During the first years of the university I used to frequent a pub in Siena, where Saturday after Saturday I started to feel welcome and at home. The tables bore carved in the wood the marks of the endless chats with my friend Laura, conspiratorial words whispered in a low voice in front of a bowl of chips with ketchup, mayonnaise and spicy tomato sauce. That’s where I drank my first beer, at the ripe age of 22 years old… you know, I’m a soft drink girl!
Every time we indulged in the entranced reading of the menu as if it were a Michelin starred restaurant, evaluating with interest pairings and news: tacos, flat bread with Nutella, bruschetta, wraps… The strong point of the pub were the panini, though, hot and cold, 18 for each category. When I was unsure about what to order, I went on with my favourite one: a hot 16 and a lager beer, a small one or I won’t be able to drink it all!
The 16 was the panino I used to choose when I wanted to be reassured, when I could not lose myself in the contemplation of the menu because I was telling Laura word-for-word the developments of one of the many unrequited loves, which needed to be analysed in great detail from every point of view.