A day of rain in New York. Windshield wipers are busy. Umbrellas try to fly and sometimes make a crash landing leaving their hapless owners wet and grouchy. Not a bit like "Singing in the Rain." The day and now the evening remind me of the first night we spent on a vacation in Rome. I stepped off the plane sniffling, sneezing and coughing--no way to begin a trip in Italy. When my hubby and I got to the hotel on the outskirts of Vatican City, all I wanted to do was stretch out on the bed and feel sorry for myself. Hubby was hungry.
"You go eat and bring me back something," I said.
Hubby reminded me there were no fast food places in the area and not many restaurants. I bundled up and we walked through the streets. Suddenly a warmly lit Trattoria appeared in front of us. No one was sitting at the tables but we were greeted by a welcoming owner. I ordered Minestrone--hot and delicious--it was the best minestrone I had ever eaten and I suspect ever will eat. The next morning I awoke fully recovered and knew it would be one of the best trips we would ever have. We searched for the restaurant, planning to eat there again before we moved on to the next leg of the trip but though we walked all over the area, we never found the place again. I firmly believe it was a Roman Brigadoon--a magical, mystical place that welcomed a poor, undernourished American to that wonderful city.
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