Hi readers - I have a growing catalog of books available on Amazon. They’re available for purchase or free for Kindle Unlimited users. If you’re interested, please check out my landing page below:
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 | II | III | IV | V | VI
Getting through the rest of the week and weekend was a breeze because I worked non-stop through every prep session and its corresponding service, taking few breaks. The Trattoria was half-booked, meaning I had time to experiment with fresh menu ideas for our new restaurant.
I had a rejuvenated and romantically smitten Maria help me with meat cuts and tie-offs I wanted to try. Angelo, my new saucier, made a light jus and played with siphon equipment and gas cartridges to get the exact bubble size I needed on beetroot and other exotic foams.
Each day, I rose early, ran hard on my favorite route, and twice broke a personal best before breakfast with my family. I worked until I was so exhausted that I crawled into my shower, half asleep almost at midnight.
It was my planned life reboot, and I wanted to use the time to get myself into a routine.
By the end of our Sunday evening service, I felt tired but needed something to help me unwind. Bella joined me in my apartment, where we shared a bottle of wine and some gorgonzola cheese that bordered on unhealthy.
“You are working too hard, Carla.”
“It focuses my mind.”
“You have no life.”
“It keeps me out of trouble.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“Nothing… no, no, sorry, slip of my tongue.”
Bella eyeballed me precisely the way a surgeon does to a patient when assuming everything they say about their medical history is a lie. Discovering we were sisters made sense to both of us. The prime among them was our ability to read each other better than anyone else could.
“Spit it out, sister.”
We had a truth-telling, dueling moment where I metaphorically ran for cover, winced, frowned, whined, and shook my head while my sister pursed her lips, crossed her legs, and folded her arms, making it clear she was going nowhere, and neither was her question.