I am laughing again as I turn to this, on page four: The day has dawned bright in every sense and I am making good progress up a ladder painting the kitchen – the most important room in the house – in contrasting shades of mushroom and eau de Nil. Anyone can do the white-walls-and-black-beams bit, but it takes aesthetic confidence and an original mind to make something of a Tuscan mountain farmhouse that isn’t merely Frances Mayes. It also takes a complete absence of salt-of-the-earth peasants and their immemorial aesthetic input. It is all rather heartening and as I work I break cheerfully into song. I have been told by friendly cognoscenti that I have a pleasant light tenor, and I am just giving a Rossini aria a good run for its money when suddenly a voice shouts up from near my ankles: ‘Excuse, please. I am Marta. Is open your door, see, and I am come.’ I break off at ‘tutte le norme vigenti’ and look down to find a shock of frizzy hair with an upturned sebaceous face at its centre.

In this first part, the most hilarious two-dozen pages in the book, we view the world as seen by Englishman Gerald Samper – who refers to himself as a “Shropshire Samper” – hunkered down in a cottage about as far off the beaten path as it is possible to get in the Apuan Alps of Northern Italy, practicing his trade as a ghost-writer, working on the autobiography of the lead singer of a boy-band; but also taking the opportunity to devote more time to his passion for cooking.

The next section is told from Marta’s point of view. Despite her Borat-like butchering of the English language, Marta, from the fictional ex-Soviet country of Voynovia – Voy-NO-via! – is every bit Gerry’s intellectual equal. She is a composer, and has come to Italy to work on a score for a famous cult film director named Piero Pacini, although she has not seen any of Pacini’s films. It is through Marta’s eyes that we see “Gerree’s” flaws.

Marta ends up copying Gerry’s abysmal kitchen singing for the film, which for some reason is a perfect fit – it’s possible this is a pornographic movie, though we aren’t really sure. Gerry finds Marta slovenly and her music absolutely horrible – not recognizing its source. The agent has told each that the other would only be there a month and wanted nothing but seclusion. And there the misunderstandings and misadventures begin.

Fernet Branca is “an herb-based liqueur” perhaps better described as “a bitter Italian spirit” since not only is it liberally used in cooking, but both characters drink copious amounts of the stuff, each of course blaming the other for the excessive consumption. I assume also that the author intended at least some of his readers with too much time on their hands to stumble upon the fact that Fernet Branca is the preferred drink of the title character of Notti di Cabira, by Fellini; linking us to Marta’s Pacini, perhaps?

In any case, “fooding” as Marta is wont to call cuisine, is just one common fondness these two share. For their first dinner together, she serves him shonka, which Gerry describes as a gross sausage the colour of rubberwear and as full of lumps as a prison mattress. When he pokes it with the point of his knife, he hears the sound of a boil being lanced, yet in no time at all he’s eaten a good two inches of the thing, with a mere yard to go. Gerry provides the dessert – Garlic and Fernet Branca Ice Cream – created to discourage Marta from becoming habitual in her visitations to his habitat. Of course she polishes it off with gusto, washed down with copious draughts of Fernet Branca.

The story inevitably spins off into many directions – perhaps too many – and I have to confess that I was insufficiently exposed (wink-wink, nudge-nudge) to Monty Python in my youth, so it’s possible I just didn’t “get it”, or else it was simply impossible for the author to keep his readers’ spirits up after such a hilarious beginning.

Technically, I must say I very much admired the author’s use of the “unreliable narrator” here – one of the best examples I’ve read in quite some time; especially using two alternating narrators, recalling One Hundred Dollar Misunderstanding, but fully milked in Fernet Branca for humour. I also found “seasoning” enough sprinkled throughout the story to read through to its conclusion, even though I’d guessed it beforehand; as you will, too.

But don’t let that stop you. Cooking with Fernet Branca is a light, airy narrative that spins around two unique characters, is filled with many strange dishes and goings-on, and of course, after so much mention of Fernet Branca, you might feel as though you’ve actually tasted it! At the very least, you will certainly hesitate before sipping an unfamiliar liqueur or tasting an exotic dish, especially after reading the recipe for Alien Pie, which calls for 500 grams of baby beet; a single drop of household paraffin; 1 kg smoked cat, off the bone, and… I expect you get the picture! Buon appetito!

Laugh out loud funny. If you like British humor don't miss this book. It was perfect break from all the serious depressing reading I've been doing lately. Enjoy!

The title is true to the novel. There *is* a lot of cooking with Fernet Branca, as well as a lot of drinking of Fernet Branca. Essentially the novel is a send-up of the "Brit in Provence/Italy/Greece/Somewhere Sunny Where The People are Strange" books. The Brit (Gerald Samper) in this case is a ghost writer who thinks he has found his idyllic Italian mountain top villa to complete his latest ghost book. But the next door neighbor (Marta, there is always a next door neighbor, apparently, in the aforementioned books) is a thorn in his side with her nocturnal helicopter visits and banging away on her piano (she is a composer.)

The novel is written in their opposing viewpoints - and both are unreliable enough to see what each other gets wrong about the other. Part of the fun in the book is spotting the way each character gets their view of themselves wildly wrong. For instance, both think the other neighbor is besotted with Fernet Branca, when in reality both of them dip into the bitter liqueur to about equal degrees.

And then there is the sheer horribleness of the recipes that Samper comes up with, that he thinks are the hautest of haute cuisine. The first one you see is a Garlic/Fernet Branca ice cream. We are led to believe that this is a joke to scare away the neighbor as a Trojan Dessert. However, as further execrable recipes follow, we see that Gerald might really be more of a twit than at first glance. He is fond of using pets in stews, for instance, and debates the qualities of certain dog breeds in dishes. There must have been some Brit expatriate book with recipes, which I am glad I have successfully avoided to spot the reference.

Hamilton-Paterson treats the character Marta a little bit more tamely, she does have some blind spots in her view of herself, but nowhere near as much as Gerald. Her main flaw is that she probably drinks too much and picks fights with Gerald a bit too much. But as a foil to Gerald she is brilliant - she uses his Florence Foster Jenkins singing she hears as a basis for a film score.

In the end, the writing was good enough and the plot development as well to make it rise above just a throwaway satire. Think of it as the literary equivalent of "Zoolander".

Reminiscent of Confederacy of Dunces, this intelligent book is written as a narrative of two deeply flawed characters. Similar to C of D, the author
skillfully uses language to provide the reader insight that the protagonists lack. Wry, irreverent, and witty - this was one of my favorite reads of the year.

Snobbish and pretentious guy with crazy recipes somewhere in Italian pastoral mythical rural land. Alone and crazy enjoying his silence. Until a woman from East comes and ruins his daily routine.
The narrator changes focus from woman to a man, telling this story from both point of view, which is diametrical different.
You'll meet funny creatures, even some mob and boy bend celebrity with traumatic surreal experience. You'll laugh at him and you'll laugh with him.
So friggin hillarious.
And then again, so friggin hillarious. And then, I will not say that again. I'll say just read it, for God's sake!!!
Just do it. :)

"A laugh-out-loud comedy of misunderstanding"says the Sunday Time of this book - & there's certainly a lot of crossed wires between neighbours Gerald & Marta. While I didn't laugh-out-loud I certainly sniggered a lot & the metronome incidents caused a couple of very unladylike snorts!

Good fun...oh & I won't be trying out any of Gerald's recipes :o)

I was missing British humour for a while and was recommended this book by my local librarian when I couldn't find Wodehouse. I really enjoyed the story! It does seem a lot like Wodehouse - a very cute, simple premise with ridiculous goof-ups and an ending that's absurdly complex.

However, I can't give the book more than three stars because I didn't like some aspects of the character of Gerald Samper which are written in a way that's supposed to be funny, but is actually simply a bit xenophobic. Gerald, frankly, is a jerk. If he were a bit more likeable - or if his obvious flaws weren't made out to be "cutesy" - I'd give this an easy four.

Umm.. parts were laugh-out-loud hilarious, parts were ineffably tedious- overall a mad and random train wreck of a book. I peered through my fingers, unable to stop reading but couldn't wait for it to end.

This was intensely funny at times, especially in the beginning. I agree with other reviews that it doesn't totally sustain itself all the way through, but then it's not especially long either. Worth reading especially for foodies who realize deep inside that they're ridiculous.

This is the book for you if you're in the mood for some laugh out loud reading. Quirky, funny main characters you can't help but liking. Mix in the luscious countryside of Tuscany and a cast of supporting characters that add intrigue and mystery to this delightful novel.

Charming, especially if you like food literature and food humor.

I feel like I'm betraying an author who did provide some amusement and entertainment for me in this book by only giving it three stars (and that my defense that Goodreads won't let me give it the 3.5 stars I want), but the vigor of the book's structure lost its air after a while.

Samper, the central character, along with his nemesis/object of fascination neighbor, is a peacock of some note, and his fussy observations about pretty much everything are diverting for a good piece of the work, and his ghastly recipes (with dog, cat, snake meat and more) will amuse by their horror.

The book IS funny, and perhaps I was jealous, because I try to amuse in my own work. Or maybe it's just my mood, with my country in a shambles at the moment. Yeah, that's it...

Mr. Hamilton-Paterson, forgive me. And if I see another one of your books about, I'll take a look, big soul that I am.