It is my heart that is broken, and for no good reason. Sometimes it just happens with no warning and out of nowhere, and it feels as if the world has gone all hushed and grey and words disappear into a fog that goes nowhere. I think that the past can stand up on its hind legs every once in a while and nash its teeth for the time it takes to remember that I no longer live there.
On days like these I find trips to the butcher, who is very handsome, for paper thin slices of prosciutto can be very helpful. I don’t even need the bread really. And then al dente spaghetti, to give your teeth a job to do, tossed with ever so finely chopped lemon zest, golden minced garlic, fried parsley, a few red hot peppers to start a sweat, the purest olive oil to soothe all ills, and a fine Spring Parmigiano Reggiano to remind you of those tiny new blades of grass that the cows slowly worked their way through to give such a delicate and at the same time demanding flavor. For dessert, there is nothing better than cherries soaked in grappa straight from the glass.