Page 42 of A Place in the Sun
He shrugs. ‘I don’t know exactly – twenty-five, maybe even thirty. All I know is there was an annual competition. Here in the village apparently. Giuseppe will remember.’ He nods as Giuseppe smiles his toothless smile, rolling his hand over and over as if to say it was even further back.
‘At the end of the summer, a long table was laid out, and the entries were judged.’
‘Just lasagne?’
‘Tuscan lasagne,’ he corrects me. ‘It’s different, of course. Lasagne came from Emilia-Romagna. Tuscan people put their own spin on it. But, as always, each family has their own way of making it.’
‘So what happened?’ I say, sipping my spicy red wine. Everyone is enjoying the food and so am I.
‘Well, the competitions were a thing of great pride, for the family and the individual who made a lasagne. Recipes passed down from grandmother, mother to daughter. That was when it all came to a head. Thevillage wanted to bring the families together, and the mayor at the time thought a good way to get the women out of their homes was to organize a lasagne competition.’
‘I can see that wouldn’t have been a good idea.’
Giovanni laughs. ‘Nonna Rosa accused Nonna Teresa of trying to steal her recipe and stealing her man, and they both accused Nonna Lucia of stealing their brother from the family. The event ended in napkins being hurled, families pitted against families, fists flying. The younger women in the families had fiery tempers, which they let rip. Finally, the event was abandoned and the women were escorted home by their battle-scarred families and husbands.’
‘Oh!’
He nods. ‘It was a big deal back then.’
‘So it was all over a man!’
‘They’d never say that. It was a matter of pride and honour … and the man.’
We laugh. And suddenly Stella’s words pop back into my head.
‘But it’s so sad that they haven’t spoken in all those years.’
‘The accusations never went away. Rumours have a habit of hanging around if they’re not brought out into the open,’ he says, meeting my gaze. For a moment I wonder if he’s talking about thenonnas or Stella. ‘They all married,’ he carries on, ‘and had families of theirown. But the families have moved away for work or for town life. As you can see, not much goes on here.’
‘And they’re left on their own, like whoever owned Casa Luna.’
‘A lot of people are on their own here now. It’s why I wanted to help. This place was here when I had my … difficulties. It was quiet. I could re-centre myself. Work out what was important to me.’
I notice him rub his hand.
‘I didn’t mean to end up here. I just did. And although they didn’t know me, their lasagnes kept me going until I started to feel more myself again. That, and the stunning sunsets.’
‘So you set up this place?’
‘It was up for rent. I didn’t really know what I was going to do. My partner and I had split and it took me a long time to get over it. I was working ridiculous hours, trying to make it in London in the big kitchens. As I’m sure you know, it can be a brutal way of life. No room for anything or anyone else. Once we’d split and after losing Richie, my friend, work got too much for me. Things were spiralling out of control. I followed in his footsteps, using substances to keep me awake in service, substances to help me sleep. It was a dreadful dark place. I knew I didn’t want to go the same way as Richie. He ended his life. It was such a waste. I mean … it’s just food. There was no way I wanted to continue in that world. I was leaving it for good.’
‘But …’ I look around.
‘I didn’t want to go back into fine dining. Before I got into catering I’d worked my way across Europe picking up odd jobs and skills along the way, like plastering and bricklaying. I thought this place could be a lock-up for my tools and a workshop for a carpentry business. But once I was here I felt more energized. The fog began to lift, and I wanted to say thank you to the people who had kept me going when I arrived. One Sunday I opened the doors and cooked lunch to see who would come. Lots did, but some didn’t, so I took whatever was left to people who hadn’t left the house. Who were inside, alone. I knew how it felt to be alone. I felt alone when I left the kitchens.’
‘And you just stayed here?’
‘It was a good place for me to be. It’s a secure base. It was a breather in my travelling. I offered to do odd jobs, and cooked for those who wanted it at the weekends … away from the pressure of the commercial kitchen. I began to fall in love with cooking again and creating a space where people could enjoy food and company. Maybe I’ll take the idea to other towns one day. It seems to bring people together.’
Was Stella one of those people … maybe Marco too? Bringing them together here at La Tavola? I feel as if I’m wading through treacle, trying to find the answer that is hidden in the darkness. He’s right: food brings people together. It’s what I loved about the restaurantand about Marco. It’s what I miss … I shake myself out of my reverie. My days in hospitality are long gone. And I certainly don’t want to talk shop about how hard it was to be a restaurateur in the UK.
Caterina seems to pick up on my deflated mood. ‘It may feel bad now, but we have hope,’ she says, ‘for you, and your children. Losing your husband, you have to search for the hope. It might not be there now, but it will come.’
Her words choke me. I swig my wine. I hope she’s right. There doesn’t seem to be much hope right now. And now Stella, whoever she is, is muddying the waters and the memories. Maybe once I sell up here and move back, with some money in my pocket, I can think about starting again.
I watch the children, who are laughing. At least I have these two, I think. And they seem happy, sleeping better … Maybe it’s the heat.
‘You’re right,’ I say, and put another forkful of the delicious, creamy, meaty lasagne into my mouth. There’s hope.
