Off the beaten path in a small Eastern European village we found a restaurant. Several people were enjoying lunch: A couple sat drinking beer, another woman sitting by the window breastfed her baby while her little boy ate an ice cream, and an older man sat alone sipping soup. At the bar two men ate what looked like an omelet with artichokes… but I could be wrong.
The waiter, who was the owner and the cook, brought us the menu.
One word jumped out with a familiar hello… Dessert.
French Husband noticed the word: Marmalade. Though he prefers chocolate.
On the back of the menu we both saw the word Pizza. Pizza in small town in eastern Europe.
I held up two fingers and pointed to the word: Pizza. The waiter, owner, cook, smiled and nodded.
Pizza and Dessert. Life is good when food sings melodies of familiar notes. My taste buds imagined Cheese, tomato sauce and maybe some red peppers since they seem to be the food of the country. We were happy campers in a land were we knew not the language, but felt at home in the little restaurant.
The flatware was brought out on a plate, we noticed this throughout Prague, Budapest and know in the little town somewhere on the road in Hungry; after you ordered from the menu the flatware is brought out laced on a plate with napkins.
The couple who shared a beer, nodded at us before they left. We smiled at them, and nodded back a "Goodbye." They nodded again, as if to say, "Enjoy your day." Language is universal when one smiles, nods and speak with the eyes.
I leaned over to French Husband, he lifted my hand and kissed it.
We have spent many days together, often with few words, Willow does most the talking. Yet it hasn't felt silent, it seems we have spent hours talking a language that most couples know by heart.
French Husband asked, "Are you sure the pizza will be without meat?"
I shrugged, I don't know.
He flagged the waiter, owner, cook and pointed to the beer that our neighbor's left empty and then signaled for one. The waiter, owner, cook looked at me and I think he asked if I wanted one too.
I shook my head no.
One by one the others left, each nodded goodbye, they seemed like people I have known all my life… we are all the same: Daughter, sister, girlfriend, wife, mother, creating projects, dreaming, feeding the little ones, wondering what dress to wear, worried about our weight, nodding politely to people who are new in town.
It felt like home in the restaurant… even if I couldn't pronounce its name.
The waiter, owner, cook brought out our pizza: Fresh corn, green beans,
carrots, potatoes, tomatoes, diced in perfect cubes lightly covered
with cheese.
Heaven on earth, or at least somewhere in Eastern Europe.
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