Her majesty the pastasciutta, undisputed queen of the Italian table, the incarnation of that indissoluble bond between land, ancient gestures, and immortal traditions, stands as the cornerstone of our gastronomic heritage and among the very pillars of the concept of Italian identity.

Few artists have known how to celebrate it with as much transport, irony, and sensitivity as Aldo Fabrizi, a true Roman, an immense actor, a poet in dialect, and an enamored custodian of his city's cuisine; he was among the first to grasp a concept now taken for granted: that our culinary tradition is a true and proper art form, a legacy to be preserved, celebrated, and shared. From Avanti c'è posto! to Rome, Open City, moving from television to radio, from variety shows to musical comedies, Fabrizi did not merely portray Romanness, he became its supreme ambassador, personifying it with extraordinary depth through those iconic protagonists of the Capital who shared his humble origins. And it was precisely in the pastasciutta that Fabrizi identified one of his highest themes. It was 1970 when he published with Mondadori “La Pastasciutta. Ricette nuove e considerazioni in versi

”, an original work where recipes and poetry merge into love letters dedicated to the dish most adored by Italians; thus, through the great Roman classics rendered in sonnets and verses in the Romanesco dialect, the author reclaimed the artistic dignity of the Capitoline kitchen, transforming everyday food into small literary masterpieces. Among typical Roman, Lazian, or whimsical preparations, with no shortage of exquisitely personal reinterpretations, some of his recipes are considered by purists to be rather heretical, such as “La Matriciana mia”; indeed, in the poetic recipe dedicated to the timeless specialty of Lazian cuisine, Fabrizi describes a variation of Amatriciana decidedly distant from the traditional one, calling for a sauté of garlic, onion, and ginger, cured pork cheek (guanciale) and pancetta, and even basil—as opposed to the so-called orthodox version based exclusively on guanciale, tomato, pecorino, and a pinch of chili pepper. Peculiar in this regard is also the case of the Carbonara; let us not forget, in fact, that the oldest recipe for this beloved dish, attributed to the actor, appeared on April 20, 1952, in the French newspaper La Croix du Nord of Lille; here, Fabrizi lists among the ingredients for the sauce a sauté of oil and butter, lard, eggs, Parmesan, and black pepper—a stark departure from the recipe we consider “official”, which features guanciale and pecorino.

 Among the countless testimonies related to pasta—his immense passion—that Maestro Fabrizi left behind, it is impossible not to mention the famous poem “L’Indolenza“ (Indolence), composed in his unmistakable Romanesco register; the author fantasizes about a utopian society where humanity feeds solely on pastasciutta, an opportunity that brings considerable benefits to the wallet and a sort of delightful, collective obligation to take a siesta—drastically reducing city traffic as well. Thus, in his sharp irony that is never superficial, pasta rises to become the pillar of a world in which the hardships of life are minimized, steaming bowls capable of soothing anxieties, satisfying the stomach, and above all, gratifying the soul. In those verses, upon closer reflection, lies the entirety of Fabrizi: his belonging to the working-class Rome that had tasted hunger, known war and misery, making its inhabitants almost physiologically inclined to mockery and cynicism, but also to resilience and hope. It is in this framework that a good plate of pasta represents in itself an act of civilization, clearing the path for a cuisine that progressively emancipates itself from its own dogmas, speaking of lived life, moments of conviviality, and family memories rather than mere bodily necessity. And it is precisely from family that one cannot separate when evoking Aldo Fabrizi. His sister Elena, the legendary Sora Lella, the voice of Radio Lazio and a popular face of the silver screen, but even before that an exquisite cook and esteemed restaurateur, interpreted authentic Romanesco cuisine for decades in her restaurant on the Tiber Island, managed alongside her husband Renato Trabalza (formerly a butcher at the Testaccio slaughterhouse) and her son Aldo. It was 1959, the year in which Trattoria Sora Lella opened its doors, destined to become an institution of the Capital—the restaurant remains generously active today, managed by the actress's grandchildren. Tough, generous, and straightforward, exactly like some of the characters she portrayed (supreme was Sora Lella in the role of Verdone's grandmother, who chose her for Bianco, rosso e Verdone, a 1981 film for which she won the Nastro d'Argento and the David di Donatello), Elena materialized the industrious version of Romanness that her brother Aldo expressed in rhyme, reigning in the kitchen among direct and powerful dishes at a time when Rome was becoming an international tourist destination, her Trattoria consecrating itself as a mecca for gourmands in search of the most genuine, yet never coarse, Roman cuisine. At the Trattoria, the ritual of pastasciutta was (and is) daily officiated with sacredness. The pair of siblings knew how to interpret pastasciutta on two complementary levels: the symbolic one, which found its expression in acting and poetry, and the substantial, domestic, and concrete one where, from the alchemy between cook and ingredients, something far beyond mere nourishment came to life. And precisely through that dish which unites the whole of Italy while maintaining a thousand regional faces, carrying stories and customs that have existed for centuries, Aldo and Elena Fabrizi accomplished together not only an operation of safeguarding the popular essence of the Capital, but much more: they gave voice to that system of national values that pasta evokes and of which it is an everlasting messenger, helping to transform an ordinary food into a powerful symbol of identity and cultural belonging.