Fabrizio was the youngest of thirteen brothers – all pasta chefs. But he felt a different calling.He looked at the life that destiny offered him, and said “No.” (You can’t tell because the word is the same, but he said it in Italian.) Not for him the sifting of the flour, the breaking of the eggs, the kneading of the dough. Fabrizio would not let himself be flattened, fed into the roller, sliced up into so much spaghetti. There had to be more to life than sprinkling herbs and pouring sauce and tossing pasta.

It broke his mother’s heart. His father stayed drunk for a week. And his brothers, well, they knew he would only get in the way, so they told him to go. And he did. To the big city, to pursue his dream of becoming a male model. The modelling agency liked him immediately. His bountiful mustache caught their eye; his authentic chef uniform captured their imaginations.

And that’s how he wound up on the pizza box.

Wear this shirt: with your red-and-white checked pants.

Don’t wear this shirt: unless you’re prepared to whistle Tarantella Napoletana the whole time.

This shirt tells the world: “I’m-a spicy meatball.”

We call this color: Red Sauce.

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