Un incontro a Roma

The waiter says, “We have red wine and white wine.” He pronounces every word carefully. “Which regions?” Marco asks. The waiter thinks, and thinks. “Chianti for the red. Prosecco for the white.” There is another pause. “Barolo too.” He seems unsure.

“I like red wine. Chianti is fine,” Giulia says. “Me too. Two glasses of Chianti, please,” Marco says to the waiter. The waiter nods and walks away. He moves away very, very slowly. They watch him go. “Is he walking backwards?” Giulia whispers. They try not to laugh.

“Do you know a lot about wine?” Giulia asks. “A little. My family is from Piedmont,” Marco explains. “When I was young we visited the vineyards. I learned to smell the wine. Then I sneezed into a glass and now I don’t smell the wine anymore.”

“I’m from Rome. We prefer Frascati,” Giulia says. “It’s lighter. Good for lunch. But I like all wines: red, white, rosé. I’m not difficult!” They both smile. Italians like to talk about wine.

The waiter comes back with the wine. It takes him five minutes to pour two glasses. They wait patiently. “To new friends,” Marco says. They touch their glasses gently.

“To new people,” Giulia repeats and smiles. The wine is good. It is not excellent, but it is good. “What do you do at the weekend?” Marco asks. “I paint on Saturday morning. I visit the markets for inspiration.”

Giulia loves her routine. “On Sundays I correct my students' work. They write about art. Some essays are very creative.” She makes a face.