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Celebrity chef Antonio Carluccio dies

Much-loved Italian restaurateur, television presenter and food writer Antonio Carluccio has died, aged 80.

Nov 09, 2017, updated Nov 09, 2017
Antonio Carluccio. Photo: AP/Matt Dunham

Antonio Carluccio. Photo: AP/Matt Dunham

His death was announced on his website, which described him as the “Godfather of Italian cooking”.

Carluccio was raised in the rural north west of Italy, but made his name in London with Neal Street Restaurant, first as manager, then owner, before publishing a string of books about Italian food and hosting numerous TV series about Italian food.

He founded the Carluccio’s chain of cafes in 1999, which has grown to nearly 100 outlets in the UK.

Carluccio travelled regularly to Australia, including as a guest in the early years of South Australia’s Tasting Australia food festival.

In the UK, he introduced a generation to unfussy Italian food, celebrating the glory of simple ingredients.

Fellow celebrity chef Jamie Oliver paid tribute to Carluccio, who was Oliver’s first London boss at Neal Street and an early mentor.

“He was such a charismatic charming don of all things Italian,” Oliver wrote on Instagram. “Always hanging out the front door of the restaurant with a big fat cigar a glass of something splendid and his amazing fuzzy white hair.

“He was an amazing food ambassador that will be sorely missed.”

He received an OBE in 2007 for services to the catering industry was awarded the Commendatore, the equivalent of a British knighthood, from the Italian government in 1998.

Godfather of modern Italian food, Antonio Carluccio, dies at 80. A very sad day. One of our heroes. https://t.co/N5mtqdpzkD pic.twitter.com/MBWrlxU2MA

— SBS Food (@SBS_Food) November 9, 2017

The saddest news. One of the loveliest people, and a really wonderful friend, Antonio Carluccio, has died. He was due to stay with me next week to help present the Northants Food and Drink Awards and I was so looking forward to seeing him and giving him an illustration I just had framed. It accompanied the last piece he wrote for me, a beautiful memory of his war years, and the illustration depicted him at his bedroom window above the station-masters house where he lived as a child. He loved the picture and said it showed exactly the scene in his own memory. I was so lucky to get to know him well over the years. I often visited him at his home in Wandsworth chatting over the big wooden table where he would write – always by hand in pencil. And he never stopped writing books. When one ended he simply started another. In one corner of the room were huge numbers of walking sticks – he would whittle in his spare time. And everywhere there were mushroom related ornaments. He was famous for his love of funghi so every damn person thought a mushroom-related piece of art would make a great present. He came to London in the wine business after working for the Italian typewriter firm Olivetti and through Terence Conran and his sister Priscilla – who he married – he got into the food business starting a cafe in Covent Garden. The rest is history. I will so miss him. His filthy jokes, his amazing array of expresso machines, his collection of chilled and jarred mushrooms, his wonderful conversation, the strong Italian accent that never left him. How lucky Emily and I were over the summer when we saw him ambling through the Chelsea Arts Club and he joined us both for dinner. 'I don't drink anything these days,' he said as I offered him a glass of wine. 'Only whisky.' Then that grin, that laugh, the shock of thick white curly hair. He had such warmth and at 80 great energy. He was only working in Australia very recently. It is so sad but what an absolute joy to know that he really was a friend. Every mushroom growing quietly beneath a pile of leaves in one of the secret woods that only he knew about might shed a little tear knowing he will never pick one of them again.

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– InDaily

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