John was a cook. Maybe it was not the best cook in the Belluno, but he was good and did his job honestly. He had started because of an accident accorsogli few years earlier. He loved John, to "off track" on the slopes of its mountains and had once been submerged by an avalanche and had been under snow for six interminable hours long. In those hours, it seemed that life would slowly move away from him, his mind had been back and forth. Further into the future imagining everything that could not have done back in the past, imagining what he had done. And every now and then, unexpectedly, as well as forward and backward mind moved laterally, with flashes of smells and sensations that completed the picture of his colorful life. So remember when Catherine was gone, slamming the door while he was in the shower. Do not know why he went on. She had told him only "for now I can not." But perhaps had told too many times. And Catherine never returned. He remembered Cristina. A love that lasted four hours. I had met during military service and he was in love. He exchanged a few words with her, were greeted with a kiss on the cheek and that's it. Never seen again. But after 27 years he still carried in his heart. He thought that he would like to go see the pyramids, especially to make sure the pointy end up. He had always wondered if it was a bit "unconventional" or was really able to sting. But now he was there and it seemed that life would slowly move away from him and his mind was back and forth. Further into the future imagining everything that could not have done back in the past, imagining what he had done. And every now and then, unexpectedly, in addition to pacing the mind is moved laterally, with flashes of smells and sensations that completed the picture of his life.
was during one of these flashes that she had a feeling of warmth and feel the body vibrate and re-ignite the senses. And he was sure that he was just everything going to make it. The image came to mind, accompanied by the scent and taste of a dish of pasta alla Norma. He remembered very well. He had eaten in Catania, during a short vacation. He had gone to visit a friend met in Rome for work and they made him taste the pasta alla Norma. Simple. Small macaroni topped with fresh tomato sauce, made a long time to cook with a clove of garlic and fresh basil. Then, upstairs, ricotta cheese and slices of eggplant fried in olive oil, a few leaves of basil and a drizzle of extra virgin olive oil to complete the poem. He remembered very well. He was in love. As with Cristina, after so many years, still had the heart, but with the certainty that sooner or later he would meet again. And now he was there telling him: "Do not give up, I'll wait." After that ugly
adventure, back home the first thing I wanted to do was try to cook a dish of pasta alla norma. He put all his efforts and at the bottom of the recipe, he remembered perfectly, was not particularly elaborate. Quite the contrary. But when I tasted it was disappointed. Something was missing, did not understand everything, but it was not like that eaten in Catania. He was also able to obtain the ricotta salata, which is not easy out there, but he had found. Ricotta cheese produced in Sicily. He had found. But something was missing, did not understand everything, but it was not like that eaten in Catania. He tried and tried again. Nothing. But became attached to his stove and his pots. Took the opportunity to try other recipes and found to be good enough. And, cooking cooking, fine to open a restaurant. Only the pasta to the rule that he could not as he had eaten in Catania. Failure to develop his love. Perhaps in that dish was not just the ingredients. There was also a soul grown in a different place. Maybe that's why he could not. There are always those who love surprises. Now he knew that he could play his love. He could only visit him.
