Venetian marvels

I realized yesterday that I have neglected to tell you about our time in Venice during the honeymoon. Where can I begin to sing the glories of Venice or to describe the time we passed in her embrace?  How is that for a lead in!

We spent four wonderful days in Venice following our cruise of the Holy land.  Once our ship docked at the port, we disembarked and took a local vaporetto to the land quay at St Mark’s square and in the early morning sunlight wove our way through the narrow streets to our hotel.  Throwing open our shutters, and leaning out our window, we overlooked endless tiled roofs, the domes of St Mark’s basilica gleaming to our left and counted quickly four bell towers nearby.  As if on cue, the bells began to toll our arrival and I knew we were in for an incredible time.  

To be honest, although we did a bit of sightseeing, we mostly poked along the canals, strolling slowly together, stopping for frequent pastries.  Our first was a lovely lemon creamed, sugary confection that we shared, avidly licking the last morsels from our fingers, drinking cappuccino in the quiet, morning streets.  I learned that Italians generally only drink cappuccino in the morning, essentially taking their milk for the day, and for the remainder, espresso was on order.  We stopped to peer in store windows at shelves lined with nut and fruit chocolates, sweets, marzipans, giant meringues and nut filled pastries, at rows of cheeses, meats and oils, lined like orphans at a convent door, hair brightly slicked down, with pleading eyes, hoping to be chosen and taken home.  Bouquets of fiery, red chilies arranged like flowers made me laugh. We ate hot fresh pizzas, seated atop the portable sidewalks stacked around the city, anticipating flooding but just then unneeded, the cheese burning the roof of our mouths as we gulped it down, watching the water traffic near the Rialto bridge.  Evenings brought quiet, slow dinners, lit by candlelight, the fruity red wines slipping past my tongue.  In grocery stores, I smiled at cartons of eggs, four single eggs nestled together, making me think about our habit of stocking up rather than celebrating food each day with trips to bakeries, cheese shops and butchers.

One warm evening, we settled ourselves at a table for two, outdoors in St Mark’s square, the stars shining in the sky, the air warm.  Listening to a live quartet of strings play classical and popular music, we ordered refreshments to pass the night.  Arriving on a gleaming silver tray, an aromatic coffee for my guy and for me a tall glass of hot chocolate, liquid chocolate to be honest topped with six inches of whipped cream, garnished with shaved chocolate.  The carafe of cold water supplied along side was welcome, since this was one rich hot chocolate.  I will never forget the feeling of sitting there with the man I love, listening to sweet music, the tastes of chocolate on my tongue, his laughing words; it was a wonderful evening.  Food always finds its place at celebrations or in moments of intimacy.  

We shared that evening with a woman, a stranger who caught my eye.  She arrived in the square, and strode over to a table, her husband, lover or boyfriend in tow, to greet two friends already seated.  Her joy in seeing them was evident and I was fascinated to watch her chatting with them, touching their arms to make a point, catching her throat as she laughed, and as if on command, food arrived and added to their pleasure.  For ourselves, we spent the rest of our time there, wandering the city slowly, stopping to enjoy food and each other, exploring the local areas away from the tourists, in sunshine and under grey skies, days filled with misty weather.  We left in the early hours one morning, St Mark’s square flooded, hauling our suitcases upon the elevated sidewalks, the glow of the lamps shining on the dark water lapping in the square.  It was a marvelous time, filled with wonderful food, with new sights and experiences, with time spent alone.  If you can believe I took as many pictures of food as sights in Venice!  It showed me that slowing down is what fills life with its moments, and made me realize that the recipes in my cookbook and the time to create the book both should be filled with a reverence for the moments they create.