Page 43 of Roberto

Poked holes in the center, creating tiny white volcanos…

And cracked an egg into the hollow.

Then we mixed the egg and flour, kneading it into a soft, moist dough.

“I used to do this every Sunday with my grandmother back in Lombardy,” he told Mei-ling.

“Iused to do this with my grandmother when I was five,” I added.

“I have never done this atall,”Mei-ling said, prompting us to laugh.

Chef Silvestri put the dough through a hand-cranked machine, from which emerged strips of velvet-soft pasta. Then we watched the line cooks turn our creation into handmade ravioli filled with fresh cheese and herbs.

Minutes later, after washing our hands in glass bowls of lemon-scented water, we were served the ravioli in a buttery sage sauce and a glass of crisp white wine.

“Alright,” Silvestri said, “you’ll have the main course at a table prepared for you outside – but I hope this was an entertaining little window into my world.”

“It was amazing,” Mei-ling gushed.

“Thank you,” I said in Italian. “The food was delightful.”

“You haven’t seen anything yet!” Silvestri said with a laugh.

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The waiter seated us at the best table in the restaurant. Moments later, Mei-ling and I were feasting on osso buco – a braised shank of veal that was so tender it nearly fell off the bone. It was one of the most delicious things I’d ever tasted.

“So,” I asked her, “does this qualify as one of the most interesting experiences you’ve ever had?”

She gave me an amused look. “Yes. I have to admit, it does.”

“That’s saying something,” I teased her, “coming from the owner of a BDSM club.”

“Well,thatsort of thing becomes commonplace after a while. But I’ve never eaten inside the kitchen of a restaurant before. Are you friends with the chef?”

“No. We’d never met before tonight.”

She stared at me. “What?!”

“In fact, this afternoon was the first time I’d ever spoken to him.”

“Then how the hell did you pull this off?!” She looked at me sideways. “Just a lot of money?”

“No. I take it you noticed he’s particularly interested in wine?”

“Ididhappen to notice that, yes,” she said with a sardonic smile.

“Well, my family owns an excellent vineyard that produces a very limited number of bottles each year. He’d drunk some of our wine in the past and loved it, so I promised I’d ship him a case of one of our best vintages if he would roll out the red carpet.”

Mei-ling tilted her head to the side as though she was impressed. “Is winemaking the family business?”

“No… it’s more of a side hustle these days.”

I didn’t particularly want to talk about the main way we made our money.

“I’m a little disappointed, though,” she said.

“Oh? About what?”

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