Andrey Bilzho has an incorrigible habit of breaking with tradition. Even the most respected tradition.
What, for example, was wrong with the tradition observed for three seasons by our Evenings at Skaryatinsky — the tradition, by which none of the main guests of our evenings came to us more than once?
But Bilzho has failed to observe it. Probably rightly. Because any history, including the history of art, is always a series of refusals to observe the written or unwritten laws, rules and canons. This time our hero will appear before us as the author of a new book about Venice — the city which is almost his home — or, rather, a book about one of the most important aspects of that city’s colour and culture, namely its food.
Something in which he is a connoisseur. And far from the only thing.