Buttermilk Biscuits, Minestra, and Other
I devoured it.
Cheddar. Frittata. Buttermilk biscuit.
"No. Just fastening this cushion." I stood up and pushed the chair back under the table.
Roberto's mother lifted the lid from the pot she was carrying. "I made minestra."
"Oh, wow. It looks SO GOOD. It smells WONDERFUL." I said.
It looked so familiar. It smelled so familiar.
"What's in it?" I asked.
"Escarole, cabbage, cannelini beans, potato...I had Gino bring home a piece of prosciutto." She said.
It was still warm. I inhaled deeply. I couldn't wait to dig in.
Moments later, alone in the kitchen, I dug in.
"I bought these from Tim's father." Roberto handed me a bag of pecans.
The old man's red truck had been parked out front the day before.
"I saw his truck. The back was filled with sacks of potatoes, greens, a cooler..." I said, taking the bag of pecans.
"$10 a bag. I bought three bags. One for my parents. One for my aunt." He said.
"Out of the shell. That's a bargain." I said.
"I thought the green tomatoes came from Tim's father too." I said.
"No, they're from my mother." Roberto said.
"Where did they come from?" I asked.
"Sebastian, I think." He said.
"Oh. Should we make fried green tomatoes?" I asked.