‘I meant the wine aisle at Trader Joe’s –that,’ I say, pointing at the menu, ‘is a whole other kettle of fish. Is it even in English?’
‘Sort of,’ he says, continuing to read. ‘Lots of varietals I haven’t heard of, though.’
‘See?’
He snaps it shut and rests it on his lap. ‘I’m happy to go with the sommelier’s suggestions – you?’
‘Sure. And you should eat that before I do,’ I say, nodding at the crostini.
He picks it up and takes a huge bite. His eyes grow wide as he chews.
‘Right?’ I ask.
‘Mmm.’ He swallows, then washes it down with prosecco. ‘So, the food doesn’t suck,’ he says.
‘Not so far.’
‘And True North is really footing the bill?’ he asks.
‘That’s what they said, but even if they don’t – worth it.’
‘Worth it,’ he says at the same time, and we share a smile.
We really need to stop that.Or not, I think as his brown eyes stare into mine.
Girl, you are playing with fire.
* * *
Nick
I can’t recall the last time I had a meal this good – or a conversation.
After a stilted beginning – Delaney seemed a little in her head on the way here – we’ve fallen into the same easy simpatico that began during the trip to the Blue Grotto and gelled this afternoon while we were working.
‘Okay,’ she says, spearing seared amberjack with her fork and pointing it at me. ‘Favourite director.’
She pops the fish into her mouth, chews, then moans, and I do my best not to make the leap to other kinds of moans. To be fair, the foodismind-blowing – after a lifetime of ambivalence towards anchovies, the crostini has catapulted me into the pro-anchovy camp.
For primo we hadlinguine al limone di Capri, the same dish I had my first day on Capri. Only not the same, because – with apologies to my surly waiter friend – the waterfront restaurant is Pizza Express compared toRistorante Azzurra di Mare.
The fish with roasted eggplant and caponata is possibly the best fish I’ve ever had. Well, there were those grilled snapper skewers in Thailand – so, second-best.
And the wine! We left it to the sommelier, who was happy for us to share a glass for each course – otherwise, with five courses, we’d be staggering back to the hotel, three sheets to the wind. Actually, considering Delaney’s petite stature, make that four sheets. With the pasta, we hadGreco di Tufo– its minerality reminiscent of a Fiano – and now we’re onto a delicious medium-bodied red calledAglianico del Taburno.
‘Nick.’
‘Sorry – favourite director… right,’ I say. ‘Let me think…’
I load up my own fork and take a bite while I ponder one of the most important questions a film lover might ever be asked. Delaney keeps eating, her tilted head the only hint that she’s running an egg timer in her head.
‘Okay,’ I say after swallowing. I sit forward, lean my forearms on the table, and steeple my fingers. ‘My all-time favourite director is…’
‘Oh my god, dude. Whoever it is, they’ve already made their next movie by now.’
‘Hey, it’s not an easy call.’
She huffs out a dramatic sigh while I go back and forth between Richard Linklater and Greta Gerwig. But I can’t choose.