Man who runs on Strada Maggiore to Bologna is the cover of the last book of John Grisham The Broker, thriller that to the tension of the protagonists he adds not only to the taste for our language and the hard work in order to learn it, but thin pleasures of a refined and motivated kitchen that he hands on himself like an authentic cultural responsibility.

My background is law, certainly not satellites or espionage.
I'm more terrified of high-tech electronic gadgets today than a year ago. (These books are still written on a thirteen-year-old word processor.
When it stutters, as it seems to do more and more, I literally hold my breath. When it finally quits, I'm probably done, too.)
It's all fiction, folks.
I know very little about spies, electronic surveillance, satellite phones, smartphones, bugs, wires, mikes, and the people who use them.
If something in this novel approaches accuracy, it's probably a mistake.
Bologna, however, is very real.
I had the great luxury of tossing a dart at a map of the world to find a place to hide Mr. Backman.
Almost anywhere would work.
But I adore Italy and all things Italian, and I have to confess that I was not blindfolded when I threw the dart.
My research (too severe a word) led me to Bologna, a delightful old city that I immediately came to adore.
My friend Luca Patuelli showed me around. He knows all the chefs in Bologna, no small feat, and in the course of our tedious work I put on about ten