All I can say is, “What a wonderful family.” 

I arrived at the Campari’s around 11 am, but was more than exhausted from the jet lag to communicate my best. And, I was a bit concerned that I would never in my life be able to speak in Italian when I met the Campari’s maid, Antonietta, who smiled and spoke to me so fast that my head swirled. Francesco, the only Campari not in Milan had told me about her. Francesco lives in New York and is a talented actor and director. He is also a friend, meaning someone I can pick on with relish, and he’s got some pranks coming to him, because I found out a few days after I arrived that he had told the darling maid that I spoke Italian. That Francesco….

After a nap, some time with Federica, the young and beautiful engineering graduate student, and Francesco’s younger sister, I was able to do a bit of work. I was still in a “between-worlds” state. When traveling abroad, there are a few days right at the beginning where your consciousness has to get used to its new surroundings. It’s where your soul looks out and says hello. Like calling down into a canyon, you wait for the echo back. What will the echo sound like? What will be the tenor of my voice? What will I discover here? Who may I become?

By evening, I met my hosts and the patriarch and matriarch of the family, Marco and Anna Campari. Thankfully Marco spoke English and Anna spoke French so we chatted without any problems. This was a real blessing. My Italian was non-existent. Niente. Nunca. Nada. What’s the word again???

Their Milanese apartment was full of old world charm and everything you would need to entertain. Quiet, comfortable and situated in a round with passageways that can be closed off to keep things cozy. My first marvel though, was Anna’s kitchen. She said to me in French, “I went a bit crazy with the decorations.” I disagreed. It was beautiful!  Decorated in what I’d call more of a French style (but very well could be Italian) with blue and white tiles, a large professional stove that looks like it’s more meant for a family than a restaurant, and tons of beautiful copper hanging and sitting amongst the blue--I was in love with this kitchen!

Anna moved about the space with the help of Ciandu, a Sri Lankan man who has been a part of the Campari family now for a little while. I watched her fetch pasta and something amazingly green and in a bowl from the fridge. It was labeled by hand in Italian, but I didn’t catch it. Pesto? Maybe. We talked about my flight, my fall down the airport stairs, and her kitchen. Soon we were three hungry humans sitting around a table, and I am eating the best pesto of my life.

I had been told about this pesto, thanks to Mr. Lenny Ciotti, another amazing Italian actor I know back home in New York (and who seems to always be right about food even when we disagree, darn-it). You see this pesto is made from Ligurian basil, whose leaves are smaller, but with a more intense flavor and color. It was so good I consumed two portions of the pasta, unaware that it was a first course. How could I forget?? I had been schooled on that, too. Pasta can be served as a first course or a side dish in Italy if you are planning to have more than one course in a meal.  So by the time the main dish of pork tenderloin arrived--cooked perfectly and served with potatoes and fennel--I was already pretty full…   I ate it all anyway.  

We drank red wine with our meal, but afterwards had a sweet dessert wine that only comes out of Cinque Terre called Scíachetrà. Marco told me that there were many false ones out there, but this one was for real and it was old, sixteen years old.  It was very good. The color and flavor almost resembled Meade. It was easy to drink, and I snapped a few photos.

Marco is a businessman, an engineer by trade, and quite successful. His practical but not overly serious demeanor made me feel like I could trust him with my life savings if need be. He was the perfect compliment to Anna, an entrepreneur and jewelry designer, with absolute chic-ness mixed in with her warm Italian mama smile.

When we finished eating and were enjoying the Scíachetrà with some Italian biscuits, they set out to open the gifts I brought them. They told me many times that it was completely unnecessary, but I hoped they liked them anyway; I really wanted to do something for them, to thank them for their generosity. I brought Marco scotch and brought Anna things that were more Native American—from my culture to hers—such as sage and sweetgrass. Thankfully, they were very happy.

It’s hard to say how I felt the first night going to sleep. Here I was in a wonderful place with wonderful people, and wonderful food. And although tired, I felt like that echo just may be making its way to me, but not yet.  I didn’t know who I was in this place, but at least I was experiencing things the way I always do as a traveler. I was eating with new people, and learning more about them in their own surroundings. Now that I had shared my first meal with the Camparis, in their home with its old-world sensibilities, it all made perfect sense. They knew how to create a warm and loving place in the world and it showed.