I am always struck by love.  Yesterday afternoon a couple arrived, and though I didn’t remember a man on the list, there is always room.  Instead, he was only here for a minute; he had driven his wife to me all the way from Rome, up to the top of the white track road, and then back he went to catch a plane to somewhere far off in Africa.

Holy Cow

We have nearly everyone, only missing (separate) luggage and one student.  No clues on the luggage, but we are nearly certain that the student will arrive in time to cook.  The pasta maker is standing ready on the counter for this afternoon, and after they come back from Cortona , we will roll out satiny sheets of lasagne and sear off Trabalza sausages and a chicken leg (got no stock? make it in the sauce), and then onions, simmering until they melt, with a sprig of rosemary and a bay leaf, ground beef and pork, and a half stalk of celery, and the same of carrot.  After so much travel, bags on their way to nowhere and trains breaking down over and over and over, I am switching desserts to a classic, always delivers and will never let you down, tiramisu.