At Home in the World

Ascending a steep flight of stairs overlooking the Ligurian Sea, I see that Ana is waiting for me outside the pensione.

“Eccolo! Il Americano!”

She chuckles, wiping her hands on her apron and adjusting the bun on top of her head. Crossing the threshold, I enter a scene out of my Big Fat Greek Wedding, Italian style. Parents, children, and grandchildren are seated around an enormous table. In an attempt to give me privacy, she leads me to a separate table by the window. An elderly woman, who can't be more than 4'11,” walks by and, standing two inches from my face yells, "CHI SEI?" The dinner party laughs and Ana ushers her back over to her place.

“La Zia” or aunt comes back over, however, offering me bread and holding one of my hands gingerly in hers. She speaks rapid Italian and I barely understand her.

“Il primo Americano,” Ana interjects to no one in particular, not sure what to do about me. The first American? I really am off the beaten track.

Wine is poured and Ana announces, "Vino Bianco d’Elba.” Everyone nods approvingly and I do the same. Back at the big table La Zia keeps looking over and pointing to the chair beside her says, “Vieni qui.” Ana puts her head in her hands but I gladly pick up my plate and space is made for me at their table. Everyone is introduced: Matteo, Sara, Giovanni, Eleonora...

“Risotto al Nero di Seppia!" Ana bellows over the crowd, bringing out steaming dishes of pasta coated in a black, inky liquid and topped with squid. I smile but I am slightly unnerved. Ana pretends to be preoccupied but watches me out of the corner of her eye. Scooping up a small amount, I am immediately greeted with a salty and tender taste that reminds me of bouillabaisse. A smile spreads across my face and I look up at Ana, who holds her fork midair in anticipation.

“Delizioso Signora!”

She shrugs and says something roughly translated as, “Oh, that’s just my old risotto.” One of the men smirks at someone across the table. Later on, Ana brings out a huge fruit cake, “Schiaccia briaca.” It is almost 10 pm but everyone seems to be settling in. A “vin santo,” dessert wine, is poured and I am starting to mellow. Ana is no longer concerned with guests or protocol and slumps slightly in her chair as she makes circular patterns on the table with her finger. The loud banter has turned to a leisurely chatter and La Zia has fallen asleep beside me. Her hand still resting on mine, I feel my homesickness dissipating into the warm glow of the room…