Upon hearing ‘Adriatic Sea’, Carlo inflated with hope, only to have it quashed immediately. ‘But the catch of the day is . . .’ Felice continued, raising a dramatic finger into the air. ‘Your pasta dish cannot contain fish or crustaceans of any kind.’ Carlo’s face fell and he scowled to himself. ‘In fact, your challenge is a vegetarian one.’
A simmer of intrigue rippled through the crowd, and Alessio spotted Francesca and Maria whispering to each other.
Vegetarian. He could do vegetarian. But represent the sea?
‘You are encouraged to take a few minutes to plan your dish before you collect whatever ingredients you require to execute your entry. Supplied as standard, in keeping with the practice of previous years, you will find extra virgin olive oil, salt, pepper and eggs. We don’t want you running around with eggs!’ A gentle hum of laughter rose up from the crowd. ‘You will each be accompanied by a member of the comune council as you gather your necessary ingredients, so as to ensure no collaboration or communication with others. There is to be no consultation of books, recipes, et cetera. No phones, no technology.’
Alessio gave his councillor a nod and whispered under his breath, ‘You’re coming with me?’
‘Yes. I am.’
‘Thanks, mate.’
The four participants nodded in unison and the townsfolk cheered. The other assigned members of the council took to the stage, acknowledging their contestants.
Felice’s crackling voice broke over the noise. ‘Are we ready?’
The crowd’s cheering rose to a roar, and the epic thumping beat of a handheld drum sounded from one of the balconies of the surrounding buildings.
Alessio could see Elio growing impatient across the stage, his hands gripped in fists and his self-important frame tense.
That’s nerves, right there.
Something about seeing Elio so clearly wound up, nervous, even, bolstered Alessio’s confidence. Elio was feeling the tension, too. While Sebastiano, Carlo and Alessio all stood to lose, it was Elio – and Elio alone – who stood to lose the title. This was a position Alessio was happy not to be in.
Felice signalled and Giovanni passed him a stopwatch. ‘Un’ora! Sixty minutes. E . . . via!’
On cue, the townsfolk exploded into applause and cries and cheers of support for their respective competitors. Firecrackers popped overhead, the white smoke lacing the breeze in the piazza.
Sebastiano, Carlo and Elio burst from their stations and bolted to their restaurants, with the crowd parting to provide each a pathway. Onlookers dispensed slaps on the back and even playful head rubs as they passed.
But Alessio stood still in the midst of the chaos, prompting his councillor to check if everything was alright.
‘Bene. Bene,’ Alessio assured him with a placating hand. ‘I just need to think.’
The councillor nodded and took a respectful step back, giving Alessio some breathing room. ‘But of course!’
This was the moment to put into practice the anti-anxiety technique Patrick had taught him. Alessio depended on it in moments of great stress and worry, when those self-defeating words failure and pressure threatened to suffocate him from the inside out.
Alessio closed his eyes and pictured the waters of the Adriatic Sea. He drew in a long, full breath and summoned to mind Patrick’s guiding voice.
‘Take yourself out of your body. Someplace else. Completely.’
Alessio’s memory pulled him back to his first night in Impastino, back to that dark walk through the town by moonlight. The heavy heat on his lids drawing his eyes closed; his chest stiff with the unknown. But he had felt it: the relief of the breeze off the sea. The way it had refreshed him that night as he stood overlooking the path down to the shore.
‘Now, think about your senses. Try to drop your attention into your body. Leave the outside world. Only you exist right now.’
The slippery caress of the wind past his cheeks, against that aquiline nose of his. Up through his hair. Slippery.
Slippery . . .?
The mouth feel returned. The slippery silkiness of Francesca’s fazzoletti pasta, rolled delicately fine, swimming in a salty broth. Swimming . . . the sea . . .
Then, his senses took over.
Green. Sea foam. Bubbling. Pebbles, rocks on the shore. The sand.
His eyes opened with bright determination.
