It was an epic beginning to an epic battle. A battle for the ages. Chifari contra Gilocchi. And it all began in a little agriturismo in a little farming village called Cannara on April 3, 2012.

Such will fathers tell their sons, little boys propped on knee, eyes round and wide, mouth agape, hanging on every word, every sudden stabbing gesture, every flight of poetry describing the night. And there will be a few that can tell the world “I was there. I tasted. I experienced. For me it was a first person experience.”

We were there. We tasted. We experienced.

Chifari contra Gilochhi. The First Gelso Throwdown. We were there.

* * *

The day began, at least for Paolo Chifari, an accountant by training but a chef in spirit, with a morning delivery of an enormous Styrofoam box filled with fresh seppia, the canvass on which he was to paint his masterpiece that evening. Paolo’s day had actually begun several days earlier when he placed his order for the pounds of squid which he would, by some process of alchemy, be converted into delectable bowls of spaghetti with squid ink. He arrived at the villa in the early morning to deposit his treasure and quickly left to make other arrangements. By mid afternoon he had returned, to begin the day’s cooking for the epic dinner.

The guests, Italian friends and business associates, including those who hatched the Throwdown idea over dinner at a restaurant in Terni a couple of weeks earlier, began arriving shortly before 8:00. By then Paolo had completed his preparations for the evening’s menu – an appetizer of broiled scallops, a primo piatto of spaghetti al nero di seppia and a main course of enormous whole orata, a beautiful sea bream that would be baked in the outdoor woodburning oven. Our business partners Corrado and Luigi arrived with boxes of pastries for the dolce.

As the crowd assembled we enjoyed a glass of brut, awaiting the arrival of the other chef di ferro, Paolo’s competitor and nemesis Giuliano Gilocchi. With much fanfare Giuliano arrived, his entourage of his son and companion in tow. Pumping clenched fists and victory signs above his head he seemed to be channeling Hugo Chavez and Richard Nixon at the same time. The only thing that was missing was the soundtrack to Rocky. This is a man who was confident that he would best the accountant.

As the dishes began to arrive Giuliano’s confidence seemed to rise. He appeared unconcerned with the capesante, the broiled scallops served on their shell, baked with a topping of breadcrumbs. A classic dish served in a landlocked region like Umbria, where seafood is often gussied up to compensate for lack of freshness.

But no gussying up was required. Paolo’s scallops were the height of freshness. They had been delivered from the coast the day before and tasted of the sea. As the judges raised their scores it was apparent that Paolo had established his credibility and that a fight was on.

While we had taken great pains to reconfigure the villa’s dining room to accommodate comfortably and elegantly the group of 15 that would be attending this evening, we had not fully developed a judging and scoring system. Using google, just before sitting down we decided to utilize a modified Iron Chef scoring system. Three judges – Marco, his father Lodovico and my prep school roommate Bruce who had arrived only the day before – would judge each course – antipasto, primi and secondo – on three factors: presentation, originality and taste.

I am not at liberty to divulge the scores Paolo received on his capesante. The judges raised their spoons, scoring the appetizer on all three factors and then provided their commentary. One judge questioned the authenticity of serving scallops in Umbria, which would potentially cast a shadow over the remainder of this all seafood dinner. Another judge, taking a different tack thought that Paolo had missed an opportunity in the presentation category to make a Birth of Venus allusion, suggesting that the clam shells should have been topped with some naked Venus, a la Boticelli. He did not describe how this could have been done.

Next out was the spaghetti al nero di seppia, the pasta with black squid ink. Now squid ink pasta is not the most beautiful thing in the world to look at. And it is hardly a staple here in the hills of Umbria. But it was a pure delight. Especially when Chef Paolo provided his explanation of how he coaxed the ink from the squid’s ink sacs, how the fresh squid is cleaned and prepared, how the sauce is made. Nero di seppia is not an everyday dish, but that is what makes it special. Despite the enormous bowls that were served up to each diner, seconds were passed around. It was served in such abundance that it would have helped to have eight hands to eat it with.

At this point it was apparent that even Giuliano was enjoying the meal immensely. This did not stop the constant stream of trash talk that was emanating from his mouth, but as he downed mouthful after mouthful of pasta, it did slow the stream of braggadocio. Underneath his confident exterior was it possible that some doubts about his certain victory were creeping in?

And then the orata. We had earlier watched them being prepared in the kitchen before retiring to the dining room. Three enormous whole fish, scales removed, resulting in soft, smooth mass, a translucent yellow stripe running across the front of the face over the nose. Paolo lightly scored the flesh on each side of the fish to allow the seasoning to works its way into the flesh and laid out olives, tomatoes and potatoes on the baking sheets with the fish before dousing it all in light olive oil. Bay leaves were then placed on the fish to provide a light perfume. Uncooked, the fish looked divine.

But when Paolo entered the dining room after the nero di seppia had been cleared, pushing a cart with the just cooked orata, the aroma told us that the cooked version would be even better. The smell was, in a word, divine and when the cart was rolled up to the table the sight matched the perfume. It was a feast. Game on, Gilocchi.

We had arranged the tables in a U shape to provide sufficient space for our group of 15. Unintentionally we had made a perfect space for the cart to rest in, so that the orata, fresh from the woodburning oven, could be seen, smelled and gawked at by all. Chef Paolo then began the cleaning of the fish with a flourish not normally associated with accountancy. First he lifted off the light skin with the back of a large spoon and spatula, and then he began extracting small chunks of soft white flesh from the bulging sides of the fish onto plates that had been primed with the baked potato, tomato and olive mixture. A light cloud of steam hung over the cart and wafted over the table, its delicate perfume tantalizing the assembled diners. And as plates of orata were passed around, forks were raised mouthward, small portions of warm fish were placed in mouths and then, silence. The first bites were not so much chewed as relished, no movement of the mouth and then a slow motion, a slight rocking back and forth of the jaw, a gesture of savoring, as though it was not fish but some sort of hard candy to be dissolved in the mouth rather than crushed and swallowed. There was a collective release of breath, not a gasp but a long, plaintive sigh. There was enjoyment from every corner of the table.

When the judges raised their spoons it was apparent that Chef Paolo had delivered a special experience to each of us through the vehicle of a fish. Everyone around the table, judge and civilian alike, was obviously enthralled. But one judge summed it up best by saying “this is the best fish I have ever had.” I think he had it right.

Dinner was topped off by an absurd selection of pastries from the south of Italy. All cream and filling and deliciousness. This over the top assortment topped off a wonderful meal and a wonderful evening.

So Chef Paolo, the accountant from Ponte San Giovanni, the little bedroom community in the shadow of Perugia had pulled off an upset. He had defeated the conventional wisdom that he was all talk and no cooking. He had proven he could deliver a dinner worthy of a professional chef. And across the table the confident Giuliano Gilocchi could be seen to be giving his opponent the credit he deserved. Giuliano, remaining every bit publicly confident as the moment he arrived may be feeling the heat. But a week from Saturday, April 14, we will see how he uses that heat to craft a dinner that will determine whether he takes home the First Gelso Throwdown trophy.

Win, lose or draw, he will be competing against a worthy opponent. Chef Paolo Chifari.

Ci vediamo!
Bill and Suzy