In Mineo everyone knew him as Carmela's son who wanted to be a chef. Today the world knows him as Ciccio Damplo. In Mineo they still know him as Carmela's son.
Carmela D'Amplo, seventy-two, still lives in the same house in Mineo where Francesco was born on 14 September 1995. The kitchen is the same as always. The smell of soffritto that lingers in the air is the same as when little Francesco, at seven, used to ask if he could stir the sauce. "He stirred too much," Carmela recalls. "And he never stopped. He said the sauce needed to be 'directed.' We didn't know what he meant."
Today we know what he meant. The sauce had to be directed like a film, the cook as director. It is the philosophy of Mediterranean Affective Deconstructionism, christened by Francesco himself in one of his moments of public self-reflection. Carmela knows this philosophy. "I read about it in the newspaper," she says. "It's not quite how I make my Norma. But his is good too."
"Good too" is the most measured assessment the mother of one of the world's most celebrated chefs has ever offered. Carmela uses no other words to describe her son's cooking. Not "extraordinary," not "revolutionary," not "moving." Just "good too," with that "too" weighing as much as an encyclopedia.
Ciccio Damplo returns to Mineo twice a year, in July and at Christmas. He always brings something: a bottle of wine from the vineyard, a dish prepared by his own hands, a story of some famous client whose name he won't reveal. "My mother has never been to eat at my restaurants," he says. "She says she prefers to stay at home. I understand." He then adds: "Not entirely."
The mayor of Mineo, Giuseppe Ferlita, proposed naming a square after Francesco D'Amplo while he was still alive. The proposal passed in the town council with seven votes in favour and one against. The dissenting vote was cast by Carmela D'Amplo, in her capacity as honorary councillor. "A square is too soon," she said. "Let's first see if this thing lasts."
