FIRST TIME AT THE RESTAURANT
On Valentine’s Day, my father decided to take my mother and me to the best restaurant in town. When we arrived at this cave carved into the tuff rock, we stepped into a stunning dining room, furnished with tables and chairs made from the region’s traditional wood. At the far end of the room, an open kitchen immediately caught my attention. I spotted the chef—dressed in crisp white, wearing an impressively tall hat, and constantly in motion, ensuring every dish left his kitchen flawlessly. Focused, swift, and intense, he barked orders at his waiters. His sharp tone made me a little uneasy, but at the same time, I was mesmerized by the scene unfolding before me.
Lost in fascination, I suddenly noticed a massive fireplace with glowing embers. Pieces of meat sizzled on the grill, fat dripping onto the coals, creating a hypnotic crackling sound and releasing an irresistible aroma. There was everything—sausages, gnemmeridd (traditional local rolls), lamb, and beef ribs. That intoxicating scent filled the air, and in that moment, I knew one thing for certain: I could never be a vegetarian! The grilled meat exuded an indescribable fragrance, and I wanted to taste it all.
We took our seats, and my parents ordered the Antipasto della Casa. What followed was a feast—a seemingly endless parade of dishes arrived at our table: cured meats from Lucanian black pigs, fresh dairy products, burratine, fiordilatte ricotta, scamorza, crispy bread meatballs, peperoni cruschi, and roasted potatoes. Then came the first courses: cavatelli with cardoncelli mushrooms and sausage, followed by a mixed grill that seemed to have no end.
Despite the spread before me, I only managed to taste the ricotta. Yet, even that was enough to make me happy. The smooth, creamy texture and delicate, fresh milk flavor were unlike anything I had tasted before—different from my mother’s milk, yet equally comforting. My palate was awakened, and I craved more!
I stretched out my arms, crying, trying to grab anything within reach, but my mother was quicker. Then, in a moment of opportunity, I seized my chance! I slipped off her lap and lunged for the plate of cavatelli. Though still hot, I managed to get one into my mouth. It was fresh pasta—I recognized the taste instantly. While it wasn’t as perfect as the pasta my mother and grandmother made, it was still absolutely delicious. Even without teeth to chew, I devoured it, confirming once and for all that my love for pasta was eternal!
My mother, both amused and slightly alarmed by how easily I swallowed the bites, exclaimed, “You’re a little glutton!”
At the end of the evening, the restaurant’s owner and chef offered my parents a digestivo, the famous Amaro Lucano from Matera, infused with a blend of aromatic herbs. My father let me sniff it, and I was immediately intrigued by its rich scent. But as soon as the glass was pulled away, I realized something—I felt lightheaded! At just six months old, I was experiencing my first tipsy sensation. I cried, wanting more, but this time, it was a firm no.
Noticing my disappointment, the chef returned with a tiny spoonful of ricotta and pear cake. After getting my parents’ approval, he offered me my very first taste of dessert. The soft sweetness was the perfect contrast to the savory dishes I had indulged in earlier. A little sugar to complete the meal—it was divine.
That night, I learned an important lesson: a proper dinner must always include an antipasto, a first course, a second course, and, of course, a delicious dessert to finish.
