Since last cold season held us in its bleak grip,
We held my annual party at Cantina de’ Corvi.

Umberto knows what Rebecca is bound to say:
Per me, io voglio “ravioli e un’insalata mista.”
Certain of her order, the kitchen jokes away.

He also knows full sentences escape me totally.
As he knows I’m most likely to say minestrone.
So I knew he’d cheer my gnocchi e carciofi ripeni.

Mirella, I surmise, may have worried about my order.
Why else did she keep checking back on my pleasure?
(Like all the times she’s checked on my fair share?)

Tonight, as usual, Rebecca is thinking she is stuffed.
Un dolce?, Umberto suggests. We say just the decaf.
Then Mirella offers gelato con fragole, and we cave.

After Mirella provided the recipe,
We made her minestrone at home.

Our version fell short of perfection.
So next trip she’s promised lessons.

When Italians sit down to drink, they expect to nibble I think.