What do I do with a mouthful of moist and tasty bread torn from a French Baguette and hand fed by a beautiful Italian lady that rode her bicycle to the café where I was minding my own business sipping wine and smoking a cigarette as I gazed upon a naked Roman God? Chew the bread. I did, looking into her Gucci designer sunglasses that reflected twin images of me…chewing. A blooper of an intro, Jer. Jerry…Jerry’s ice cream? She’s Italian, and gelato is served here, not Ben & Jerry’s ice cream. What is she thinking now, that you melt in the heat?
Offer her a glass of wine, Jer.
“Delicious. I mean…the bread melted in my mouth. Would you like to join me for a glass of wine, Adelina?”
She removed her Gucci shades, and her eyes answered. Eyes that could kill, and eyes that could love, killer eyes, those that could slay a man and make him whimper for more.
“New to Italia?”
“Yes, please join me. This is my first venture into the city. I am renting a villa in the countryside. My name is Jeremiah. Sorry for the weak joke about Jerry and ice cream.”
“Thank you for the rose. I told the boy and girl, you are not è stupido Americano. Unless you are with a local, they will pester you for money. Life is hard here. No work. I am blessed. My family has a vineyard and olive grove in Tuscany. Wine is like water. Italians believe it is the fountain of youth.”
Jerry’s ice cream melted away, and our conversation became the highlights of Fattorria Il Poggio, the family vineyard, and olive grove. Mamma Mia! Her tantalizing words, Italian phrases interspersed with her descriptive English with that accent that made my heart flutter. She spoke of trees everywhere, gorgeous old Tuscan buildings, little-hidden hide-a-ways all over the place for a romantic moment.
“So…” I had to breathe in deeply to relax. How could this happen? Two selling a rose that led me to…Adelina. Press the rose in your book. It will give you good luck. I was already having luck or was this more. My villa was just 20 minutes from Montecatini, her home and this paradise she vividly described.
“Traditional Tuscan bread drizzled with olive oil and sprinkled with salt. Did you know that traditional Tuscan bread is not made with any salt? So the sprinkle, while you're eating, is not only necessary but brings it to a new level of deliciousness,” she described this as she took the salt grinder and made another taste of our introduction. French Baguette! What was I thinking? I’m in Italy. Thank God I did not refer to it as French bread…like Jerry’s ice cream.
“Freshly made Pappardelle pasta with a nice Bolognese sauce. Unbelievable dish − my favorite! Meaty sauce, sprinkle with fresh parmesan.” We continued to devour the Tuscan bread and finished the bottle of wine.
“May I choose the vino?”
My head was dizzy, not only from the wine, but her conversation spun a tale of family life and love that I had never experienced before. I was just a Kansas cowpoke of German Jewish heritage lost in my identity in the melting pot of America. She was Italian, as genuine and refined, as you would fine on the vine.
Jeremiah's Journey - 2: "Wine - The Fountain of Youth"
Copyright © 2016 by Jeff Cambridge
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