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Piazza Bella - Aperitivo: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | XIII
Piazza Bella - Antipasto: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X
Piazza Bella - Primi: Prologue
It was a beautiful day in early winter, chilly where the shade dominated but warm where the sun’s rays splashed on my face. When I joined family and friends at the cafe to observe our time-honored traditional start to the day, I was hugged, loved, and consoled without judgment or probing.
Our trees had shed their leaves almost overnight, aided by strong winds. Men wheeling heavy pushcarts were late getting through our piazza wielding old-fashioned twig brooms, collecting every rustling leaf, twig, and mess left behind from a celebration party that had pursued dawn without me.
I warmed slowly into my task, gathering my inner strength and regrowing my self-esteem after the hammering I’d caused it a day prior. By the time I sat down for breakfast, the light of the world and beauty of my family had warmed my chilly soul.
Bella was effervescent, and I mimicked her excitement as far as a broken heart could go, not wanting to rain on our family’s victory parade and her joy.
While Sam heaped scrambled eggs on our toast from a set of steaming service trays, my nose twitched, and my sister leaned over as if sharing a secret.
“You and I will visit a butcher shop today. It is called Macelleria ai Dogi and is about three kilometers away.”
“That’s just short of two miles. Are we taking a water bus?”
“We can walk there. There are beautiful gardens along the way. It means we will be gone for the day, so you can share a few puffs on my joint since you probably won’t use your knives at all.”