Culinary Compulsion: When Love Is A Sandwich

She was of such stunning beauty that even the women around her stopped to gaze, or so I am told. Sweat beads formed along her clavicle and teased their way down her thin yellow cotton dress, but I did not notice. Her windblown jet black hair refused to be held behind her ears and, I am told, slender, tan fingers insisted it do so, but I cannot confirm that either because I did not notice. Her eyes, encased by ridiculously long dark lashes held lookers captive with a warm moss green stare. But don't quote me on that please because I did not notice.

My male companion noticed, just as everyone else that walked into the tired, lonely store on a forgotten street of Florence many summers ago. It was a dusty, hot afternoon and our feet ached from hours of museum viewing and walking. We were young college graduates out experiencing the world taking a pause from enlightenment to grab a bite to eat, stumbling upon this moment I still remember vividly almost twenty years later.

The door had a bell attached to it to announce new arrivals. I remember the gruff voice of an older man, carrying a huge belly wrapped in a thin, white undershirt.

"Bienvenuti" he bellowed in Pavlovian synchrony to the bell. He must have been her father, I gather in hindsight, not because of genetic disposition, but rather in the way his body naturally turned in her direction at the arrival of newcomers, with his shoulders held high and what chest he had pushed out: a father used to worrying about a beautiful daughter, I presume.

The woman was behind the glass case, I did see that much, but whereas most people's gaze shot right through the food and to her, my eyes had found what they needed in the food. Rows upon rows of tidily wrapped surprises whose names I could not understand and whose parchment paper packages only revealed a glimpse of prosciutto, or egg, or arugula commanded my full attention.

"Beautiful girl" my companion whispered to me in stunned silence. Our relationship was such that we would openly and readily compare notes about those around us, regardless of their sex. It had become a sport of sorts, particularly on this trip through Italy, which is why my man's face smirked slightly in disappointment at my answer.

"Damn, look at those sandwiches!"

I pointed to one of the wrapped treasures and the woman's eyes brightened, she smiled and nodded ever so slightly. I didn't know what I had picked, but I knew by the sparkle in her eye and the way her body relaxed just a bit, that this was one of her favorites. My companion knew too. His shoulders slumped in resignation. I had just upped him one by connecting with this beautiful woman when he couldn't even muster a 'ciao'.

She gingerly placed my selection in a brown paper bag and handed it to me with the utmost care, as if entrusting me with a child of sorts, and then we were on our way; leaving the Italian beauty and her equally magnificent array of mysterious sandwiches. As we hit the pavement and headed towards the next church, I pulled the sandwich out form the bag and took a bite. It was sheer ecstasy in its simplicity: a wonderfully seasoned dark tuna sitting on a tidy bed of green beans marinated in olive oil and balsamic vinegar. Thick slices of ripe red tomato added the final touch and the bread had the utmost perfect crunch. I understood the twinkle in her eye: this was the perfect sandwich.

I shared my meal with my mate and he too had to conclude this was worthy of pure distraction. Till this day, I don't remember where in Florence this tiny store was, or what the beautiful woman in the sundress was called (if I ever caught her name), but I do remember the sandwich and how it tasted the instant I bit into it and how it made me feel whole and loved and nourished all in one bite. I never wanted that sandwich to end.

Years later, I still try and recreate the same bite. I season my tuna, make my green beans and connect all the dots for that incredible moment. Maybe it was the sunny Florence afternoon, or the promise of a day filled with adventure and possibility, or maybe I did notice how beautiful that woman was after all. All I know is that , as good as the sandwich may be when I make it, it never tastes quite the same.

A Ciao Bella Sandwich

2 cans albacore tuna packed in olive oil (look for Italian tuna as specialty stores)

2 tablespoons yellow onion, minced

2 tablespoons mayonnaise

1 teaspoon Dijon mustard

1 teaspoon fresh dill, chopped

1 teaspoon fresh chives, chopped

1/2 teaspoon hot sauce, preferably from Scotch Bonnet peppers (Jamaican or West Indies)

For the beans:

1/2 cup green beans, rinsed and cut into 1/2 inch pieces

4 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar