Now we were cooking in Chef Bernini’s restaurant after shopping at the market. There were only four other people in the class, so Chef spent a lot of time with us individually. I learned how to properly handle a knife for chopping, how to use my senses of smell and taste to balance seasonings, and that I needed to use more salt overall. The kitchen was hot with the ovens on, and the work was hard—he pushed us like students rather than a leisurely cooking class, but I loved it. We rolled and pinched ravioli, created an amazing pesto sauce, and learned how to properly braise broccoli rabe to get it to the perfect texture.

By the time we sat down to eat our creations, I was starving. Ian shoveled food into his mouth and groaned. “So. Good.”

I shook my head. “This is incredible. I learned so much—I can’t wait to go home and try all these new recipes.”

“Well, I learned I’m the sloppiest cook in history. Did you see how many times I got yelled at to clean up my space?”

I giggled. “He was trying to teach you to clean as you go. But he said your pesto was impressive.”

“Not as good as yours. You were the star pupil.” His eyes shone with pride. “You have a gift, Allegra. I had no idea you were a boss behind the stove.”

I flushed with pleasure. “Thanks. I’ve always been interested, but since we came to Italy, I’ve figured out I definitely want to do more. Take some classes this year. Maybe get a part-time job in a restaurant. We have so many farm stands and organic butchers, I’d love to start prepping more food that’s healthy and simple.”

“You can even help with the food pantries,” he pointed out. “There are many poor people who get fed from a can or box because it’s cheap. But they deserve real food to eat also, especially the kids.”

I’d never thought of that. “Nonni’s church has a food pantry. Maybe I’ll look into it.”

“How’s it going with your mom?”

“Really good. For the first time, she said no to a work emergency. She even lost the client—which has never happened to her.”