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OH MY GOD, THIS IS MY WEDDING PRESENT TO THEM!!!!
YES!!! Why didn’t I think of it before??? Since I can’t give them this journal—um, especially not now that I’ve mentioned Cal’s pheromones—I’ll give them this… the form that will allow them to be married tomorrow.
Genius. Total genius. This is MUCH better than candlesticks or something dopey like that.
Oooooh, they’re calling another number… 92. COME ON!!! Maybe 29 through 91 left already.
Wait. That’s not a number. The guy’s putting a sign up on the glass. What’s it say?
PDA of Cal Langdon
PDA of Cal Langdon
I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe this is what I’ve been reduced to. I’m in Rome, possibly one of the most gastronomically diverse cities in the world, renowned for its cuisine, the long and languid lunch hour…
And I’m having warmed over eggplant pizza at Amici Amore, a ubiquitous Italian fast-food joint.
There’s a VIDEO ARCADE in the back.
I should have put my foot down. I should have explained that when a Roman hangs a sign that says the office will be closed until a certain hour, he absolutely means it.
But no. She kept insisting. She’s convinced if we scarf down a quick meal and get back to the embassy, we will somehow move up further in the line. Even though there is no line, and she is, in fact, holding a number that will doubtlessly not be called until tomorrow, or possibly next week.
Why didn’t I insist? This trip didn’t have to be an entire waste. We could be having a leisurely, romantic lunch in some restaurant’s cozy back garden right now—listening to doves coo rather than the sound of asteroids being blasted by a computer-generated laser gun—enjoying the sunshine instead of the obscene purple neon of this place.
Why did I let her have her way? Especially when her way is so often so very, very wrong?
I don’t even like eggplant.
I have to take a stand. When she gets back from the ladies’ room, I will take a stand. I’ll tell her this whole scheme is destined for failure. I’m going to tell her that this is a ridiculous waste of time, and that we’re heading back to the villa to salvage what’s left of our vacation time. I’m going to tell her—
Here she comes.
Oh. She says we’re leaving.
Travel Diary of Jane Harris
Travel Diary of Holly Caputo and Mark Levine
Jane Harris
Stupid restaurant! Stupid Rome! Stupid Italy!
What is the DEAL with the bathrooms here???? Seriously. I had to go at that stupid Amici Amore, so I head on off to the ladies’, and first off, the whole place is lit by black light— why? Oh, because (Cal just told me) it’s to make it impossible for junkies to find a vein if they take it into their heads to shoot up in there.
But that’s not the worst of it. Oh, no!
THERE WAS NO TOILET. No. None. Where a toilet ought to be was a hole. A HOLE IN THE FLOOR. With two cut-out footprints on either side of it, and two bars to hold onto.
Okay, maybe ITALIAN WOMEN know what this is. But I’ve never seen anything like it, and I have NO IDEA what you’re supposed to do there. Obviously you put your feet on the cutouts. And clearly you’re supposed to hold onto the bars.
And then do what? Squat?
I DO NOT SQUAT.
Oh my God, what is WRONG with this country?
Cal says he knows of another restaurant we can go that isn’t far from here, and that he swears will actually have a toilet in the ladies’ room. I’m so traumatized, I’m actually letting him drive me there. A HOLE. A HOLE. What does Amici Amore even MEAN, anyway? BIG HOLE HERE?
Oh. Cal says it means Love Friends (amici= friends, amore = love).
Love Your Friends. Ha! Fuck Your Friends is more like it. By telling them to go there. TO SEE THE HOLE.
Where is he TAKING me, anyway? I told Cal we better not go too far from the consulate, since I’m SURE they won’t actually be taking a three-hour lunch. I mean, they’re AMERICAN, for crying out loud. That sign was probably just a scam to throw off the people with dumb, petty problems like lost passports or whatever. It won’t daunt ME. I’m in this for the long haul. I don’t care how long it takes. I’m going to sit there until I get—
Oooooh, what a beautiful building!
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Hotel Eden
Sesto piano, la nostra terrazza ristorante da dove si puo ammirare uno dei piu bei panorami sulla Citta Eterna.
Gli altri ce la invidiano, noi ve la offriamo. Oltre all'incantevole panorama, "La Terrazza dell'Eden" e da segnalare per i prestigiosi riconoscimenti tra cui uno Stella Michelin.
Hotel Eden
The Sixth Floor of Rome:
Our Restaurant which will delight you with the best Mediterranean cuisine accompanied by the unrivalled view over the Seven Hills of Rome.
“La Terrazza dell’Eden" is one of the most prestigious gourmet Restaurant in Rome and is proud to be awarded with one Michelin Star.
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Degustazione
Carpaccio scottato di branzino e capesante con olio extra vergine al basilico
Mezzi rigatoni grezzi all'aragosta con crema di zucca
Ravioli di barbabietola con polenta e taleggio
Coda di rospo al forno con speck e lenticchie
Medaglioni di vitello in crosta di pecorino senese con zucchine croccanti
Crostata aromatizzata con mele e mandorle, semifreddo alle nocciole e Ferrari Maximum Demi-sec
Caffe
Delizie friabili
Gourmet Menu
Warm sea-bass and scallops carpaccio, extra virgin olive oil flavoured with basil
Rigatoni with lobster and pumpkin cream
Beetroot Ravioli filled with polenta and taleggio cheese
Oven-baked monkfish with smoked ham and lentils
Veal medallions in a Pecorino cheese crust, crispy courgettes and marjoram
Apples and almonds on pastry, hazelnuts semifreddo and Ferrari Maximum Demi-sec sauce
Coffee
Petits fours
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PDA of Cal Langdon
PDA of Cal Langdon
Now this is more like it. Sunshine. A nice prosecco. Panoramic views of the entire city. La Terrazza Dell- Eden at the Hotel Eden never fails in a pinch. Since 1889, it’s been pampering guests, battle-worn from Roman sightseeing and psychically scarred by the traffic. This is where we ought to have come from the start.
Let that be a lesson to us all: Never let an artist choose the restaurant.