How That Pasta Brings Her Back To Happier Times (EMOTIONAL)

For a restaurant, there’s an awful lot of junk on the table…

A woman enjoying pesto pasta.
Photo by Pablo Merchán Montes on Unsplash

When she ordered what looks like pesto pasta with veggies from the new casual Italian spot called Gusto or something, the last thing she expected was to be reminded of her childhood in Sicily. A quick lunch between business-related meetings turned into a trip down memory sentiero. The chord struck in her heartstrings took the woman from Iowa by surprise.

Bright notes of basil blooming on her palette brought her back to those soft Mediterranean mornings with her Nonna. Together they would pick the fairest leaves from the pale red brick garden out back, appreciating the view of the coastline. Gentle salt breezes grazing her face. Her fingers were left perfumed by the delicate herbs until lunchtime. Pesto was a Sunday tradition.

The woman, who had attended Morris Elementary on Geil Avenue in Des Moines, paused a beat before swallowing. Looking at her bowl of noodles, eyes narrow. She glanced around at the other patrons of Molto or something; They were all enjoying their rustic, approachable Italian fare. No visible distress is to be found. With a slight shrug to herself, she ripped a bite off of the delightfully crackly bread that came with her meal and popped it in her mouth. She must have been imagining th — “Bambina, join me in the kitchen!” breezed the gentle voice of her Nonna from the other room.

“Un minuto!” replied the little girl as she hopped off her bed where she had been coloring.

As, I want to say Jessica, walked down the hall, she noticed the serene oceanside paintings her mother had done while pregnant, the vase of fresh flowers Nonna restocked every Sunday, and the almost imperceptible piece missing from the wall by the floor from that one time she brought her bicycle inside. Together conveying a homey charm and beauty that felt almost as if she was appreciating it for the first time. The little girl… I mean she… was grateful for their… her… early years.

With a start, we’ll go with Jessica, shook her table as she regathered her thoughts to focus on the eatery she was in. Did she get enough sleep last night? It might have been a bad idea to binge-watch Selling Sunset until 4 AM, but that couldn’t have anything to do with this. Her pesto pasta was gone, as was the bread. The bill rested next to her arm on the table. A case of highway hypnosis but for eating. It had to be.

Very likely Jessica pulled a twenty euro note from her wallet and placed it on the bill as she stood up. Twenty euro…? Her gaze darted back down to the table; President Jackson gazed back up from the twenty-dollar bill. Desperate to leave Bella Cibo or something and get back to work, she shook it off and proceeded to the door.

Below is Jessica’s Yelp review:

“Non credo che tornerò alla Cucina Felice or something. La pasta al pesto era divina, ma la mia testa è piena di ricordi che non mi appartengono. Tra i miei pensieri sui pomodori maturi e sulla pasta meravigliosamente al dente che ho mangiato a pranzo ci sono scene di una vita che non ho vissuto. Come sono arrivati ​​li…?
Sulla qualità del cibo, devo dare a questo posto un 10/10! Delizioso!



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Knockoff Andrew

Knockoff Andrew

Writer, fighter, philosopher. Needs a ride home. Pop culture, darker fiction, TV/film/games story analysis. You can call me Knockoff. Real name Wancha.