"Did we really have to cross half the city to come to this particular restaurant?" Sky exclaims as we get out of the taxi after twenty minutes of slaloming through the crazy traffic in the center of Rome. "We could choose one closer to Parco Savello."
Di cosa stai parlando? Neanche per sogno! (What are you talking about? Not a chance!) I lead him down the narrow, cobbled street between the typical rusty ocher buildings. "This is the best place in town. Once you try their food, you'll be willing to fly all the way from New York just to have lunch here."
The enclosed space, where the small trattoria has set up a few tables with snow-white tablecloths, is situated directly on the road. They are separated from the constantly passing vehicles only by low metal fences and numerous flower pots. The invariable scooters nimbly pass within millimeters of the customers, but no one seems to pay attention to this fact. The only free table is right next to the entrance. It is so small that it can hardly hold food for two people. However, this have never prevented the hospitable owners from accommodating an entire family of four if they have to. It has always amazed me how, with an absolute lack of space, waiters somehow manage to fit everything.
"Are you comfortable?" I ask when Sky finally manages to settle on the tiny chair, squeezing between a tall weeping fig and the neighboring couple's sleeping Labrador retriever.
"I love it." He grins from ear to ear. "If a restaurant is packed, then it is a damn good one."
"I agree. Do you mind if I order for both of us?" Before I can finish speaking, the waitress is already standing by the table serving us water and the typical local bread with a hard crust and soft middle. There are no menus. Everyone who comes here knows what they offer. Today's special is written in chalk on a blackboard propped against the wall. Skylar nods in agreement, so I turn to the girl. "We will take carciofi alla Romana* twice, gnocchi di patate** twice, and saltimbocca, of course."
*carciofi alla Romana - braised artichokes with parsley, mint, and garlic
**gnocchi di patate - primo piatto (first course), pasta consisting of small lumps of potato dough, served with sauce
"Mio Dio (My God)," the girl mutters and rolls her eyes. "Jason, aren't you going to eat something different for once? You've been coming here at least twice a week for the last two years, and you haven't picked anything else. Dad told me to kick you out if you refuse to try his coda alla vaccinara (oxtail stew) again. You won't even let your friend order what he likes."
She winks at Sky. He turns bright red. I cover my smirk by pretending to drink water.
"No, thank you!" I firmly state. "I am a traditionalist when it comes to food."
"And I thought you were the adventurous one." Skylar smiles at the waitress and adds, "Bring one portion of saltimbocca and the stew. We'll share. Jase, I will try your favorite dish if you promise to try mine. No master chef should be denied the opportunity to present the food they are proud of."
"Wow! You are dangerous, dude. How can I refuse?" I glance at him with admiration. "If the Big A hears about your negotiating skills, he might put you in charge of the entire De Angelis Corporation. Now I understand why he was so keen on hiring you. By the way, how did you find this job? It's not that I'm interested in HR department's methods, but I don't remember any announcements coming out for the position. Did they use a recruiting agency?"
Sky heavily chokes on his water and starts to cough. Tears fill his eyes. They look like crystal clear mountain lakes. My poetic digression is interrupted too quickly by the girl's reproachful glare. She has just returned with the antipasta (apetizers).
YOU ARE READING
BAD →WORSE→ THE BEST (mxm)
RomanceSkylar Jones was adopted into an old Italian aristocratic family when he was ten. His life goes under the strict control of his stepfather, Count Massimiliano De Angelis. Sky is a good boy and obeys the rules. One thing only he keeps to himself, his...
