like a loose dumbbell, and then I sinipl}’rneouldn’t keep it in an’ longer and out itrntumbled: “The invisible hand, x)virnmean.” Those v’ho sympathize with mrnpredicament will appreciate my reasoning.rnThe patrons are mosth’ businessmen,rnright? And business makes yourndiink ot Adam Smith, and Adam Smithrnmakes ou think of the invisible hand,rnand the idea of biting a hand which is in-rnisible is prcth’ funn-.rnWhich, clear as davlight, was the onhrnreason I’d interrupted her, and ves, ofrncourse I agree, in the final analysis it’s arnstupid joke. But aren’t all jokes stupid inrnthe final anaKsis? And don’t ou thinkrnthat a friendK’ chuckle, or at worst an admonitorrnpause, would be called for atrnthat juncture, even if the interrupted parts^rnhad something original and vital to tellrnabout American art and arfists? To sayrnthat the grande dame froze is like sayingrnthat God liked the world. No, she simplyrnturned to stone, which was naturally therncostliest kind of marble. I can only comparernher with Osip Mandelshtam’s “neoclassicalrnshawl” cascading in bas-reliefrnabout Anna Akhmatova’s shoulders untornall cternit. She was Phedre, she wasrnNiobe, she was the shadow of an evaporatedrnmother in Hiroshima. I had interruptedrnher in her role oi grande dame,rnand to sa that 1 felt like a rotter is like savingrndiere is some good food in this part ofrn’l’uscan.rnLet me change tack for a moment, becausernI just came back from the darkestrnMaremma countr’side which 1 had beenrnscouring for culatello, a kind of hamrnwhich literalK’ begins where other iianisrnleac off, to bring back with me tornN’enice. f’,er’ bar, in just about ecrrnone-bar town in the mountains that 1 visited,rnhad the following announcement inrndie window. I swear I am not hammingrnit up for effect:rnDf’.NJI SHOWrnpresentsrn.A ()ne-Honr-l,ong Spectacle.rnInternational .Vttractions. Jugglers.rn.A Charming Trained DoggrnNumber. A Cuant Squid, over 500rnkg. of Clelatinous Muscle. AnrnAnaconda, Strangler of Men.rnINCRKDIBLEBDTTRUK!rnLlVk, CROCX)DILES.rnA ()ung woman cheats death in arncrstal bowl full of scorpions, blackrnwidows, tarantulas, and poisonousrnsnakes of every description. And,rnfor the first time ever,rn[.IVEPIMNHA!rnHere some c’nical sourpuss mayrngrumble that the great Denji Show of C)rbctcllornis not so unlike what passes for entertainmentrnin the drawing rooms of Belgrarnia, to say nothing of the bedrooms ofrnManhattan. That is not my point, but therncarper would be right in a sense, lo berngrand, in die sense defined b the histor’rnand traditions of Europe, is aboe all tornentertain and be entertained in accordancernwith established conxention, diernerv principle I had had the tcmerih tornsubvert with my dumb joke about the invisiblernhand. The dumb joke was fiiat itrnw as I who had bitten die hand of civilizedrncustom. The dumb joke was on me.rnAll of which is to say that the ladies ofrnManciano, Magliano, and Pitigliano,rnwho come down from die mountains tornthe nois’ and shameless seaside to attendrndie first performance of tiie l^enji as if itrnwere a season premiere at La Seala, arernbeing grand in a way in which theirrnBritish or American counterpart, whornbuys a LWD player instead, cannot eenrnimagine herself wishing to be, to sarnnothing of being. Because here life isrnabout being grand at whatever social levelrnhas fallen to your share. Edsewhere,rnlite is about keeping up with die Joneses.rnIt is interesting to note in this connectionrnthat rile Michelin Guide, fat, red,rnErencli, and yet the world’s chief justiciarrnand uneorrupt arbiter of gastronomicrnachiex’cment, awards stars to just tv()rnX’cuetian establishments apart from thernimplacable Harry’s Bar (“Patrons are reminded,”rnC^ipriani writes on the menu,rn”riiat the ringing of cellular ]3hones mayrninterfere with the preparafion of risotto”).rnThese two are Da Eiori, in die fashionablernSan Polo e|uarter, and a ])laee calledrnAutoespresso, with die gloomy and slight-rnK’ enal address of Via Fratelli Bandierarn^4, deep in the industrial wilderness ofrnthe Mestre suburbs.rnWhether in Florence or in X’cuice, inrnOrbetello or in Mestre, come along andrnwatch an Italian woman, even of thernlowliest stafion, order her morning coffeernat the local bar, ticket in divinely manicuredrnhand. Properly considered, andrnmindful of die algebraic assumphon riiatrnthe X of coffee and the y of milk are thernouK conceivable x-ariables in am ec|uationrndescribing what she is aetualK’ aboutrnto order, diis really is entertainment tornend all entertainment. This is bothrnMaria from Manciano, trembling at thernsight of la gigantesca piorra di oltre SOOrnkg. di musculo gelatinoso. and Violettarnfrom La Traviata on the Milan stage,rnswooning Swinbunieanly among orchidsrnand lilies, in a single burst of blindingrndieatricalih’:rn”I’ll have mine widi just a litde foam,rnplease, but not too much foam, and in arnglass, and not too hot. No, not a macchiato,rnjust an ordinary cappuccino with arnlitriefoam. Just a litde bit. And in a glass.rn.And not too hot.”rn”Can 1 have one with approximatcKrnhalf the usual amount ot foam, but Irnwould like die foam to be cxtremeK hot,rnand the coffee not hot at all. Just warm,rnplease. Yes, warm. No, die coffee warm,rnand die foam extrcmeh’ hot. No, not arnmacchiato w idi yen hot foam, just a cappuccino.”rn”Do me a fiivor, make me a cappuccinornjust rile way you made it for die manrnthere, but with less foam, more like arnmacchiato, but ‘es, w itii die chocolate,rnand I would like the coffee to be nearrnroom temperature. No, not a macchiatornwidi somewhat tepid coffee, I would justrnlike a normal cappuccino like the manrnover there was haxing.”rn”I’ll have m- usual latte macchiato.rnBut toda, could you make it just a littlernless strong, and with just a smudge ofrnfoam? No, aetualK I won’t hac diat. I’llrnhave a eamomile tea, but not too muchrncamomile, like you put esterda. Thatrnwas too strong for me. I was going to tellrn()u, but then m sister called from Padua.”rnNow compare diese glimpses of Italianrnwomanhood widi die scene I witnessedrnlast spring at die Florian in X’enicc. ‘! wornAmerican women approach Hie bar, andrnone of diem sas to die barman: “Latte,rnper favore.” He puts a magnifieendy appetizingrnglass of milk, all bcad from eondensafionrnand reminiscent in its opacitsrnof Bianca Sforza’s pearls in the himousrnportrait, on die ueatK folded and er-rnstarched napkin in front of iier. “No,”rnshe savs loudK, as if speaking to a deafrnman, “latte, I wanted a latte.” “But miss,”rnhe replies in English, “latte is milk, no?”rn”No,” she savs, “I mean, lattel” .And dien,rnho|3elessly, turning to walk out of thernmost famous cafe in die world: “Aw, forgetrnIt.”rnAndrei Navrozov is Chronicles’rnV.uropean correspondent.rnI3F.CEMBtK 199′)/S’)rnrnrn