PEASANTS DON’T DO APERO
Seven pm, Casa dei Tigli, Cortona. Attracted by the superb setting and having forgotten and forgiven the past terrible experiences, I bounce in, not only to book a table, but also to – guess, 7pm, have an aperitif.
“Hi, I’d like to book a table for Saturday night”.
“Yes”
“For 8 people.”
“Yes (so what, we are always empty anyway)”
“The name is Olivia (this is like drilling at the dentist’s…)”
“Yes”
(any chance she will write it down????)
Ok, that failed but we are still going to sit upstairs and make the most of their sign saying “Non Perdetevi l’Ora dell’Aperitivo” – don’t miss apero time.
Andrea, rooted in Italy’s aperitif cot (the north of the country) bravely asks for a Caipiriniah (yes, please, me too). “No. not possible” “Ok, gin tonic?” “No, not possible.” “Ok, spritz?” “No, not possible.” At which point, I completely loose it. Cut in and enquire what that sign on the wall means about not missing apero time – does it mean we should be having it somewhere else???? She stoically answers that they have lots of aperitifs – ohhhh aye, and in the form of what?
Crodino, san Pellegrino bitter (if she says coke, I am going to slap her). Nothing cocktaily though, she cannot cope with that.
Andrea, who has so far not lost composition, asks for a Prosecco (now that comes out of a bottle, straight, no mixing, no ice, no nothing) No was the answer. Only spumantino. Placid, yes, si, fine.
I have a beer.
The spumantino turns out the be the most disgusting drink Andrea has ever had and its sweetness contrasts sharply to the mouldy but very spicy peanuts we are given when we ask for crisps…
By the way, don’t bother with the booking.