Knock-Three-Times On the Window...

I was craving taralli. Ok, I'm lying. It was really Nutella I wanted, but you'll see why I had to change to Taralli later. Anyway...I was craving a snack a few hours ago so I walked down to the little corner market where I ran into my favorite Under the Tuscan Sun friend, an older Italian local who waves at me every day from the cash register as I ride by. He was on his bike, getting ready to carry a stack of cardboard boxes on his handlebars--I still marvel at the amount of things Italians can balance on their bicycle. Yesterday I saw a man riding with a 13" TV, a loaf of fresh bread and his Chihuaua alongside on a leash....

It was obvious that the market was closed for the night, but I asked him anyway. E' chiuso?

Instead of saying ,"Yes, I'm sorry" which would have been perfectly acceptable, he caringly asked, "What do you need?"

"Nah, don't worry," I said, ashamed to tell him that I was actually seeking a jar of Nutella to occupy my next three hours of lesson planning and blogging. He persisted so I finally said, "umm...err...vorrei taralli per favore" (I'd like Taralli please).

He instructed me to walk around the corner past the door of the market until I reach the third window on the right. " Knock three times and my sister should come to the window. Tell her whatever you need and she will get it for you." Hmm....this is new spin on window shopping.

Knock, knock, knock. In seconds the sister came rushing out of the darkness wearing a pointy paper deli cap. At first she gave me a, "who is this weird American knocking on my window" look, but then I explained in Italian that her brother had sent me and she smiled and said, "Prego " (how can I help you).


Rich, creamy, chocolaty, nutty NUTELLA. It was the only thing I could think of. I knew if I asked her for it I'd not only be known as the weird American girl knocking on the window, but the weird American girl knocking on the window at 8 o'clock on a Friday night desperate for a €3 jar of Nutella (a predominantly breakfast food).


So here I am, three hours later, crunching on Taralli, typing my last words of the night and hoping the same Nutella fairy who visited me on the train home from Carnevale slips something under my pillow! Sogni d'oro...