A THOUSAND DAYS IN VENICE

A luxurious story of sudden love, done properly, from cook/journalist de Blasi (Regional Foods of Northern Italy, not reviewed, etc.).

Middle-aged and divorced, with two grown children, living in St. Louis (Missouri, that is), de Blasi goes to Venice and meets the gaze of a man while having a drink in a restaurant with friends. He asks her for a rendezvous, and she agrees, unexpectedly, touched by the same whatever that has moved him. The rest is history, and a great story. The man, Fernando—no smooth-talker, a bit of a frump, awkward, yet a romantic—comes for a weeklong visit to St. Louis, and by the time he leaves, de Blasi has promised to move to Venice to be with him. She has few second thoughts, and her friends urge her on: “If there is even the possibility that this is real love,” one of them asks her, “could you dare to imagine turning away from it?” She doesn't, and what follows are the next 1,000 days, her game immersion in Italian culture to her wedding to their move south to Tuscany. De Blasi relates it all in a voice at once worldly and sensuous, unsentimental and aware of what it means to have such good fortune. Not all is as rosy as the Venetian morning light, though; she suffers a loss of her natural ebullience, “the quick strangling of spontaneity for the sake of a necessary deception that Italians call ‘elegance’,” though she doesn't allow it to dampen her vitality, nor does she let Fernando—who eats like a bird and whose kitchen is “a cell with a Playskool stove”—diminish her love of food. Rather, she binds her love of Fernando to her love of food, like a bouquet garni, in one long delicious engagement running throughout this ode, from cappuccino and apricot pastry to pumpkin gnocchi in cream and sage.

Love stories are easy targets, but no one will scoff at the genuine and cheering affection depicted so generously here.