BIRTH IN VENICE
Alistair McAlpine on New Year
celebrations in the jewel of the Adriatic
Venice AS I lie tucked up in my Venetian bed I am not dreaming of a white January, or at least I hope I am not, for such a dream would be a nightmare, were it to become a reality. Snow is without equal as an attrac- tion when it falls, and if it falls at New Year, so much the better. Venice, howev- er, has narrow streets and as the snow melts it slides from the roof-tops in great sheets. Falling snow in such quantities can be a great danger to Venetian pedestrians as there is no space to get out of its way.
Happily, there is not much chance of snow at a Venetian New Year. The weath- er is normally sunny until after lunch and then as darkness and fog coincide there is a chill in the atmosphere. At such a time Venice is more beautiful than ever.
It is a delight to walk the arcades around St Mark's Square and to look out at the empty square lit by decorations. It is as if that wonderful space had acquired a roof of billowy fog. It is brightly illuminated and its opaque ceiling is as impenetrable as if it were made of lath and plaster. The silence of the place is broken only by the clack of female pedestrians' high-heeled shoes.
Business is brisk in the back bar of Flori- an's, where Venetians drink and the bar- man prepares a fearsome hot rum grog. The bright lights of the cabins — where other customers sit on velvet banquettes and small mahogany chairs — illuminate the murals of flowers and naked women, painted at the end of the 19th century. Customers crowd each other, their heavy coats overflowing their seating arrange- ments as they drink hot chocolate and tea from Marrakesh.
Venice at this time of the year is all about eating and drinking, so I set out to find out what true Venetians eat and drink and how true Venetian families spend the New Year. The answer, of course, is sim- ple. Most of them head for the mountains to enjoy the snow which is such a con- founded nuisance when it comes to their city. When I used to visit Venice regularly at New Year in the late Seventies it was a wonderfully quiet place. Harry's Bar was a haven of peace for those who were trying to avoid the seasonal festivities. The few Venetians who remained in town seldom ventured out, spending the holiday with friends or relatives at home.
Nowadays, however, Venice has a large population of 'birds of passage' — people who live here for a month or so a year. These people have filled the vacuum left by the Venetians who leave in search of snow. They like to have fun, unlike the morose souls of the Seventies who hid in Harry's Bar. Today, Harry's Bar is normal- ly packed. In fact, if you wish to spend New Year's Eve there you must book at least six months in advance. Arrigo Cipri- ani tells me that the menu they serve that night is rich: caviar, followed by galantine of capon, lobster, then lamb or duck. The dessert is Panettone, which looks like a cake but has a consistency somewhere between bread and sponge with raisins and candied fruit mixed in it.
Over the holiday season, the Venetian eats in a rather different manner, with 'If its all the same to you, I'll wait for the next one to come along.' friends and the entire family: uncles, aunts, cousins and grandparents. Fish, branzino bollito (boiled branzino, an Adriatic sea bass) is a popular dish, bigoli in salsa (spaghetti with a sauce of anchovies) is also enjoyed. The Venetian equivalent of panet- tone is a focaccia. These 'cakes' resemble chefs' hats and the best ones are made by a baker called Colussi in the Calle Lunga St Barnaba. A customer visiting his shop will see dozens of these focaccia hanging upside-down attached to washing-lines with clothes-pegs. The baker lets them cool this way so that the cake-like mixture, having risen in the oven, does not sink during cooling. Colussi is a friendly man and is likely to offer you a glass of the marsala which he uses to make large quantities of zabaglione.
Grappa is often drunk on cold mornings in Venice; it gets the fog out of your throat. Search for a café where the proprietor has taken the trouble to marinate sultanas in his grappa; treated in this way it is mild by comparison with others of its genre, though the sultanas are lethal as they have absorbed the alcohol. This is the traditional drink of the Venetian hunter returning home cold and wet after a day's duck- shooting.
On New Year's Eve, while visitors go to restaurants, Venetians go to each other's houses, where parties have been organised in advance and dancing usually takes place. Whether you go to a private party or a restaurant, be sure not to leave until the New Year is well under way, for to walk in Venice's narrow streets is as dangerous at the turn of the year as it is after a heavy fall of snow. The habit in Italy is to throw something old out of your window as the New Year dawns. The something old can be a dish-cloth or a gas cooker. In Rome, you can dodge a falling gas cooker, in Venice there is no escape.
The dish of New Year is lentils served with cotechino. Tradition says the more of this dish you eat, the better luck you will have in the coming year. My doctor, who has cared for my heart since it was dis- turbed from its lethargic state by an opera- tion involving six bypasses a few years ago, agrees that eating lentils is beneficial. He cannot, however, fathom why anyone would eat a large quantity of cotechino, sausage composed almost entirely of fat. which will, he tells me, 'do you nothing but harm'.
For me, lunch on New Year's Eve is taken sitting in the sunshine at Paolo's Bar in the Campo Arsenale — perhaps Venice's most beautiful square, with its four Greek lions and Renaissance gateway to the arsenal. Paolo's food is incompara- ble: his pizzas, his fish — grilled or fried a dream; his grappa with grapes prepared well in advance of the winter. As for New Year's Eve, a good book, a bottle of the Macallan and I will assume that the New Year arrived on time as I enjoy a contented sleep.
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