The Runaway Cook

I stare at the fountain in it's grey granger simplistic beauty of providing a steady stream of water. Why is it that Italians are so obsessed with fountains I wonder. CRRRUNCH! I pause, slurp, wipe the sticky-sweet juice off my chin, and chew my apple as I ponder this question. Hmmmmm, maybe italians constantly fine themselves parched and decided to remedy this problem with a fountain round every corner instead of a starbucks or dunkin dounuts . . . Nope! There are cafes in every piazza. Ok, how about for the beauty of it? Italians love beautiful architecture don't they? I mean Rome is full of big beautiful fountains, but then again Venice is full of ugly little water squirting fountains that will never be photographed by a tourist.

I have just tussled and twisted my locks on top of my head in a combination of curls and braids with the few bobby pins I have left and a couple rubber bands. My cheeks are dusted with rosy blush and my lips look wet from the multiple layers of gloss. I think I am abut ready. All that's left now is to gently pack my red satin pumps and red dress into my giant purse and take off for the train station.

Why am I all gussied up and about stuff a gorgeous outfit in my purse? I'm off to see the Opera in Verona. I'm so excited. I've bought my tickets about three months ago and I've been anticipating watching my first opera in the city of Romeo and Juliet seated in a stone arena that's hundreds of years old.

I am here! The train ride was smooth and I think I was smiling the whole time. I probably freaked out the guy next to me, hehe. Oh well.  I have just gone into a fast food joint equivalent to a Pappa John's, found the bathroom and transformed myself into a classy-looking lady rather than a khakhi-wearing tourist. I'm pretty sure I got a double take from the people working there who were certain nobody in a red dress entered their establishment, but was now leaving.

Before I see this fantastic Puccini-written Opera, I have got to spoil myself with my last dinner in Italy. It's bittersweet to be heading to Germany tomorrow, and I have to make the most of these last few hours here.

I walk the cobblestone streets in my five in heels passing one fancy restaurant after another. The Verona Arena is surrounded by large piazza bordered by restaurant after restaurant. The menus here are pretty pricy, but I settle on a fancy al fresco seat just outside the pizza. The tables look nice, the plates of food look better and the menu has some items that sound to-die-for.

I received a pretty smooth invitation from a handsome waiter and well that was the figurative light to the sign telling me "EAT (blink) HERE (blink)." He hands me the menu and says hello. As he delicately pours me a glass of water, he asks, "So, what are you doing out all by yourself is such a beautiful dress?"


I ask or gnocci with porchini mushrooms.  What arrived to my table was beyond my expectations. the gnoccies were perfectly shaped and glisten with the sauce that just couldn't let go of them. The mushrooms are meaty and definitely fresh.  The herbs and mushrooms are so aromatic that part of me wants to just bend my head toward the bowl and breathe in deeply. Out of the fear that doing this may cause strange looks from my hot waiter, I restrain myself.


My first bite is pure heaven. This is the best gnocci I've ever had. The starch pillow resists my bite and yet slowly melts on my tongue. The buttery potato taste is distinct and not covered up by the rich earthy sauce but enhanced. The mushrooms are nutty and have a fleshy texture that is far to luscious for me to keep my eyes open while eating them.

Sadly, my bowl is now empty, and I'm wishing for just another delectable bite. As my handsome man, grabs my plates, he looks and me with a grin and sighs. "I wish I did no't have to work tonight."

"Oh? Why?" What a strange thing to confess to me right now. I am a little confused

"Well If I was not working, I could take you to the opera tonight." He looks away and smiles. I am silent, and smile as well. I'm not sure what to say to this charmer. He's probably just another Italian man who feels like the ultimate man since he is from Verona, Italy.  Yet, this is a nice compliment. I mean he could have just said nothing since he knew there was no way to go with me . . . then again, he could have thought I'd just give him more than the required gratuity if he flattered me. Either way, I have blushing cheeks and a smile that's hurting from overuse and I'm pleased to be having been complimented and even bamboozled.

The walk up the exceptionally steep steps of the Arena is a bit much for my 4 inch heels but I make it. Seating is by section here so one can sit anywhere that there's an empty slab of stone. The sun begins to set just as the performance begins. A tradition here in Verona is to light small candles and hold them once twilight hits making the curved stone structure twinkle as the orchestra begins to play.

I'm definitely in the nosebleed section here, but I can still hear the music as if I were on the floor. The violin section must be huge, but it sounds ad if only one is playing. Amazingly, I can see all five harps from up here. They looks so small next to what must be a stage the size of my town hall.  On top of that the stage is filled with fantastic costumed singers with flowing fabric as lovely as their strong voices.

Although I barely speak the necessities of Italian, I am able to follow the story quite well. A geisha falls in love with a military man. However, thier love is challenged and . . . I'll leave out the ending so I don't spoil it for you.

I do wish that I could have known the words the lovers sang back and forth to each other. It must have been beautiful. by the end of the night, I was all mushy inside. I guess love is a language that need not be restricted by words. . . .Now I'm getting sappy.

On more every-day type side note, I have just realized that I have gum all over the back of my dress. Apparently, someone placed a bit of gum on the stones directly behind me just before I sat down. Now from my leaning forward and back it has been smudged into a gum-tastrophy encompassing my entire back. How this is possible, I have no idea. I guess that's why people in the cheap seats don't dress up like people on the ground floor. . .another tidbit that would have been good to know before this evening. Ugg, thank goodness I have other clothing in my purse fro the ride home.


I'm so happy I did this, dinner was perfect, and well my life wouldn't be mine if some strange something hadn't have been part of tonight. We will see what the rest of this evening brings. It's only 11-something and my train isn't until 4:30am so this should be an interesting evening.