Image via WikipediaBy Constance Grayson
I sit in the piazza after my lunch, dopo il pranzo, and ask myself one question. Is there any food on earth as sensual as a cone of gelato? I have just sat on the low brick wall in the piazza, feeling the daily warmer sun of this spring on my back, and savored a cone of half coffee, half chocolate chip gellato. An old man in a cooper colored suede jacket and faded blue trousers makes his bent-over way beside me. He must have heard my moan of sheer pleasure as I ran my tongue around my ice cream cone for he caught my eye and smiled-that ageless smile that acknowledged between his time and mine, his culture and mine, that sometimes the purely physical is simply exquisite.
