Peeled potatoes, lay steaming in a large ceramic bowl. One by one Antonella passed them through the potato ricer and little squiggles like worms dropped down. She added flour and salt, then plunged her hands in the mixture working it until it was soft and compact. Beads of sweat crowned her forehead as she kneaded the dough. She then tore parts of the dough and rolled them out into long "tubes." Each tube was then cut into smaller "tubes". As delicately as she could, she squished the small tubes with her thumb while rolling them away from her....voila! Gnocchi! She placed them on a large plate sprinkled with flour to rest.
Glimpsing out through the portefinestre she saw the clay tile roofs that covered the various houses. As she opened them, a slight breeze of hot, humid air invaded the kitchen. She grabbed a couple leaves from a potted basil plant that shared a corner of the balcony with a rosemary and sage plant and quickly closed the door. The small kitchen was cool compared to the sweltering heat of the outside world and the plain whitewashed stone walls helped maintain the temperature bearable in the summer.
She reached for the large cast iron pan hanging on a hook near the stove. Olive oil, garlic and chilli pepper soon wrapped the whole house in a mouthwatering bouquet of aromas. She carefully squashed the tomatoes in a large bowl so that the juices wouldn't squirt out and stain the white walls.
The oil sizzled as the tomatoes touched the hot pan. The smell of tomatoes combined with the garlic and chilli pepper gave birth to a delectable love affair that would end only with the "scarpetta"...a piece of bread used to capture every trace of sauce on your plate. She washed and added the basil leaves, placed a wooden spoon on the rim and covered the succulent dish so that it would cook slowly while letting out the excess humidity.
"Ma did you set the table?" She knew she did. She had heard the clinking of the plates that had been pulled out of the credenza.
"Of course, of course...the wine? Is it in the kitchen?
"Yes yes, I'll get it"
The sauce bubbled and burped as it slowly cooked. Antonella filled another pot with fresh water and put it on the stove. Added a pinch of salt, lit the gas under the pot with a match and covered the pot with a lid
"Almost ready ma. I'm so hungry I could eat a cow." She dropped herself on to a chair and poured a bit of wine that she had brought from the kitchen into a glass. Her mother whisked around her getting the last of the table set..bread,cheese, a jug of fresh water.
"You could wait no?"she said grabbing the glass from her hand and placing it on the table.
"Yes ma..."
It was useless to argue..it was just easier to succumb. This is why she had no life. The simplest of decisions were not hers to make, at least not while her mother was around...which was almost always. She had always controlled every aspect of Antonella's life; how she wore her hair, what clothes were best and who were acceptable friends just to name of few, that it became part of her being. She, of course, went along with all that her mother said, not really knowing or for that matter caring if she had a personal preference. It made things easy and it made her mother feel useful. Her mother thought and decided for her, leaving Antonella time to expand...not her mind or horizons, but her body
The only thing she never meddled with once she found out that Antonella was able to manage perfectly well by herself was the food shopping and cooking. After her father had dumped them it was as if her mother was ashamed to be seen by the other women, so as Antonella grew, food shopping became her exclusive domain. Of course the basics were passed on to her by her mother. She would watch her as she chose just the right apples, just the right cuts of meat , just the right slice of cheese.
Walking into a shop her mother would take in the whole picture while mentally making note of the items she needed and which items were the best buys. It was an art and her mother had mastered it magnificently. She couldn't stand it when the green grocer would offer semi good merchandise and with a smile declare " you could make some marmalade and I will make a good price for you." Did he really think she would buy that line. She would just keep on with her inspection not minding the frustration on shop keepers face as she scrutinized every item in the place.
When she finally did make her decision, she would keep her eye on the shop keeper as she indicated her preference, making sure he picked up just the right apple, eggplant, onion or whatever it was she had her eye on.
She was well known by the shop keepers. The butcher, green grocer, baker all knew that there was no way on earth they were going to pull a fast one on Mrs. Baratelli.
By the age of six Antonella had learned the colors of all different types of fresh fruit and vegetables, their smell and shape. By the age of nine she could recite the best cuts of meat and their use. By twelve she was able to plan a days menu, starting with antipasto and ending with a scrumptious dessert. She could write a shopping list and do the shopping. By fourteen she could even cook the whole thing up. Antonella not only cooked with passion, she indulged in the final product with an even greater passion.
As the years went on her world became the preparation in all it's phases of food and it's consumption. She had out mastered her mother in weight and ability.
She dropped the gnocchi into the boiling water, the sauce was perfect and when the gnocchi came afloat she fished them out with a large flat spoon with holes that let the water drain and placed them in a serving dish. Carefully she poured the sauce over the gnocchi, added freshly grated parmesan cheese and mixed ever so daintily. She brought the steaming plate to the table and placed it in the center.
Her mother had given her the reins when it came to the preparation but that's where it stopped. The serving department was all hers. Of course being so very southern Italian, portions were so very generous. What was served onto one plate would have easily fed three but Antonella never argued and like a good girl ate everything that was given to her.
She never remembered ever saying she was full or that she didn't like something. Just the thought of eating filled her with joy. As long as she could sit at the table and indulge in whatever was there was sheer delight.
They ate pretty much in silence. Bits of gossip were thrown back and forth to fill the blank spaces. There was no real interest but it helped to conceal the amount of food that was being consumed. At the end of the meal half a kilo of potato gnocchi, three rosette, one libretto, three etti of gorgonzola cheese with mascarpone, two pears, half a bottle of wine and homemade chocolate pudding had been wiped out.
Antonella wiped her mouth and leaned back in the chair.
"Che buono" she sighed. She was content and wanted her mother to hurry up and finish so that she could start clearing the table and get the espresso going.
"You eat too fast, that is why you have a weight problem"she spoke with a mouthful of pudding that trickled from the corners of her mouth."look at me. I am in shape, no? And I eat like you but s-l-o-w-l-y" she shoved the last spoonful in her mouth and swallowed.
" It has nothing to do with how fast I eat...but how much I eat."
"You eat normal, it must be your thyroid, something is not oiled right" she wiped her mouth and placed the soiled linen napkin on her lap.
"Ma I don't eat normal, I eat a lot" Antonella started to haul herself up to an up right position. " I always have, nothing has changed"
" You are silly...silly girl. I have always fed you well,you are healthy no? You complaining now?"
"No ma, I just think that I'm not healthy...it's not your fault, it's mine." She started clearing the plates and placing them in the sink where she would let them sit in water till she had finished her coffee.
"So you are a bit....big....round...men like that....more to hold..." The words were spit out as she cleaned her teeth with a toothpick.
Antonella was busy preparing the Moka, water, coffee, a slight pat and onto the stove.
"Sure ma" there was no need to take the conversation any further. They both knew the truth and they were both desperately trying to cover it up.
The smell of espresso crept into the air and the gurgling from the Moka let them know it was ready. They drank in silence.
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Flour #Wattys2016
Genç Kız Edebiyatı#Wattys2016 Life isn't fair but at times maybe it's better than no life at all... In a northern Italian town, Michele, Antonella and Concettina seem to settle for lives that have been cut out for them by others. All so willing to accept things the...
