the first days
A camera pointed in through the open kitchen window. Water boiled on the stove, and it was well due since there had already been plenty of talk about such a petty thing. Rosy was struggling to secure a light. Ralph noticed his cue, taking initiative to hand him a role of duct tape. A few minutes later Rosy`s confirmative and cheery gratitude followed. It was time.
We gathered in the front yard. Troy stepped up to present a short speech, the opening ceremony. He was drunk. "Ok, just remember this is a rehearsal. It`s like practice so we can figure out how smoothly things will run. Jochen and Rosy, let me know that everything looks alright. Sarah, you stay close by me. Ralph? Where is he?"
Ralph sat perched on the front steps. A glass of white wine and X, our host, sat nearby. They were locked in conversation. Pausing, he looked over and smiled, uninterested in Troy`s interruption.
"Ok, let`s get started!" Rosy chimmed in as everyone hustled off to perform their defined rolls. Someone called action. Cameras rolled and one plate after another slowly filed out of the kitchen. They were arranged outside, ready for the next stage of production. Ralph rotated around the table, taking pictures, rearranging the plates and decorating with lavender blossoms plucked from the over hanging tree.
The sun swooped down, and when all the work was completed, dinner sat chilled in the spring`s evening air. Modest platters of Truffle Risotto, Vegetable gnocchi, and poached pears were filled and quickly emptied. It was the kick-off meal, a celebration to our vegitarian hosts in a collaboration of northern Italian dishes. Once the plates were stacked, wine glasses were filled repetitively, thanks to Rosy`s generous hand.
Work was done, but Jochen picked up the camera and snapped a few more pictures anyway. I looked at Troy. He was talking and I felt hesitant about where the story was headed. It was something about the trip to Santorini from last year.
A flash flew across my face. I turned to glance in its direction, at Jochen. He smiled boldly, switching his attention to his camera`s display for analysis. The welcomed distraction was enough to interrupt the track Troy`s oration had taken.
Silence -relaxation- fell on the group. The late night sounds of a disco thudded out from down the street.
"Ma Donna!" Troy`s abbrassive voice thundered, interrupting the table. Laughter followed. Addressing the group more seriously, "Well, it`s quite late. We have to be serious if we want to get this done. There can`t be a drunk chef stumbling around the kitchen everday. So, I understand tonight was fun, but we have to get an early start tomorrow. There`s a long drive ahead, so I suggest we all head to bed."
And with that the community of strangers followed the boss`s order, picking up stray posessions and head into the single room of sleeping bags, pillows, and blankets. The lights went out. Troy laid next to me on the floor.
"Good night, Sarah," He cooed.
Ralph and Jochen burst into youthful giggles, tucked in the double beds in the corner. They echoed sweet goodnight wishes back and forth. The last call came from Rosy, still a cheery tune but now with subtle, underlying authority, "Good night, all."
----
Nobody really knew where I`d come from, and nobody seemed to care. Troy had briefly asked how the train was when we met at the station. I`d taken the opportunity to liberally share how I was fresh from a visit with my fidenzato, confident that he would at least understand the Italian word for boyfriend - fiance - or however he chose to interpret it. His glazed eyes and nodding grin portrayed something different. It could have just been that the camera was already rolling.
The morning arrived and we sat around the same table as the night before, this time eating toast and drinking coffee. The mood was slightly stiff, as though we had awaken from a one-night stand, unsure of what exactly had happened, but knowing we were responsible to continue. As I had proclaimed the previous night with dishes emptay and pushed away, reclined with the candle flames devouring the last bit of wick, "This is it. We`re family now," pausing, "at least for the next month."
Troy wore a light green polo shirt. His dark hair dangled freely along the short length of his round face. He sat in the front, next to Ralph, who was the official driver, but flattered with the title "director." We set off in silence, leaving my mind space to contemplate the previous day`s six hour drive up from the direction we now headed. I was with my "fidenzato." I grimaced at the idea, recalling our awkward farewell. "See you soon," he threatened in a heavy accent and embrace. I wondered if he meant it and prayed that he didn`t. His Italian, my American - we were not a match for the mix, but regardless, I had spent my every fantasy on this trans-Atlantic relationship. I quickly found comfort in the idea of never loving again.
Troy flipped down the front visor, repositioning the mirror to reflect my face. I put on my sunglasses and closed my eyes, ignoring the first time he called my name. "Hm?"
A book was passed across the pile of luggage and equipment that seperated the front seat from the back. A X hotel brochure followed. "I want you all to look through these things. Pick out three fish that look like they would taste the best. And Sarah, this is a location in Milan we might want to look into. I know someone there, so tell me what you think."
I took the brochure, passing the illustrated fish book to Rosy who sat snug in the middle seat.
"So you want us to pick what type of fish we like?" Rosy asked, his Austrian accent complementing the confussion.
"No, no. Look at the pictures and pick three that look like they would tast good. Sarah, what do you think about that hotel?"
The brochure was filled with gloosy pages of black marble walls, polished surfaces, and other typical tauntings of 5-star hotels.
"It`s nice... but haven`t we already passed Milan?"
"Yes, but on the way back. Or we can fly. It`s really something to give us ideas about the sort of thing we`re aiming at."
Rosy picked a trout and two other ambiguous, happy looking fish. Jochen decided on the shrimp, lobster, and salmon. I questioned his less than aesthetic selection as he passed the book. I flipped through the pages of bulging eyes, scaled fines, and gaping mouthes which did little to excite the palate. So I chose to follow suit and rely on past experiences. The answer was timidly the same, with the addition of tuna tar tar to save face.
---
We arrived in Amalfi, taking that last turn that allows the first glance of the vast Meditteranean spread out from the cliffs far bellow. Jochen was prepared, again with the camera snapping through the glass window. The guard rail interrupted. And then a tunnel, which whipped the van back around, hiding the view of the sea. There was nothing particularlly distinguised about the last turn, but Troy hollared, "Stop here!" barely waiting for us to stop before jumping out. The van hugged the cliff, but Ralph pulled over trying not to block the narrow rode as Troy walked up to a small house.
...
We gathered in the front yard. Troy stepped up to present a short speech, the opening ceremony. He was drunk. "Ok, just remember this is a rehearsal. It`s like practice so we can figure out how smoothly things will run. Jochen and Rosy, let me know that everything looks alright. Sarah, you stay close by me. Ralph? Where is he?"
Ralph sat perched on the front steps. A glass of white wine and X, our host, sat nearby. They were locked in conversation. Pausing, he looked over and smiled, uninterested in Troy`s interruption.
"Ok, let`s get started!" Rosy chimmed in as everyone hustled off to perform their defined rolls. Someone called action. Cameras rolled and one plate after another slowly filed out of the kitchen. They were arranged outside, ready for the next stage of production. Ralph rotated around the table, taking pictures, rearranging the plates and decorating with lavender blossoms plucked from the over hanging tree.
The sun swooped down, and when all the work was completed, dinner sat chilled in the spring`s evening air. Modest platters of Truffle Risotto, Vegetable gnocchi, and poached pears were filled and quickly emptied. It was the kick-off meal, a celebration to our vegitarian hosts in a collaboration of northern Italian dishes. Once the plates were stacked, wine glasses were filled repetitively, thanks to Rosy`s generous hand.
Work was done, but Jochen picked up the camera and snapped a few more pictures anyway. I looked at Troy. He was talking and I felt hesitant about where the story was headed. It was something about the trip to Santorini from last year.
A flash flew across my face. I turned to glance in its direction, at Jochen. He smiled boldly, switching his attention to his camera`s display for analysis. The welcomed distraction was enough to interrupt the track Troy`s oration had taken.
Silence -relaxation- fell on the group. The late night sounds of a disco thudded out from down the street.
"Ma Donna!" Troy`s abbrassive voice thundered, interrupting the table. Laughter followed. Addressing the group more seriously, "Well, it`s quite late. We have to be serious if we want to get this done. There can`t be a drunk chef stumbling around the kitchen everday. So, I understand tonight was fun, but we have to get an early start tomorrow. There`s a long drive ahead, so I suggest we all head to bed."
And with that the community of strangers followed the boss`s order, picking up stray posessions and head into the single room of sleeping bags, pillows, and blankets. The lights went out. Troy laid next to me on the floor.
"Good night, Sarah," He cooed.
Ralph and Jochen burst into youthful giggles, tucked in the double beds in the corner. They echoed sweet goodnight wishes back and forth. The last call came from Rosy, still a cheery tune but now with subtle, underlying authority, "Good night, all."
----
Nobody really knew where I`d come from, and nobody seemed to care. Troy had briefly asked how the train was when we met at the station. I`d taken the opportunity to liberally share how I was fresh from a visit with my fidenzato, confident that he would at least understand the Italian word for boyfriend - fiance - or however he chose to interpret it. His glazed eyes and nodding grin portrayed something different. It could have just been that the camera was already rolling.
The morning arrived and we sat around the same table as the night before, this time eating toast and drinking coffee. The mood was slightly stiff, as though we had awaken from a one-night stand, unsure of what exactly had happened, but knowing we were responsible to continue. As I had proclaimed the previous night with dishes emptay and pushed away, reclined with the candle flames devouring the last bit of wick, "This is it. We`re family now," pausing, "at least for the next month."
Troy wore a light green polo shirt. His dark hair dangled freely along the short length of his round face. He sat in the front, next to Ralph, who was the official driver, but flattered with the title "director." We set off in silence, leaving my mind space to contemplate the previous day`s six hour drive up from the direction we now headed. I was with my "fidenzato." I grimaced at the idea, recalling our awkward farewell. "See you soon," he threatened in a heavy accent and embrace. I wondered if he meant it and prayed that he didn`t. His Italian, my American - we were not a match for the mix, but regardless, I had spent my every fantasy on this trans-Atlantic relationship. I quickly found comfort in the idea of never loving again.
Troy flipped down the front visor, repositioning the mirror to reflect my face. I put on my sunglasses and closed my eyes, ignoring the first time he called my name. "Hm?"
A book was passed across the pile of luggage and equipment that seperated the front seat from the back. A X hotel brochure followed. "I want you all to look through these things. Pick out three fish that look like they would taste the best. And Sarah, this is a location in Milan we might want to look into. I know someone there, so tell me what you think."
I took the brochure, passing the illustrated fish book to Rosy who sat snug in the middle seat.
"So you want us to pick what type of fish we like?" Rosy asked, his Austrian accent complementing the confussion.
"No, no. Look at the pictures and pick three that look like they would tast good. Sarah, what do you think about that hotel?"
The brochure was filled with gloosy pages of black marble walls, polished surfaces, and other typical tauntings of 5-star hotels.
"It`s nice... but haven`t we already passed Milan?"
"Yes, but on the way back. Or we can fly. It`s really something to give us ideas about the sort of thing we`re aiming at."
Rosy picked a trout and two other ambiguous, happy looking fish. Jochen decided on the shrimp, lobster, and salmon. I questioned his less than aesthetic selection as he passed the book. I flipped through the pages of bulging eyes, scaled fines, and gaping mouthes which did little to excite the palate. So I chose to follow suit and rely on past experiences. The answer was timidly the same, with the addition of tuna tar tar to save face.
---
We arrived in Amalfi, taking that last turn that allows the first glance of the vast Meditteranean spread out from the cliffs far bellow. Jochen was prepared, again with the camera snapping through the glass window. The guard rail interrupted. And then a tunnel, which whipped the van back around, hiding the view of the sea. There was nothing particularlly distinguised about the last turn, but Troy hollared, "Stop here!" barely waiting for us to stop before jumping out. The van hugged the cliff, but Ralph pulled over trying not to block the narrow rode as Troy walked up to a small house.
...