For a few weeks I had an appointment on Wednesdays at 3pm. It was suggested that, while I shouldn’t eat a big lunch beforehand, I could have a light snack that didn’t interfere with having my shoulder manipulated. If I’d been told to eat nothing, it would have been easier: an adjustment to breakfast maybe, an ice-cream or bag of chips after, and thoughts of dinner. But “anything that might interfere with my shoulder” was a question as much as a suggestion. What wouldn’t interfere with my shoulder? Crackers and cheese, yoghurt, ice-cream, banana, a triangle sandwich or a biscuit with a jam filling from the nearest bar?
One of the many benefits of having a granny who ran a pub was knowing from a young age what a wonderful place a long bar can be. And not just in a pub. It could be at a swimming pool canteen or cafe, or a bar in the Italian sense – a long counter where you have something quick to eat or drink, be alone while in company, have things going on behind the bar to watch and a person to talk to. Or not. Anyway, it was the third or fourth week when I stood at the counter in Bar Paradiso, having a cappuccino and a slice of plain cake. It was perfect, didn’t interfere with my shoulder, and my stomach didn’t rumble. I went back the following week, which was my last appointment. But paradise and cake were by now for ever linked, so when I read about torta del paradiso, which has nothing to do with a bar in Rome (it’s typical of Pavia in Lombardia), I decided to make it.
