Chapter 17
17
Andrea’s family’s restaurant sits on the edge of what he calls ‘Bari Old Town’.
‘What does that actually mean?’ I ask him.
‘It is basically what it sounds like,’ he replies. ‘Most Apulia cities have an old town – a maze-like area, rich in history – and then a modern new area, with neat grid streets and more contemporary buildings. The old town is so beautiful.’
‘I’d love to explore it,’ I say enthusiastically, because I really would.
‘Well, Lucia is getting married at Bari Cathedral,’ Andrea explains as we walk down the street. ‘So you will get to see it.’
‘I can’t wait,’ I reply. ‘I was worried that I wasn’t going to get to do any sightseeing on this trip. It’s funny how things work out.’
‘Okay, here we are,’ he announces.
As we approach a row of typically Italian buildings, painted in pastel shades of pinks and oranges, with apartments upstairs and businesses below, Andrea points out his parents’ restaurant.
‘Villa Fiore,’ I read the name out loud.
‘ Fiore means flower,’ Andrea tells me. ‘Come on, let’s head inside.’
After crossing the street, we enter the restaurant, only to find it packed with people.
‘Wow, it’s so busy,’ I point out, raising my voice so that Andrea can hear me over the chatter. ‘Do you think we should come back when there are fewer customers?’
Andrea laughs.
‘Robin, these are not customers, this is the family,’ he points out.
Oh, boy.
I scan the sea of faces and I can’t even begin to guess how many people are here, but the restaurant is absolutely rammed.
Suddenly, Andrea catches someone’s eye, and before I know it, we’re engulfed in a wave of greetings and kisses on the cheeks. Though I can’t understand a word of the rapid Italian being spoken in my direction, somehow I can just tell that it is a warm and welcoming reception. That’s a relief.
It feels almost like crowd surfing, as well-wishers usher us through the room, taking us all the way to the back of the restaurant before we can take a breather.
From what I can see, through the pockets of people, the restaurant seems to subtly blend a sleek and trendy city vibe with that traditional Italian aesthetic that lets you know you’re in for an authentically good meal. The walls are a mixture of rustic wooden beams and exposed brick, complemented by soft, cosy lighting and minimalist artwork.
Rows of wooden chairs surround tables draped in white tablecloths, creating an inviting atmosphere just crying out for guests to take their seats.
I spot Leonardo and Antonia lingering by the bar. Their faces light up with recognition as they see us approaching them, and they quickly rush over to greet us with warm smiles and the customary double kiss on each cheek. It’s a gesture that seemed strange to me at first but now, I don’t know, I kind of like it. Although it did just happen to me like forty times in a row, so all I can do is embrace it.
Antonia says something.
‘Mamma wants to know how you’re doing,’ Andrea relays to me with a smile.
‘Tell her I’m doing great, thanks,’ I reply, feeling grateful for their hospitality – and ever so slightly guilty that I’m not quite who they think I am. ‘And thank them both so much for inviting me.’
Andrea relays my message to his parents, who nod appreciatively. Then, he turns to me with a mischievous glint in his eye.
‘Mamma says she wants to know all about you,’ he translates again. ‘I’ll make an excuse. I’ll tell her we can talk over dinner and then try not to give her the opportunity to interrogate you – what do you think?’
I chuckle nervously as Andrea talks.
‘It’s so bizarre that you’re saying that, right in front of them,’ I point out.
‘What? They don’t speak English,’ Andrea reminds me with a playful smile. ‘We can say anything we like. For example, we’re not really engaged, none of this is real, my dad is a bad chef – he isn’t, but if he had heard me say that, he would have killed me by now.’
Andrea shoots a glance at his parents and smiles. They smile right back.
‘Lucia and I would talk in English, if we didn’t want them to know what we were saying,’ he points out. ‘It was really useful.’
‘Did you say my name?’ Lucia’s voice interrupts our conversation as she joins us.
Standing next to her is a tall, slim man who looks like he could be in his twenties, though everyone here seems to defy the ageing process, so who knows?
‘This is Dario, my husband,’ Lucia explains to me, introducing him with a proud smile.
I glance at Andrea, a bit bewildered by her words, because I thought they were getting married next week.
‘Last week they got married at the town hall,’ Andrea clarifies. ‘But the wedding is the real celebration. There will be a ceremony at the cathedral, then a big party. It’s not unusual here to marry before the wedding.’
‘Ah, got it,’ I reply, nodding slowly. ‘I suppose that makes things less stressful on the big day.’
A waiter passes by with a platter of bruschetta, holding it out in front of us, should any of us want a piece.
Leonardo makes a comment in Italian, prompting Andrea to translate.
‘My dad says it’s good, but it’s not as good as his,’ he explains. ‘Not that I agree, but I’m not going to say a word, because it doesn’t take much to start an argument in this family.’
Dario chimes in with something next.
‘Dario says his is the best,’ Andrea adds. ‘This one is made by my cousin, Nuncio, who will be in the kitchen. He’s a chef here.’
‘Dario’s a chef too,’ Lucia adds. ‘They are all very competitive.’
The men break into conversation – kicking off what I can only imagine is a heated debate about bruschetta.
‘Are they arguing?’ I ask Lucia, amused by their seemingly heated discussion.
‘Yes, but only about who makes the best bruschetta,’ Lucia confirms, laughing too. ‘Papa says it’s him, Dario says Papa makes it too old-fashioned, Andrea says it doesn’t matter, Papa says his is best, then Nuncio, then Dario, then Andrea.’
I notice Andrea scoff playfully.
‘Papa is saying they should all go into the kitchen and make some for you to try, to see which one is best,’ Lucia continues translating. ‘Andrea just reminded Papa that he and Nuncio are making dinner for everyone. Papa says it’s only four courses, that there is time…’
Only four courses?
‘Robin, how would you like to try four different plates of bruschetta before you eat a four-course meal?’ Andrea asks with a grin, in a tone that suggests he can’t quite believe he is asking me either.
I laugh, knowing I have no choice but to go along with their playful competition, not without offending anyone, and I’m supposed to be playing the part of the perfect fiancée.
‘I thought you would never ask,’ I reply with a smile.
‘Go, have your silly competition,’ Lucia tells Andrea. ‘Mamma and I will look after Robin.’
Andrea hesitates so I flash him an encouraging nod, silently letting him know that it’s okay to go.
‘I will be fast,’ he promises before darting off eagerly.
Antonia says something to me.
‘Mamma says they’re always like this,’ Lucia explains with a light-hearted roll of her eyes. ‘She says you get used to it.’
Four plates of food before four more plates of food? I could definitely get used to that.
As we chat, a small elderly lady approaches us with a wide smile. As she lays eyes on me, her grin grows even wider. She turns to Antonia, to talk to her.
‘ Sì ,’ Antonia replies, confirming whatever she asked.
‘Robin, this is Nonna,’ Lucia introduces her, her voice warm with affection. ‘Our grandma.’
‘ Ciao , Nonna,’ I greet the elderly lady as I lean in to kiss her cheeks. I’m getting good at this now, it’s like second nature already.
‘Nonna is ninety-nine,’ Lucia explains, widening her eyes for emphasis. ‘Her birthday is the day after the wedding. So we’re having two big parties next week.’
My jaw practically hits the floor. Nonna is about to turn one hundred? She looks so good, more like she’s in her seventies or eighties, but not a hundred! I’m seriously amazed and impressed – and I need to know her secret.
‘That’s incredible,’ I reply.
‘Nonna says you are very beautiful,’ Lucia translates with a smile. ‘And that Andrea is a lucky man.’
‘Aww, thank you,’ I say, a blush creeping up my cheeks. Oh, actually, I know how to say that one. ‘ Grazie .’
‘Nonna says you will come to her party, won’t you?’ Lucia translates again.
My breath catches in my throat. I said I would attend the wedding with Andrea, obviously, and this is just the day after so, if this were real, I would be there, right? We haven’t discussed our fake break-up yet – how we’ll do it or when and where it will take place – but… hmm… I think the best thing to do is say yes. Only a monster would tell a ninety-nine-year-old that she won’t go to their hundredth birthday party.
‘Of course,’ I say. ‘Tell her I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’
Okay, maybe that was a bit too full-on.
Soon enough, the four men finally emerge from the kitchen, each bearing a portion of bruschetta. The other man must be Nuncio, I’m guessing, because he’s wearing chef’s whites.
‘Okay, so, seeing as though only Lucia knows what I’m saying to you right now, and I don’t think she cares who wins, let me ask you this,’ Andrea starts with a mischievous look. ‘Do you want to cheat and pick mine, or do you want to actually see which one you prefer?’
Lucia practically cackles with amusement. You can tell that the two of them really like having their secret language.
‘Oh, I want to do this fairly,’ I reply, determined to keep the competition honest.
‘Okay then,’ Andrea says, nodding in approval. ‘So, there are four plates, and we didn’t carry our own so… have a try.’
I examine the plates like a pro – not that I’m any sort of expert, unless you qualify as a food expert by simply eating a lot.
At first glance, all of them look pretty much the same to me. I mean, they’re all the same dish, right? But then, as I look closer, I notice that they all have their own little differences. You can definitely tell that different chefs made them.
Okay, time to taste them. Wow, every single one is amazing. Just… incredible. None of them disappoints. It’s crazy, they’re all made with pretty much the same ingredients, but the flavours are all so unique.
It’s the last one that steals the show, though. I can’t quite place what it is – a particular herb, perhaps – but there is something that is adding an irresistible twist to the dish.
‘That one,’ I declare confidently, pointing to my favourite.
A grin spreads across Andrea’s face – he looks over the moon right now.
‘ No! ’ Leonardo says, his disbelief palpable as he holds onto the word for a beat too long. But then he smiles warmly and says something else.
‘He says you must really love me, to have chosen mine,’ Andrea translates, with a mixture of pride and amusement.
‘I like yours best too, Andrea,’ Lucia adds after tasting them all too. ‘But do not tell my husband, or my dad, or my cousin.’
‘Okay, okay, basta , enough,’ Andrea declares, waving off the competition, but you can tell that he is pleased to have come out on top. ‘Let’s go and eat – that is, if you’re still hungry, Robin.’
‘Oh, I could do this all day,’ I say with a contented sigh.
And, honestly, I think I really could.