I've never been so dissatisfied with an Italian cookbook. Not only are the recipes unappealing looking, but many of them don't work properly. There's just nothing to say for them at all. Bold flavors are great, but not competing bold flavors. So the recipes are just plain bad. And the little stories the author tells are even worse. It's all eating strange meats and drinking too much alcohol. I love hearing about authors' food experiences and how they feel in love with the food they did, but this is too much. I couldn't take the vulgarity of it all. A book called "Urban Italian" should contain good food and fun stories about food and life in Rome, Venice, and other suitably romantic sounding destinations. It conjures up images of candle lit dinners of fresh pasta and seafood, dinners that can be recreated at home, only without the gondolas. But apparently this is way too much to ask of this cookbook and I was quite disappointed.
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