I love pasta as much as prata. But the local delight requires less dough from me and is more easily available in every neighbourhood, so my adult belly has been filled by far more Indian prata than Italian pasta.
I love coffee, too, but kopi from a kopi tiam is my preferred “petroleum”, instead of caffe from a cafe. Anyway, my favourite Italianate coffee of all time is cappuccino, thanks to its Suzuki namesake, a sweet little roadster I remember fondly.
I also remember, but not very fondly, my first and only Italian car. It was a 1992 Fiat Uno Turbo Mk 2, said to be one of seven in Singapore, with registration number SBV6976E. The hot hatch got me hot under the collar whenever the engine overheated. The paintwork was as black as the exhaust smoke. The cabin was crummy and the handling was shabby. Despite these issues, the Uno was fun. Its turbocharged 1.4-litre motor was orgasmic when on-boost, its cluster of instrument meters was marvellous and its Momo steering wheel was wonderful.
It was a bad romance with an Italian. For stories of good romance with Italians, please turn to pg 56 (Ferrari 812 Superfast), pg 64 (Lamborghini Huracan Performante) and pg 68 (Alfa Romeo Giulia Quadrifoglio).