Scott cooked dinner tonight. Pollo all'uva. It wasn't food, it was art. A masterpiece of a meal; too pretty to eat. Everything sounds so much better in Italian. We ate Italian, spoke Italian (well, only when I read recipes out of his dream of a cookbook and even then, I wasn't doing the speaking, just the bad pronouncing) and, after absorbing every last bit of it, we talked about Italy. Now, I'm off to read about it. I'm sure everything looks better in Italian, too - like sunlight streaming through the Duomo, raindrops falling into a courtyard fountain, filled with lemon trees.As of now, we're thinking Paris to Nice to Venice; a pit-stop in Cinque Terre before Florence, then Rome. Lots of bel far niente and food, food, food, all along the way!
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