The landscape around L’Argine a Vencò at the end of winter is stark, apparently barren, even a little heart-wrenching. The restaurant is a quaint “temple” with 16 seats, attached to a small B&B owned by 38-year-old Antonia Klugmann, who boasts one Michelin star. Deep in the countryside of the Friuli region, between the cities of Udine and Gorizia, we’re so close to the border that my cell phone is working on the Slovenian network. But if we look closely, we can see budding snowdrops and primrose. In a few moments, these hints of spring will make an appearance on my plate, together with things I’d wanted to taste when I was a child, and will now be made sublime: cow tongue, wild herbs, offal, fruit rinds.
She’s the most famous Italian chef of the moment, partly because she was also the first female judge on MasterChef Italia tv show. Now she’s decided to welcome us with a tasting menu and a few words. Her sweet gaze and smile complement her quick but extremely refined gestures. The environment around us is intimate, essential. We are in a rectangular room made of glass and wood that welcomes the surrounding nature inside. All the details have a subtle meaning that comes through little by little. The stones scattered here and there, for example, have been smoothed by the nearby river and are a tribute to Antonia’s childhood. “They’re trendy in Nordic restaurants,” she says, “but the truth is that I like to collect them. It’s also a reference to my father’s Jewish traditions.” From the windows we get glimpses of the vegetable garden and a few dried stems. “Those are wild Jerusalem artichokes, the basis for my crème caramel – a dish I love.” Beyond the garden we can see the woods.
Tomorrow she’ll take us to her “secret clearing” where she gathers wild herbs, such as radicchio and pimpinella, wonders that remain invisible to most people. The kitchen of her restaurant is open and merges with the dining room. A sort of large “fish bowl” allowing us to watch the crew at work. Romano, Antonia’s companion of 16 years, moves around us, unobtrusive but attentive. “We met at his parent’s wine store. It’s thanks to him that I’m able to deal with this job. He supervised the restaurant’s construction site. I was the cook at Venissa, stuck on Mazzorbo Island in the Venetian lagoon. For two years I didn’t manage to visit the construction site. The stress from having to delegate something so important drove me into therapy.” Romano tells us about the wines, disappears, and then comes back like in a dance. At the end of the evening, the cook greets the customers. At that point I notice a familiar relationship between them. This is confirmed when I read Di cuore e di coraggio. La mia storia, la mia cucina (Of Heart and Courage: My Story, My Kitchen), Antonia’s first book. A biography that reads like a menu.
The Interview
Is it true that customers follow you?
“Yes, from my first restaurant in Udine. I know many by name, they’ve been visiting us for 15 years. We’ve invested a lot to get this result.”
How did you do it?
“By constantly improving ourselves. This is the only way to create loyalty. We don’t even have a press office. We prefer to widen our customer base without forcing it.”
But you did go on TV. Is this a contradiction?
“Not at all. I’ve been an entrepreneur since I was 26. Everything I do aims at selling my product, of course, but with due respect for my work. There’s been a huge gap between haute cuisine and its customers for many years. They were unaware of the dedication involved behind the scenes, in the kitchen. TV formats like MasterChef managed to close that gap a little. Very few understood, on the other hand, how much that program benefited me personally.”
How?
“I rediscovered my femininity which had been neglected because of a job that asks 100% of you. I lost weight. I eat better. I am more aware of myself physically, I perform better. A cook is like an athlete: they have to take care of their body.”
Your resumé includes an internship with Italian chef Bruno Barbieri, MasterChef judge as well. How was it to share the stage with him?
“Incredible. Surreal. I often called my mother and asked her: ‘Can you believe it?’ From that internship period with Bruno I remember that he had a very spartan room: a bed, a picture of his nephew, a few clothes. It was the reflection of his total self-denial for the sake of his work.”
You almost got a Law degree. How did you end up becoming a cook?
“Because I was truly happy only when I was cooking. It was a difficult decision because I had very good grades in college. I watched videos of Ferran Adrià and daydreamed. But in my family studying was sacred. My grandfather on my father’s side spoke five language, my father three. I speak two. In three generations I’m the first person not to get a college degree. I feel that weight.”
When did you decide to make the change?
“In a moment of true crisis. My parents separated in 2001. I was restless. I said to myself: it’s now or never. And so I started from the foundations. I was a dishwasher for two years. To all aspiring cooks I say: Determination is the key. Put your heart into it.”
You also serve it in your dishes.
.. “Yes, it’s true, I pick up the slaughtering scraps from the farmers. I love offal. One Easter my customers found themselves being offered lamb’s heart and liver. I had decided to incorporate them, otherwise they were going to get thrown away. It’s a way of celebrating the animal, its sacrifice.”
How did your customers react?
“Positively. They trust us. But I never force anyone to try anything. Taste is an instinct. And I can accept a no. I have some no’s too".
What are they?
“No to tuna, for example, no to horse. It’s irrational, if I think about it, but that’s how it is.”
You have a very close relationship with nature. Where does that come from?
“I’d been an apprentice for five years when, because of a bad car accident, I had to take a break for a year. I retreated to a valley near Cividale. There I discovered the vegetable garden and wild herbs. But also the brutality in the countryside, which is often the result of illiteracy.”
In your book you define yourself as “four in one,” what does that mean?
“I am one quarter Ukrainian-Jew, one quarter Emilian, one quarter Triestina and one quarter Pugliese. All this is clearly reflected in my cooking.”
What’s the worst thing in the kitchen?
“Waste. I find it vulgar. I use all parts of an animal. And this is how dishes like ‘What’s left of the fish’ are created – with scraps. But it’s the same with fruits and vegetables: roots, flowers, pits. They provide complexity. I also recover pots and pans, I buy them from antique dealers.”
Who calls you ‘the dark lord’?
“My crew [she laughs]. If I’m tense, I withdraw to a corner of the kitchen. Everyone in the crew knows that I change during service. I become severe. I thought I’d softened with age, but I realize that I’m at ease only with those who are severe with themselves.”
Photos by Monica Vinella
