The Food of Love Read Free Page B

Tommaso thought hard. Then his eyes fell
    on the box of baby hares. “I would cook pasta con sugo di lepre; pappardelle with hare sauce,’ he said triumphantly. ‘The hares are never better than when they’re young and tender.’
    Is it easy?’
    ‘It’s fantastically simple. You cook the hare in onion and garlic for a little while, then you add some red wine, some cloves, some cinnamon, and that’s it.’
    ‘And I can buy the meat here?’ she asked, looking around her
    doubtfully.
    ‘No,’ he said. ‘They only supply delicacies like hare to those
    they know well. But for you -‘ He went over to his box, took out a hare and presented it to her proudly on the flat of his hand. ‘It’s a gift. So that you will never make Bolognese sauce again.’
    She seemed to recoil a little. ‘Don’t they sell them skinned?’
    ‘Ah, skinning it is easy,’ he said happily. ‘It will take you two minutes.’ He called to the assistant for a paper bag.
    ‘And is it - gutted?’ she asked doubtfully.
    ‘Of course not,’ he said, sounding a little offended. ‘Gigliemi
    wouldn’t sell a hare with the best bits removed.’ He dropped it in the bag and swung it round to close it. ‘Here,’ he said, pressing it into her hand. ‘And - here.’ He took out a pencil with a flourish and wrote his mobile phone number on the bag. ‘If you need any
    help with the recipe, any help at all, just call me. My name is
    Tommaso Massi and I will be delighted to assist you.’ He swept
    the box of hares up on to his shoulder before she could ask him
    about the recipe in any more detail.
    ‘You mean that? I can really call you if I have a problem?’
    He almost laughed out loud. The American girl was actually
    asking if she could phone himl ‘But of course. You can call me any time.’
     
    ‘Well, thank you. I’ll do that. If I need help, that is.’
    ‘Ciao, then.’
    ‘ Ciao. For now.’
     
    Ciao for now! He liked that, it had a good sound. And the
    way she was looking at him - he had definitely made an
    impression.
     
    He had, indeed, made an impression.
    He’s nice, Laura thought. Like a character from a Michelangelo
    drawing, with his big extravagant features and his hands waving in the air all the time like that. And, ah, undeniably easy on the eye.
    But he didn’t hit on me, which is refreshing. Refreshing, and a little bit annoying. Because if he doesn’t hit on me, how am I supposed to say no? Or, as the case may be, yes? Which it isn’t, of course. The case is definitely no. Because you don’t just bump into people like that, do you? Not people you’re going to go out with.
    Mind you. A chef. How weird is that? Carlotta and I had that
    joke about me going out with a chef, and then here one is. A good one too, he says. A beautiful one, says I.
    Serendipity?
    It was only much later, when this internal reverie had finally
    played itself out, that she realised she was walking along the Via Aracceli with a smile on her face and a paper bag in her hand containing a dead baby hare.
     
    Tommaso strapped the box of hares on to the back of his Piaggio
    and sped off through the traffic. Uanema, he was late. He had
    been told to be quick, and here he was wasting time yet again with girls. He wondered if anyone would notice that one of the animals was missing.
    He took the Via Aurelia past the Vatican, his little scooter chugging up the hill towards Montespaccato, weaving expertly through
    the endless traffic jams and hold-ups. Finally he came to a part of the city that was higher, cooler, and calmer, where the buildings were larger, and where even the cars drove past each other in
    unnatural silence, with barely an insult or a gesticulation to
    smooth their interaction.
    He parked the Piaggio around the back of a large white building, making sure that it was precisely in line with all the other
    scooters, then carried the box of hares shoulder-high through a
    Pair of double doors into a vast room full of steam and