Hungry for Italy

This became our spot for that trip, where we enjoyed many glasses of wine and chichetti, the traditional Venetian snacks. We always took the same route to get there, in hopes of seeing that gondolier again, but we never did.

That afternoon, I stay in the kitchen, near the postcard, cooking.

My husband declares my fusilli puttanesca as good as what we had at the Campo Dei Fiori in Rome. We clink our wine glasses and toast “Salute,” as I watched the grown ups do years ago at those Sunday dinners.

Here in my Hollywood kitchen, I have Italy in sweet memory, in present fantasy, and even in the future…. I tell him about the villa rental I saw on the Internet. The one in Taormina with the terrace where we’ll sit overlooking the sea. And I say (in Italian that would make Andrea proud), “Spero di esserci a presto.” I hope we’ll be there soon.