives
Rock solid! That’s what the ice on my windscreen this morning was. It was so hard that here was no way my ice scraper was going to break any ice. At -5 degrees C my hands were freezing onto anything that had the slightest bit of moistness!
Winter has settled down comfortably in our parts. There was beautiful snow all through the Thanksgiving weekend and ever since, it’s been a bit dull, cold and icy.
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As fall slips into winter, the open air markets in Turin, Italy push nature’s seasonal fruits and vegetables to make early appearances in the crates and boxes stacked inside each bancarella, or stand. Oranges, grapefruits, and clementines from Calabria and Sicily showed their waxy globes in the middle of October; bitter turnip tops called cime di rapa were available by the end of September; spiky artichokes, still not technically in season, have been around for weeks.
The sweet, crispy finocchio, or fennel, one of my newly-discovered favorites, entered the scene two weeks ago at the beginning of November. Last year’s discovery that I’ve waited impatiently for since the end of September is the sweet, soft kaki vaniglia, the persimmon, which has a designated corner in my refrigerator. These bombs of juicy, fruity sugar are an after dinner treat that could almost replace autumn pies. Almost.
According to the illustrated and finely detailed wheel of seasonal fruits and vegetables that I bought at Eataly, citrus fruits have just begun their yearly cycle in November. I pat myself on the back, since I resisted buying these until a few days ago. There was one mysterious exception in the form of yellow-green skinned citrus fruits, easy to peel and sour-sweet inside. They came from Calabria, and the hulking, big man that sold them ensured me they were sweet and ripe, never mind their greenness. The man who sold them seemed to have been plucked from another time and place, where people can and still do pick oranges in the fields all day for decent wages, the weakening winter sun warm on their backs. His nails were dirty and his accent thick (presumably Calabrian).
Once at a food photographer’s studio in Emilia-Romagna, the chefs and food stylists there prepared a tangy, salty, sweet salad from the South. It had been inspired by the chef’s Sicilian roots. It’s now one of my favorite meals, and I have to wait for these seasonal fruits and vegetables before I can enjoy it. It evokes flavors from a land where the sun shines across fields with rows and rows of citrus trees, bright orbs decorating the branches in a warm Christmastime.
The traditional olives to pair with this are black ones, but I had green, which I might actually prefer. Being the salt queen that I am, a shot of capers hits the spot, but I don’t know how “traditional” that is. Also, blood oranges knock the pretty factor up a notch for this already aesthetically-pleasing plate.
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I went camera-crazy at the Slow Food Salone del Gusto 2012 in Turin, Italy. Here are my unedited photos, part 1, documenting the incredible products available. The signs tell you where the product came from and give a full description in English and Italian. Watch the slideshow!
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Meet Jonell Galloway, a freelance writer and editor specialized in French cuisine. 
