Although the table we had reserved was outside overlooking the sea, it was tucked in just enough to be protected from the breeze. A small opening in the stone wall emitted warm wafts of air pouring in from the kitchen below, serving as an inadvertent, but effective, heater. It was perfect!
As we sat down at our table, I spied the name “Brovelli” written on a piece of paper denoting our reservation and I picked it up, stating that one of us should keep it for our scrapbook. Just as I had finished speaking, a gust of wind whipped the scrap from my fingers and blew it over the ledge and into the sea. We laughed and laughed.
What followed was one of the most memorable meals of the trip. From our stony nest we gazed out upon an inky Mediterranean Sea as the sun dipped behind the ebony point in the distance; the tiny twinkles of Monterosso’s beach winked from afar.
The food was exquisite, notwithstanding the fact that one of my dishes had been forgotten, finally arriving quite late. It was no problem to me, but in apology the waiter brought us each a complimentary glass of Sciacchetra’. Sometimes it pays not to complain.