an opinion of The Futurist Cookbook
In 1922, Italian nationalist and political leader Benito Mussolini was elected Prime Minister of Italy, a position he strategically leveraged to impose fascist ideology on the Italian citizens over whom he dictated. A former socialist, Mussolini characterized his political orientation as the marriage of state and corporate power, posturing fascism as an ideological middle ground between communism and liberalism. Mussolini’s regime followed closely on the heels of the 1909 Italian Futurist Movement, an event that punctuated the dynamism of the Machine Age with artistic, avant-garde declarations of progress. Futurism was pioneered by Italian literary figure Filippo Tommaso Marinetti, who, in 1932, published a collection of experimental cooking formulas known as The Futurist Cookbook. Chock-full of Mussolini’s fascist propaganda, The Futurist Cookbook (which functions as something more akin to a futurist lifestyle glossary) reinforced the regime’s aim for complete autarky. Nearly a century after its publication date, the verbose book of recipes remains worthy of a read. Here’s why. The cookbook debuted in a vulnerable society hindered by economic insecurity and hunger. The end of World War I fourteen years prior left Italy’s government divided and in debt. As the self-appointed “Duce of the Italian Social Republic,” Mussolini sought to repair the structural shortcomings of the Italian government. His technique? Ultra-nationalism to the point of totalitarianism. Mussolini’s antiforeign framework resulted in campaigns like the Battle for Grain, an economic plan to establish self-sufficiency in wheat production so as to decrease Italian dependency on foreign markets. The Battle for Grain discouraged the purchase of non-Italian goods and urged consumers to secure nourishment through thrift and sacrifice. I find that Marinetti’s book echoes these sentiments, emphasizing the appeal of homegrown foods and cautioning Italians against eating “voluminous plates of pasta” (because wheat). Many of Marinetti’s recipes read as theatrical experiences involving unusual ingredients in extremely limited quantities. His dessert, “Italian Breasts in the Sunshine,” for example, embraces a single strawberry dusted with black pepper sitting on a bed of almond paste. If, like me, your appetite has also suddenly evaporated into thin air, my condolences. Taste aside, Marinetti’s work offers an audacious lens through which to view Italian fascism at a time when food was the prevalent link between government and population. Sometimes the story behind a book is more substantial than the book itself. Such is the case with The Futurist Cookbook.