Page 62 of A Lot to Unpack
‘The best meatballs in New York,’ I say, reading the sign outside.
We’re outside a small, unassuming Italian restaurant that looks like it’s been here forever.
I suppose I was expecting somewhere glitzy and glamorous, somewhere superSex and the City, where we’d eat sushi off naked waiters and drink overpriced Cosmopolitans. But we’re not doing the tourist New York any more, we’re doing Jordan’s New York, and I can see true love in his eyes as he stares at the place.
We step inside and it’s small, but so inviting. It’s warm and cosy and filled with delicious smells like garlic, pesto, oregano – God, my hunger really is awakened now.
There’s a sports channel on a little TV in the corner, but no one’s really watching. There is a table of four older men arguing (in Italian, so I’m guessing based on their tone) over a game of cards, like they’re auditioning for a part in aGoodfellasspin-off movie.
I love it here already. It’s almost as charming as Jordan.
We find a booth and take a seat.
Soon enough a sixty-something Italian man comes over to greet us.
‘Giordano!Ciao!’ the man says, greeting him with a slap on the back.
‘Ciao, Giorgio,’ Jordan replies, standing up to shake his hand.
Giorgio pats Jordan’s face affectionately, like they’re old friends, then starts speaking rapid Italian. Jordan nods along, before saying a few words back to him, without his usual confidence, like he’s not quite sure he’s getting it right.
‘Ahh, you haven’t been practising,’ Giorgio says, clapping his hands together.
‘I know, I’ve been busy,’ Jordan replies. ‘But this, this is Liberty, I’ve brought her to try your famous meatballs.’
‘Lady Liberty,’ he quips. ‘Ciao,bella.’
Giorgio gives me a kiss on each cheek.
‘I know exactly what to bring you, just you wait,’ Giorgio says.
‘Perfetto,’ Jordan replies. ‘Hey – how’s the family?’
‘Fantastico,’ Giorgio replies. ‘Maria, she’s getting married, and Antonio is going to be a firefighter. We’re so proud.’
‘Congratulazioni,’ Jordan tells him.
‘Grazie,’ Giorgio calls back as he dashes off to the kitchen.
‘Okay… What was that?’ I ask when we’re alone again. ‘Do you – somehow – come here often?’
He laughs.
‘Yeah, every time I’m in the city,’ he replies. ‘It’s my local meatball place.’
‘You live in London, though, right?’ I check. ‘How have you been here enough to be greeted like a family member back from a war?’
‘The first time I wound up here was New Year’s Eve 2017,’ he tells me.
‘Someone brought you here?’ I say.
‘Something,’ he replies. ‘The weather. I don’t know if you heard about it, or if you remember, but that was when we had the historic bomb cyclone. I’ve never seen so much snow in my life. The temperature was way below zero, there was snow everywhere, the pavements were almost too icy to walk on. It was my first time here, to set up Matcher US, and I was trying to do all the touristy things but it was all a bust. I went up the Rock, one of the things I had been looking forward to the most, and just stared into a wall of white. It was crazy, I’ve never known anything like it.’
‘I think I remember hearing about it,’ I reply.
‘Anyway, one night I was out freezing, starving, struggling to get back to my hotel, so I ducked into the nearest place that served food and looked like it would be warm, and it was here,’ he continues. ‘Giorgio and his wife Lucia sat me down, gave me a plate of meatballs and a glass of red wine, and I’ve been coming back ever since.’
Right on cue, Giorgio reappears with two plates. Gigantic meatballs covered in a rich-smelling tomato sauce. I can’t wait to try them.
