Coupe Plate

The gentle summer sun shone through the deep-set window on the east side of the kitchen, warming the cool stone of the floors and counters. Humming to herself, she poured a small glass of champagne and strolled leisurely out onto the terrace, or the terrazzo, as they so charmingly called it here. Her guests had already arrived and were chatting at the table, waiting for her to bring out brunch. But they seemed content for the moment, so she leaned against the stone wall of her piazza, closed her eyes, felt the Tuscan sun on her cheek, and took a long sip of champagne.

Back in the kitchen, she poured a glass for each guest and another for herself. She selected three beautiful plates and brought them out to the table. No one said anything, but it was clear that they admired her taste. She smiled. She returned to the kitchen and twirled her hair for a while, lost in thought. She absentmindedly sipped from the guests' glasses. Coming to a start, she grabbed the serving platter and brought it outside. "Here you are," she said. "I'll be back in a moment. Please, enjoy yourselves."

As she walked back into the piazza, it sounded like one of her guests said, "Mom, why are these pancakes cold?" But no, she decided, as she poured another glass, it was probably a charming Italian turn of phrase that meant something else altogether.