Rosemary and I walked past an adorable, old cruiser propped up against the wall next to a row of mint chip-colored bench seats with faded paint jobs, a clothesline to the left hovering over the lawn, two cream-colored, sweetheart chairs around a small table, and were warmly welcomed into Nadia and Millo’s front door.

“Ciao,” said Millo from the top of the stairs, still in his pajamas.  I didn’t think Europeans stayed in their pajamas (or maybe I was mistaken and it was leisure apparel), so it was a relief to see someone so comfortable, especially for an interview.  I felt like I was in my liberal college town on the North Coast of California.  Maybe it was the language barrier, but he also seemed relaxed about us video taping his bread-making process.  Either way, we followed him and Nadia into the kitchen where their eclectic taste was even more apparent.  Their cupboards were all in the style of rounded furniture circa 1950 with popping accents of rusted pastels all over the room, again adorable.

I videotaped, Millo kneaded the dough, Rosemary asked questions, and Nadia answered as if she was accustomed to video interviews and well versed in improvising.  She sliced courgettes in preparation for lunch as she narrated the scene.  Millo held his relevant moves as I clumsily maneuvered my tripod through their kitchen, following him around in a 2’ x 6’ space.   He set the bread outside, under the cheesecloth, and covered it with a plastic box.  We spent the afternoon touring their garden (only a 3 minute drive from the house) and eating up their hospitality and amazing food.

Millo threw together a simple sauce; homegrown tomatoes, garlic, and basil while Nadia’s courgette dish was still baking.  She rolled out some dough (egg and dairy free), for tarts filled with homemade jam.  They set out on the table an assortment of wine, water, and cordials along with olives, local oil, vinegar, a salt and herb mixture, parmesan, and a bowl of whole, fresh tomatoes and cucumbers.  Lunch was ready.

Millo served generous portions of pasta, scooping out the extra tomato, garlic, and basil bits onto the ladies’ plates.  Rosemary and I decided we weren’t exactly counting calories for the day and accepted the generous servings throughout the meal.  I’m pretty sure we each had at least four of those little tarts.  Of course justifiable because they are composed of flour, oil, vinegar, water, and jam; not bad right?

Finally, we tasted their homemade liquor of two varieties and espresso.  We were laughing and talking as I slipped into a comatose state of mind, probably a little buzzed as well, but felt completely relaxed with the people around me.
I had to snap out of it when the bread was finished and I realized I was there to do work for my video, for the Urbino Project, my summer school program. I nearly forgot.  I clumsily jumped out of my chair, grabbed my tripod, and taped the most perfect ending to my video.  I might be wrong, but I think Millo choreographed this last scene in his head beforehand.  He took the bread out, knocked on it a few times, stabbed it with a knife, closed the oven door and said, “pronto.”