I was lucky in life in that I had two fatherly men that taught me a great deal, my dad and Carlo Ponti.
Now they are both gone. When people get old they die. It is normal. Mr. Ponti had been in failing health…he was in his 90's, I knew it was going to happen, but I didn't know how much I depended on him just being in the universe. It somehow was a comfort to me...knowing he was still there.
We shared years of life and often it was just the two of and my kids, alone at a ranch, him living in one house, me in another. When people asked what my title was there at the ranch, I always said slave. Mr. Ponti would insist for them to enter that on documents…he loved a bit of mental torment to others…But a better title would have been family.
I remember when I first started working for him I was scared to death to cook for him. How would I cook for this worldly man that had dined in all the best restaurants? So a crazy Roman and one of the best friends I had, who was also living at the ranch, helped me get through the beginning of my cooking transistion...from him I learned how to make pasta right...,and then I was given a cookbook by political journalist, Oriana Fallaci. It divided Italy into regions and that book taught me a lot.
Mr. Ponti was from outside of Milan and there they ate butter, so I made the dishes that were lighter, butter over oil, rice, etc. And he ate a lot of the foods that I grew up with…in a different form is all…such my cornbread and his polenta, my red beans and rice and his navy beans and rice. At some point I threw the book away, but that is how it all started…and I had to translate the book to English...it wasn't easy…but Oriana saved me.
Of course she was funny, too….I made a lemon cake every morning, it came from a Duncan Hines box, and when Mr. Ponti's secretary saw me using the mix, she goes…brilliant…now we have more time…but, don't let anyone know we use a box.
So when Oriana asked why the cake was so yellow, I suggested maybe it was the eggs…I had Araucana chickens that laid blue shelled eggs with dark orangish yolks and suggested that maybe their eggs made the cake yellowier. Well she wanted a lemon cake recipe and the some of the special eggs to take back with her to Italy, so I gave her my real lemon cake recipe (which actually was better than Duncan Hines), packed up a container and carefully wrapped them in the luggage. On the way to the airport she asked if I packed the eggs…well yes I did I told her…and she said…when will they hatch? And I said, well these are not fertile eggs… they will not hatch…let me tell you I was cursed at and yelled at from Lake Sherwood to LAX. She even held a large walled/clutch purse in her hand shaking it…I ducked more than once fully expecting it to come my way.
At one point I started to laugh because I told her...even if they were fertile they had to be kept warm. It was funny to me and I asked her how one of the most intelligent woman in journalism didn't think about that. And my laughing really got her angry. When we got to the airport she opened her purse and threw a 100 dollar bill at me…telling me to go buy some intelligence.
…somehow memory spawns memory…maybe I should write some of this stuff down...the adventures of so many years...but anyways...back to Mr. Ponti…I have so many great memories of so many wonderful people…but for sure Carlo Ponti will always be a hero to me.
God Speed, Mr. Ponti…I luved ya...
From the blog: myspace.com/racingwest
