Back to Square One

The heart can be so easily broken by love. I know; it occurred to me. When I was very young, and most likely very dumb, I experience puppy love, and as I grew up, I then muddle through crushes in high school and then as I achieve that young age of twenty-something, I find my real first love, and I then lose it.

We were too young to understand the intricateness of relationships, of dealing with the opposite sex in meaningful ways, so our signals were mixed and misunderstood. So, we broke up last September at what was then our favourite restaurant, Luigi’s Pizzeria, just as the National Rugby League was finishing its season. A coincidence you may say, maybe or maybe not. I cannot say for sure.

Yes, I enjoy watching my favourite team play, but my heart remembers Wilma. So, the football season came and went, the Grand Final took place in Sydney, and I watch it on the TV alone. To shake off this malaise, I decide to have a treat and decide that next Thursday night dinner at Luigi’s Pizzeria would do me fine. I know she will not be there.

Luigi’s was close by, an easy ten-minute walk from my unit and I often pass it on the way home from working late and knew that Thursday night was a slow night so there would be plenty of solitude for me. I could enjoy Luigi’s veal cutlets with prosciutto and sage, for Luigi’s chef had an excellent way with veal.

As I enter Luigi’s I find the place almost spartan, which was good for me, and the server points me a table which was next to another empty table. Another man occupied a nearby table, and when I sat down, I could see his face and we just looked at each other. Two lonely souls, I thought to myself.

My server gives me the large menu and I raise it to inspect the offerings, but I knew that the veal cutlets with prosciutto and sage were the way to go. The chef’s veal or saltimbocca, literally meaning "jumps in the mouth," is one of his most classic Roman dishes and he does it to perfection. The thin veal cutlets topped with slices of prosciutto and fresh sage leaves, all secured with a toothpick and then pan-fried in butter, with a quick roux sauce made by whisking a bit of flour, white wine, and a lemon juice mixture and then gently stir in the same butter. My experience has been that you can wait to have this light and delicate dish presented to you in less than twenty minutes and I have a little white wine either from the regions of Frascati or Colli Romani, depending on the going price for the bottle.

Having placed my order, I look around the restaurant and notice that a woman has sat at the table with the man I had seen earlier. She had her back to me, but I could hear their mutual soft words of an argument being exchanged between them like a game of tennis with each volley returned more vicious than the previous one.

Oh well, it was none of my business, so I wait for the waiter to bring me my bottle of wine, the San Marco Frascati Superiore, which I had selected. Made with fresh Granny Smith apples and a subtle grapey undertone followed by distinct floral tones, the wine will be light on the palate with a lovely textured feel and a balance between soft fruit and crisp acidity, a perfect fit for my upcoming feast.

As I wait for the main meal to arrive, the couple’s conversation kept getting more heated, still in an undertone way, but you could feel that at any moment an eruption was going to occur.

My meal arrives, and if I had a Facebook account, I will probably be one of those that would put up a photo of the veal in all its glory with the glaze on the top and the sauce just waiting to be soaked up with crusty bread. I am not sure why this delicacy is called saltimbocca but most likely is because it is so delicious or maybe because it is so quick to make—perhaps is both! All I know that it might have taken twenty minutes to make, but in less than ten minutes I was done, and so it seemed the couple next to me.

The woman stands up quickly, grabs her water glass and splashes it into the man’s face to which he gets up, looks at her with eyes that were throwing daggers and storms out of the restaurant leaving the woman, who slumps in her chair, softly sobbing.

What a spectacle! I could see the server standing by the bar quietly whispering to the bartender, both with eyes on the woman waiting for something to happen, but nothing happened and I could sense the relief on their faces.

A few minutes pass. She seems to compose herself and signals for the waiter who arrives with the bill in which she places a John Monash note on the table, gets up and leaves.

As she arrives at the front door, she gathers her shawl from the cloakroom; turns to place it on her shoulder and our eyes meet.

 Wilma!

 She stands there and continues to look at me. I sit at my table and also have my eyes centred on her. It seems an eternity, but I stand up and with my open right palm extended, I point to the empty chair at my table and motion to Wilma to sit next to me. Why I did this, I do not know. It felt right though, as I waited for her to react.

After a moment, Wilma turns, opens the door, and leaves the restaurant.

Oh well, I had a sumptuous meal, and I was back to square one with my relationship search.

Did you expect a happy ending?