Transworld Publishers have a wealth of exciting new talent which we are publishing next Spring with exciting debut novels from Curtis Sittenfeld (author of the much hyped and deservedly so, American Wife) and Julia Widdows (author of Living in Perhaps).

As well as these literary gems, we at between-the-lines are rubbing at hands with glee at the release of debut author Elle Newmark’s The Book of Unholy Mischief which hits the shelves on the 12th March 2009.

Reminiscent in style of Kate Mosse and Joanne Harris, between-the-lines have devoured proof copies of this novel, and have been left with an insatiable taste for Italian cuisine and Venetian culture (Lynsey is booking her flight now)!

The book follows the endeavours of apprentice chef Luciano, and his search for a book feted to contain all that his heart desires. We asked author Elle Newmark to divulge her own secrets of where her inspiration came from.  Check out her answers below, and do try out her fantastic recipe! Two parts author to one part culinary maestro, Elle Newmark we salute you!

Q. 1. Teaching is an important issue in the book; do you think there is a central lesson that comes across from your work?

A. Oh, sure. The message is that civilization advances through knowledge, and this fact places teachers among the most important people on earth. Librarians, the keepers of the flame, are equally invaluable, and I think teachers and librarians deserve more recognition than they generally receive.

Knowledge generates more knowledge and discoveries grow exponentially. This is precisely how we have come from living in caves to a space age society with instantaneous digital communication. Subtract teachers from this picture and progress would grind to a grating, painful halt.

And it’s difficult to be a teacher. I tried it, but I couldn’t do it. It takes a very special, dedicated, hard working, generous person to confront a room full of ignorance and fix it. I simply don’t have the patience, but my hat is off to those who do.

Q. 2. With scene after scene of stately banquets, bustling markets and vegetable gardens, food is obviously key to your work. Was food central to your own childhood?

A. Food is always the centerpiece of life in an Italian family, and probably even more so in mine because my father was a master chef. Food is more than just food for many people, but in my family it was the definitive expression of every emotion.
“I prepared a nutritious meal for you because I love you.”
“I baked a cake for your visit because I’m happy to see you.”
“I prepared this holiday feast because sharing good food is the best way to celebrate.”
When a writer grows up with a chef for a father, food as metaphor is inevitable.

And because Dad was a chef, the quality of food was critically important as well. Not only must food be fresh and in season and properly prepared, but my sister and I were the odd kids who packed smoked sturgeon for lunch instead of peanut butter and jelly. I could tell the difference between domestic caviar and Beluga when I was ten. Inferior food was regarded with suspicion and disdain, and I must confess I have not outgrown that conceit.

There was also a personal aspect to certain dishes. To this day I cannot see spaghetti Bolognese on a menu without remembering my grandmother standing in her kitchen, belting out O Sole Mio, and stirring a big pot. She was, in fact, from Bologna and her spaghetti sauce had that special quality that is a blend of authenticity and her own unique touch. She used shredded carrots to make the sauce naturally sweet. Sugar in pasta sauce was considered heresy.

My mother had a fabulous specialty, which I have never encountered in a restaurant or even in Italy. I don’t know the name of it—it sounded like zampanalz but we called it “Somethin’ Else,” as in “Hooray, Mom’s making Somethin’ Else!” It was a delicate crepe filled with crisp, crumbled bacon, grated parmesan, and a rumor of garlic. It’s served hot, right out of the pan, and she couldn’t make them fast enough.

Dad didn’t cook much at home, only for holidays, but his specialty was ravioli. He made the pasta from scratch and then assembled a complicated filling of spinach, turkey, veal, cheese… The magic ingredient was exactly the right amount of nutmeg. Every year, after Thanksgiving, he ground the leftover turkey and we set up a major production line in the basement—long tables covered with paper-thin six-foot lengths of dough that my sister and I dotted with tiny knobs of filling. Then my parents carefully laid down the top sheet of pasta and pressed it tight around each mound of filling. They hand-cut the ravioli with a wobbly old crinkle cutter and froze family sized servings in plastic bags. We had ravioli in the freezer all year.

These days Dad makes ravioli in his garage. It’s a lot of work and, at ninety, he doesn’t do it every year. But it’s a very special treat indeed to serve it to my grandchildren and, of course, I have the recipe.

Q. 3. In The Book of Unholy Mischief, each of the characters is searching for a way to fulfill their deepest desires. The Doge for example longs for a potion to make him immortal whilst Luciano wants a love potion. If you found a book of secrets what one wish would you most hope to be inside?

A. Frankly, this question stumped me. A year ago I would have said I wanted the secret to getting my book published. With that accomplished I must say I have quite a wonderful life—good friends, a terrific family and work that I love. My passion is travel and I’ve been fortunate enough to see a fair piece of the world. At the end of the day, I have everything I need and want, so I had to look to the existential for a secret that I would dearly love to have revealed. I came up with this: I would like to understand how science, art and spirituality intersect.

My daughter is a physicist and I know she could tell me, with mathematical precision, exactly how the sunset streaks the sky with fire. But why do I respond to the poetry of it with trembling awe? And why do some people infer the existence of God from such phenomena? How does music make my heart take flight? Why do I weep in the presence of an especially fine painting? How do autumn colors take my breath away? Why is the moon mysterious? How do the monsters under the bed get there? Why do children love dinosaurs? How does the Bolshoi Ballet touch my soul? Why does rain make some people feel cozy and others sad? How does creativity work? Why is red hot?

A book that could adequately answer questions like these would be enormously interesting to me. I don’t hold out much hope for such a thing but neither am I terribly concerned about it. Einstein said the most beautiful thing we can experience is mystery, so even in this I am content to sit back and marvel.

Q. 4. Your work is peppered with Italian phrases such as marrone, bene and madre di dio! Would you mind giving those between-the-lines users who are not so familiar with Italian a quick translation lesson?
A. Marrone is a slang word that translates literally as chestnut. Marrone is an exclamation commonly used to mean everything from ‘that’s amazing’ to ‘that’s terrible’. I clearly recall my grandmother throwing up her hands as she came into a room that my sister and I had littered with toys, saying, “Marrone, what a mess!”

Chestnut, what a mess! It just doesn’t have the same ring in English. Some things are simply lost in translation, which is why I didn’t translate it in my book.

While chestnut might seem a vaguely comical expression, I do prefer it to the scatological idioms popular in all languages. We leave it to the despicable, potty-mouthed Cappe Nere to say merda (shit) and allow wide-eyed Luciano to utter the more innocent, and incidentally culinary, marrone.

Bene means good, as in OK, that’s fine. In easy-going Italy, bene and va bene are used a lot. Italians tend not to sweat the small stuff.

Madre di Dio means Mother of God and once again I recall my mother, like our fictional chef, imploring heaven to explain why life was so messy and her children so troublesome.

Figlio di Putana means Son of a Bitch. It’s only used once, by Marco when he sees the book—his future—go up in flames. There’s not much profanity in The Book of Unholy Mischief, but I think we can forgive Marco this lapse given his mistaken belief that the book was his only ticket out of a miserable life. Marco really did get a raw deal. Poor kid.

Q 5. And lastly if you had a piece of knowledge to pass down to future generations what recipe would you disguise it in?

A. My two grown children have told me that my principal message has always been: Don’t worry, be happy. I have to admit I was a bit disappointed to hear it. I’d like to think I had passed along a philosophy with more substance than that, but they both assure me that teaching them to kick back and savor life was my specialty. I guess they would know.

It is true that I believe life to be almost unbearably rich with promise and opportunity, and that failing to appreciate the wonder of it is ungrateful and unpardonable. So, if I were to encode this message in a recipe it would have to be a luxurious, layered, full-flavored dessert, like the many-layered bounty that is life.

It would have to use dark, bittersweet chocolate, not some namby-pamby milk chocolate and certainly not an anemic white chocolate. Only bittersweet chocolate is rich enough, complex enough, and dark enough to be a metaphor for life.

And it would have to be whipped into a light mousse to balance the density and seriousness of the chocolate—the yin/yang thing.

Of course it must be chilled because one cannot fully experience joy and wonder in a state of heated anxiety. And it must have a dash of cayenne, an unexpected bite, a spice that teeters between pain and pleasure, the surprise without which no life is complete.

Finally, it should be served in elegant stemware—Waterford is nice—because details matter and everything in life should be done with style.

With all that in mind, I humbly offer my Chilled Chocolate Mousse with Cayenne

3 ounces high quality bittersweet dark chocolate
4 large egg yolks
½ teaspoon pure vanilla extract
¼ teaspoon cayenne pepper (or to taste)
4 large egg whites at room temperature
¼ cup powdered sugar
½ teaspoon pure vanilla extract
4 cups heavy cream
¼ cup powdered sugar
½ teaspoon pure vanilla extract
Chocolate curls

In the top of a double boiler over simmering (not boiling) water, gently melt chocolate. Remove pan from heat

Whisk in egg yolks one at a time. Continue beating until mixture is light. Stir in ¼ teaspoon vanilla and ½ teaspoon of cayenne pepper.
Chill. That means both you and the chocolate.

In a separate bowl, beat egg whites until soft peaks form. Gradually add ¼ cup powdered sugar and ½ teaspoon vanilla. Continue beating until stiff peaks form.

Fold chilled chocolate mixture into egg whites. Volume will decrease, but don’t worry; we’re after quality, not quantity. Refrigerate and take a break.

In a separate bowl, whip heavy cream, gradually adding ¼ cup powdered sugar and ½ teaspoon vanilla until stiff peaks form. Fold ½ of whipped cream into chocolate mixture.

Spoon a layer of whipped cream into bottom of stemmed glasses, reserving ¼ cup for topping. Divide chocolate mixture evenly among glasses. Pipe a dollop of remaining whipped cream on top of each serving. Garnish with chocolate curls and refrigerate until ready to serve.

Serves 6-8 and can be made one day ahead. When your guests arrive, smile. You’re ready for them.