A Strange Journey

As I walk into the house, the sounds of loud thumps can be heard from the kitchen. On the table, a lamb carcass is being prepared by my Zia Fausta. She moves it on the red and white checkered table cloth, finding the best angle to slice into its torso. While cutting through the lamb's ribs with great force, slightly out of breath, she looks at me, smiles, and says, "I hope you're hungry." I smile back, thinking to myself: I hope she is not going through all of this trouble for me. It is my first night in Campotosto, a village nestled in the Appenine mountains of Italy.

She continues to prepare the meal. There are now pots boiling and pans frying, as the oven roasts the lamb. She moves around the kitchen with ease, entertaining the guests that have arrived.

We sit down at the table in the cramped kitchen. The smell of lamb roasting and the sounds of passionate conversation fill the room. The children at the table are restless and cry out that they are hungry. Their nonna scolds them, telling them to be patient. My travel companion from Canada turns to me and says, "It's sure loud in here."

Dinner begins with an antipasto dish of prosciutto and cantaloupe, followed by pasta all'amatriciana, a local dish. Finally, Fausta serves the roasted lamb, still sizzling. After every course, she asks if I would like seconds. I politely refuse, knowing that more food is on the way. As she brings out the desert, new guests have arrived for coffee. The door has now been left open for the flow of people coming in and out of the house. With the sun setting, the sounds of an accordion playing can be heard from the piazza.

The following day, I find Fausta in the kitchen preparing for the night's meal. The dinner that night was just as elaborate and the guests as plentiful. Some people from the night before were not at the table but new faces filled their seats. I realized as welcome as I was made to feel last night, it wasn't anything out of the ordinary. It was dinner time.