Page 25 of Three Times You

“Ah, of course you are!” And they laugh together.

Then Pettorini summons the waiters. “Come on, men, bring the primi piatti. All right, then, I’ve prepared three first pasta courses, so that whichever one you don’t like, we’ll scratch it off the menu, okay?”

“Manlio, anything you make we’re sure to like…”

“All right, then whatever you love a little less! I already had an idea of what I’d make, but I can’t decide everything all on my own. For that matter, you’re the ones who are paying.”

“Oh, true, but if you decide and there’s a discount, then we’ll trust you!”

And they laugh again as the primi piatti start to arrive.

“Now, this is spaghetti alla chitarra with truffles and mushrooms. And this is ravioli filled with minced vegetables and ricotta with sage and butter, while these are buckwheat paccheri with cherry tomatoes, olives, and spicy olive oil.”

“It all looks delicious,” says Francesca.

“Yes.” Gin smiles with a nod. “It smells fantastic.”

And from then on, it is a succession of truly delicious dishes, served with great care and intense attention by a small crew of very young waiters.

“They’ve all gone to hospitality school,” Pettorini points out.

Then there are samples of the wines, sherbets served as palate cleansers, then the entrées and a whole flotilla of potential side dishes.

“Careful not to overeat,” Gin whispers. “There’s still plenty of things to sample…”

“But this vitel tonné is incredible.”

And at the very same moment that I say it, I realize why I like it so much. My mother always used to make it for me. Her vitel tonné was exceptional, just like this one, the meat was lean without so much as a speck of sinew, always beautifully sliced, usually very, very thin indeed, making it even more tender. The sauce was made with super-fresh eggs, vinegar, and just a dash of sugar, at least that’s what I think I gathered from the conversations I overheard in the kitchen among women about the secrets behind certain dishes. And so we go on eating while the sun sets once and for all over the lake and all around us lights blink on.

“Yes, it’ll be more or less like this. With white lamps at the base of each and every tree and then yellowish-orange lamps down there at the end to create more of an atmosphere.”

It all strikes me as very beautiful, and this last sauvignon they had us taste is chilly and impeccable with a very delicate fruity aftertaste. Then come new strawberries and raspberries with homemade whipped cream, light and delicious with spoonfuls of melted chocolate dripped over them. Followed by a semifreddo allo zabaione, a frozen dessert that’s basically a chilled mousse flavored with egg yolks, sugar, and Marsala wine, and another hazel-flavored semifreddo. To conclude, excellent espressos.

“All right, then I’d set up a table down there with drinks, light ones like beer and wine, and hard alcohol, cocktails and such, which are certainly an attraction at any wedding…Oh, who knows why it is, but you young people, the happier you are, the more you feel you need to drink!” Gabriele nods in some amusement. “At least we were drowning our sorrows in alcohol, not our happiness!”

“Yes!” Gin laughs. “It’s true.”

“And instead, at table, I’d serve these amari.” And he has an Amaro del Capo, a Filu’e Ferru, an Averna, and Jägermeister brought to us.

“Some of them are well-known, others less familiar. Almost no one knows about gentian, but it’s really fantastic. Just give it a try.”

And he pours us a sip in little amaro glasses.

“You’re right. That’s delicious.”

“It’s a digestive. And I suspect that’s going to come in handy!”

And Pettorini laughs because, if you consider everything they decided to serve us, it was a lot. Various antipastos scattered around the grounds. There are tables with prosciutto and other deli meats, then mozzarellas, burratas, chunks of parmesan and other selections of French and Italian cheeses. A number of fried foods on offer at various points, where there will be full-fledged fry stations for fresh shrimp and baby octopus, panella, or bread dough fried in olive oil, cherry mozzarellas, tiny red and white arancini, breaded fried olives all’ascolana, stuffed with sausage meat, and little meat croquettes. All that for the appetizer.

Then two primi, first courses of spaghetti alla chitarra tartufo e funghi (square-section spaghetti with truffles and mushrooms) and paccheri pomodoro e olive (oversized penne with tomatoes and olives). Then come two main entrées, filetto di chianina (the Italian equivalent of a kobe-beef filet) and seabass. All sorts of side dishes, potatoes, vegetables from chicory to broccoletti, and three different salads, one with walnuts, pine nuts, and chunks of pineapple, and then desserts and fruit.

Francesca and Gin chat with Pettorini about the selection of different types of bread, with a few other details about the wines, and by this point, it strikes me that everything has been decided in the best of all possible fashions.

“Ah, look, Don Andrea is arriving.”

We turn around and see a priest walking toward us from the far end of the garden, illuminated by the dying sunlight coming over the lake. He’s striding briskly. I see him smile and shake his head from a distance.

“Here I am, here I am…”He looks at the carts next to our table. “I see that I missed quite the meal.”

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