Chapter 29 #2
I pick up a piece of chalk next to the painted wall that acts like a blackboard for recipe ideas.
I’d have liked a printout of the recipes for everyone, but there’s no way the nonna s were going to tell me that much …
or maybe they can’t. After all, Nonna Lucia reckons her lasagne is all about the dish she makes it in.
And Nonna Teresa whispered to me that it’s the way she cuts the garlic with a razor blade.
As for Nonna Rosa, it’s down to the order in which she adds the ingredients.
So, I write up the plan for today, and leave blanks where the nonna s will tell me what we’re cooking.
Welcome to La Tavola Cookery School.
Friday – Venerdi
Primo
Secondo
Dolce
I just hope I can trust the nonna s to work together.
I gaze around the dining room, with the hanging vines of cherry tomatoes, the red and green chillies Giuseppe grew on his smallholding and delivered for the weekend.
And the bunting Caterina made – she’s been sewing all week with the clothes she’s been repurposing from Casa Luna.
And the big arched doorway is wide open.
I go outside, through the courtyard, out of the gate, across the cobbled road and swing my legs over the low wall in front of the blanket of fields that runs away from the village.
Giuseppe’s goats are happily grazing. I give them a pat and bend to pick some wild rosemary and oregano.
Back in the cool of La Tavola, Luca has found some empty jars and we put the herbs and greenery I’ve gathered from the field into them, then place them on the three different work stations. The room smells amazing.
Having set everything up, I look around, just as I used to do before service in the restaurant, enjoying the peace before the performance, before the curtain goes up.
The company has paid a lot of money for this weekend.
I know how important team-building is to big businesses, even more so now that so many people work from home.
It’s important they get together, let their hair down, work as a team.
I have everything crossed that it goes as planned, that the nonna s behave, that they don’t fall out and refuse to cook with each other.
I look at the time on my phone. What if the nonna s don’t come?
What if they come and refuse to cook? What if this was all a terrible idea?
Suddenly I hear voices.
‘Come on, Teresa. You have the speed of an old mule!’
My heart lurches and I hold my breath.
And there, in the arched doorway, stand the silhouettes of the three nonna s.
They’re here! I start to breathe again. In the middle, taller than the other two, with turned-out feet, in a smart navy-blue dress, is Nonna Rosa.
Next to her, shorter, her hair pinned up neatly, a pasta rolling pin under her arm, is Nonna Lucia, and then, leaning gently on Rosa, is Nonna Teresa, bent over and catching her breath.
‘You’re here!’ I throw my arms open. Luca and Aimee appear beside me, smiling.
‘Of course!’
‘We gave our word.’
‘Your word is worse than nothing.’
‘Madam, my word is my badge of honour.’
‘Honour, what honour?’
Suddenly, I’m worrying again, but then they laugh.
‘Just friendly banter,’ says Nonna Rosa.
They’re here, and now I can relax. It’s all going to be fine. Just as I’ve planned.
‘Come on, come in,’ I say, smiling. ‘Would you like coffee?’
‘Depends who’s making it.’
‘Nonna Lucia’s coffee tastes like tar.’
‘It hasn’t stopped you coming round to drink it …’
‘I do so out of politeness.’
‘Politeness, ha!’
‘Come this way, to the kitchen.’ I’m herding them, like small children.
‘And this is where we will cook?’
‘You cooked here once already, remember? Or are you getting forgetful?’ Nonna Teresa says to Nonna Rosa.
They look around, reacquainting themselves with the kitchen.
‘I shall take that area!’ Nonna Teresa points.
‘No, that would be a better place for me to have my pasta machine.’
‘I need to be in the middle so I can see what is happening around me,’ says Nonna Rosa.
‘Poking your nose into everything, more like!’
I hold up my hands. ‘I’ll let you get settled in.’ I back out of the kitchen, wondering if I should intervene or not.
‘Hello? Ciao? ’ The voice makes me jump.
It’s the guests and I spin round to the open front door.
For a moment, I experience déjà vu with two of my worlds colliding.
I stitch on my welcome smile. This is all going to be fine, I think, as the three nonna s lay territorial claim to their work stations and noisily unpack the baskets of equipment they’ve brought with them, clearly preferring their own tools of the trade to anything we can provide.
‘Come in, come in!’ I turn from the kitchen where the nonna s have stopped bickering and are now laughing.
The guests are filing into the dining room, taking it all in: the cherry tomatoes, the chillies and Caterina’s bunting, cushions, and a huge patchwork wall hanging, now in pride of place.
‘Good morning, welcome to La Tavola,’ I say, slipping back into my hospitality shoes and finding them as comfortable as they always were, perhaps even more so now that I’ve had a rest from them. It feels good to be back, just for this one time.
I stretch out an arm, with a wide smile. And stop in my tracks, frozen to the spot as the past rushes up to meet me again, as if my life is playing to me backwards.
‘Hello, Thea! I bet you didn’t expect to see me here!’