Death in the tuscan hills

Bordelli finished his glass and got up to put another log on the fire. He went and tasted the pasta: it needed another two or three minutes. He'd set the table in grand fashion. White tablecloth, fine china plates and bowls, crystal tulip glasses, his grandmother's cutlery, clean napkins, a flask of wine, water, bread, oil and vinegar, salt and pepper, Parmesan cheese and grater... All laid out in order. That, too, was a new and pleasant habit of his, whether he was alone or in company. When he still lived at San Frediano in Florence, on the rare occasions he ate at home he would sit on the couch with his plate on his lap. He would never again make such mistakes. Rosa, his friend and stand-in mum, would always say: Eating is like making love; you have to do it right. And to think it was a retired prostitute who said this.