It was Sunday night and we took an impromptu trip to the grocery store to stock up. Since we live on a street that is about as wide as a sidewalk, Manu had to drop me off in front of the apartment with the groceries, and then zip off to find a parking spot. I trudged up the insane 18th century-steep steps and walked in the door, dropping the groceries down and throwing the keys in our little blue glass bowl.
Or, at least I thought that’s what I did.
Cut to the next morning and Manu can’t find his keys. Apparently the ones I used were his! And now they were gone! They’re not in the blue dish! Why would you put them somewhere else? This was all being shouted at me much too early in the morning, I still hadn’t even processed what day it was. He stormed out and I was left to scour the apartment. Where the heck did I put them? I suddenly felt guilty. Poor Manu will come home before me tonight and be left out in the cold! Alone and hungry and keyless! I scoured and scoured but to no avail; the keys were gone, and it was all my irresponsible fault.
That night, Manu came home and I looked at him guiltily with my eyes up like a dog who knows he ate a slipper. He went to the bathroom before I could explain myself, but quickly came out and asked, “Why did you leave such a mess in there?” I was about to argue and throw a big fight when I saw a smile crack. I went to the bathroom, and in true Manu fashion, there on the toilet was a present, wrapped up in a bow.
He had the keys the whole time.
P.S. The present was a cookbook - the dishes of Puglia. And I’ll be sharing a recipe from it tomorrow. A GENIUS recipe, at that!