We look forward to seeing you on your next visit to the library. Find a location near you.

A Thousand Days in Venice: An Unexpected Romance
(eBook)

Book Cover
Average Rating
5 star
 
(1)
4 star
 
(0)
3 star
 
(0)
2 star
 
(0)
1 star
 
(0)
Contributors:
Published:
[United States] : Algonquin Books, 2013.
Content Description:
1 online resource (288 pages)
Status:
Description

Fernando first sees Marlena across the Piazza San Marco and falls in love from afar. When he sees her again in a Venice café a year later, he knows it is fate. He knows little English; she, a divorced American chef traveling through Italy, speaks only food-based Italian. Marlena thought she was done with romantic love, incapable of intimacy. Yet within months of their first meeting, she has quit her job, sold her house in St. Louis, kissed her two grown sons good-bye, and moved to Venice to marry "the stranger," as she calls Fernando. This deliciously satisfying memoir is filled with the foods and flavors of Italy and peppered with culinary observations and recipes. But the main course here is an enchanting true story about a woman who falls in love with both a man and a city, and finally finds the home she didn't even know she was missing. An American chef and food and wine journalist, Marlena de Blasi has written five memoirs, a novel, and two books about the regional foods of Italy. She lives with her husband in the Umbrian hilltown of Orvieto. Her work has been translated into twenty-six languages. Signora, the Telephone Is for You The small room is filled with German tourists, a few English, and a table or two of locals. It's November 6, 1993, and I arrived in Venice that morning, two friends in tow. We speak quietly together, sipping Amarone. Time passes and the room empties, but I notice that one table, the one farthest away from us, remains occupied. I feel the gentle, noninvasive stare of one of the four men who sit there. I turn my shoulders in, toward my wine, never really looking at the man. Soon the gentlemen go off, and we three are alone in the place. A few minutes pass before a waiter comes by to say there is a telephone call for me. We have yet to announce our arrival to friends, and even if someone knew we were in Venice, they couldn't possibly know we were lunching at Vino Vino. I tell the waiter he's mistaken. "No, signora. Il telefono F per Lei," he insists. "Pronto," I say into the old, orange wall telephone that smells of smoke and men's cologne. "Pronto. Is it possible for you to meet me tomorrow at the same time? It's very important for me," says a deep, deliberate, Italian voice I'd never heard before. In the short silence that follows it somehow clicks that he is one of the men who'd left the restaurant just moments before. Though I've understood fairly well what he has said, I can't respond in Italian. I mumble some linguistic fusion like, "No, grazie. I don't even know who you are," thinking that I really like his voice. The next day we decide to return to Vino Vino because of its convenience to our hotel. I don't think about the man with the beautiful voice. But he's there, and this time he's without his colleagues and looking more than a little like Peter Sellers. We smile. I go off to sit with my friends, and he, seeming not quite to know how to approach us, turns and goes out the door. A few beats pass before the same waiter, now feeling a part of something quite grand, comes to me, eyes direct: "Signora, il telefono F per Lei." There ensues a repeat of yesterday's scene. I go to the phone, and the beautiful voice speaks in very studied English, perhaps thinking it was his language I hadn't understood the day before: "Is it possible for you to meet me tomorrow, alone?" "I don't think so," I fumble, "I think I'm going to Naples." "Oh," is all the beautiful voice can say. "I'm sorry," I say and hang up the phone. We don't go to Naples the next day or the day after, but we do go to the same place for lunch, and Peter Sellers is always there. We never speak a word face to face. He always telephones. And I always tell him I can't meet him. On the fifth day--a Friday--our last full day in Venice, my friends and I spend the morning at Florian mapping the rest...

Also in This Series
More Like This
Other Editions and Formats
More Copies In LINK+
Loading LINK+ Copies...
More Details
Format:
eBook
Language:
English
ISBN:
9781616202750, 1616202750

Notes

Restrictions on Access
Instant title available through hoopla.
Description
Fernando first sees Marlena across the Piazza San Marco and falls in love from afar. When he sees her again in a Venice café a year later, he knows it is fate. He knows little English; she, a divorced American chef traveling through Italy, speaks only food-based Italian. Marlena thought she was done with romantic love, incapable of intimacy. Yet within months of their first meeting, she has quit her job, sold her house in St. Louis, kissed her two grown sons good-bye, and moved to Venice to marry "the stranger," as she calls Fernando. This deliciously satisfying memoir is filled with the foods and flavors of Italy and peppered with culinary observations and recipes. But the main course here is an enchanting true story about a woman who falls in love with both a man and a city, and finally finds the home she didn't even know she was missing. An American chef and food and wine journalist, Marlena de Blasi has written five memoirs, a novel, and two books about the regional foods of Italy. She lives with her husband in the Umbrian hilltown of Orvieto. Her work has been translated into twenty-six languages. Signora, the Telephone Is for You The small room is filled with German tourists, a few English, and a table or two of locals. It's November 6, 1993, and I arrived in Venice that morning, two friends in tow. We speak quietly together, sipping Amarone. Time passes and the room empties, but I notice that one table, the one farthest away from us, remains occupied. I feel the gentle, noninvasive stare of one of the four men who sit there. I turn my shoulders in, toward my wine, never really looking at the man. Soon the gentlemen go off, and we three are alone in the place. A few minutes pass before a waiter comes by to say there is a telephone call for me. We have yet to announce our arrival to friends, and even if someone knew we were in Venice, they couldn't possibly know we were lunching at Vino Vino. I tell the waiter he's mistaken. "No, signora. Il telefono F per Lei," he insists. "Pronto," I say into the old, orange wall telephone that smells of smoke and men's cologne. "Pronto. Is it possible for you to meet me tomorrow at the same time? It's very important for me," says a deep, deliberate, Italian voice I'd never heard before. In the short silence that follows it somehow clicks that he is one of the men who'd left the restaurant just moments before. Though I've understood fairly well what he has said, I can't respond in Italian. I mumble some linguistic fusion like, "No, grazie. I don't even know who you are," thinking that I really like his voice. The next day we decide to return to Vino Vino because of its convenience to our hotel. I don't think about the man with the beautiful voice. But he's there, and this time he's without his colleagues and looking more than a little like Peter Sellers. We smile. I go off to sit with my friends, and he, seeming not quite to know how to approach us, turns and goes out the door. A few beats pass before the same waiter, now feeling a part of something quite grand, comes to me, eyes direct: "Signora, il telefono F per Lei." There ensues a repeat of yesterday's scene. I go to the phone, and the beautiful voice speaks in very studied English, perhaps thinking it was his language I hadn't understood the day before: "Is it possible for you to meet me tomorrow, alone?" "I don't think so," I fumble, "I think I'm going to Naples." "Oh," is all the beautiful voice can say. "I'm sorry," I say and hang up the phone. We don't go to Naples the next day or the day after, but we do go to the same place for lunch, and Peter Sellers is always there. We never speak a word face to face. He always telephones. And I always tell him I can't meet him. On the fifth day--a Friday--our last full day in Venice, my friends and I spend the morning at Florian mapping the rest...
System Details
Mode of access: World Wide Web.
Reviews from GoodReads
Loading GoodReads Reviews.
Citations
APA Citation (style guide)

De Blasi, M. (2013). A Thousand Days in Venice: An Unexpected Romance. [United States], Algonquin Books.

Chicago / Turabian - Author Date Citation (style guide)

De Blasi, Marlena. 2013. A Thousand Days in Venice: An Unexpected Romance. [United States], Algonquin Books.

Chicago / Turabian - Humanities Citation (style guide)

De Blasi, Marlena, A Thousand Days in Venice: An Unexpected Romance. [United States], Algonquin Books, 2013.

MLA Citation (style guide)

De Blasi, Marlena. A Thousand Days in Venice: An Unexpected Romance. [United States], Algonquin Books, 2013.

Note! Citation formats are based on standards as of July 2022. Citations contain only title, author, edition, publisher, and year published. Citations should be used as a guideline and should be double checked for accuracy.
Staff View
Grouped Work ID:
3ba12c27-dea3-417d-573b-5b096eb88a6d
Go To GroupedWork

Hoopla Extract Information

Extract Information was matched by id in access url instead of record id.
hooplaId15956897
titleA Thousand Days in Venice
kindEBOOK
price2.99
active1
pa0
profanity0
children0
demo0
rating
abridged0
dateLastUpdatedJun 07, 2023 12:08:10 AM

Record Information

Last File Modification TimeNov 23, 2023 05:34:05 AM
Last Grouped Work Modification TimeFeb 23, 2024 02:31:43 AM

MARC Record

LEADER05338nam a22003975a 4500
001MWT15983808
003MWT
00520231028013225.1
006m     o  d        
007cr cn|||||||||
008231028s2013    xxu    eo     000 0 eng d
020 |a 9781616202750|q (electronic bk.)
020 |a 1616202750|q (electronic bk.)
02842|a MWT15983808
029 |a https://d2snwnmzyr8jue.cloudfront.net/hbg_9781616202750_180.jpeg
037 |a 15983808|b Midwest Tape, LLC|n http://www.midwesttapes.com
040 |a Midwest|e rda
099 |a eBook hoopla
1001 |a De Blasi, Marlena,|e author.
24512|a A Thousand Days in Venice :|b An Unexpected Romance|h [electronic resource] /|c Marlena De Blasi.
264 1|a [United States] :|b Algonquin Books,|c 2013.
264 2|b Made available through hoopla
300 |a 1 online resource (288 pages)
336 |a text|b txt|2 rdacontent
337 |a computer|b c|2 rdamedia
338 |a online resource|b cr|2 rdacarrier
347 |a text file|2 rda
506 |a Instant title available through hoopla.
520 |a Fernando first sees Marlena across the Piazza San Marco and falls in love from afar. When he sees her again in a Venice café a year later, he knows it is fate. He knows little English; she, a divorced American chef traveling through Italy, speaks only food-based Italian. Marlena thought she was done with romantic love, incapable of intimacy. Yet within months of their first meeting, she has quit her job, sold her house in St. Louis, kissed her two grown sons good-bye, and moved to Venice to marry "the stranger," as she calls Fernando. This deliciously satisfying memoir is filled with the foods and flavors of Italy and peppered with culinary observations and recipes. But the main course here is an enchanting true story about a woman who falls in love with both a man and a city, and finally finds the home she didn't even know she was missing. An American chef and food and wine journalist, Marlena de Blasi has written five memoirs, a novel, and two books about the regional foods of Italy. She lives with her husband in the Umbrian hilltown of Orvieto. Her work has been translated into twenty-six languages. Signora, the Telephone Is for You The small room is filled with German tourists, a few English, and a table or two of locals. It's November 6, 1993, and I arrived in Venice that morning, two friends in tow. We speak quietly together, sipping Amarone. Time passes and the room empties, but I notice that one table, the one farthest away from us, remains occupied. I feel the gentle, noninvasive stare of one of the four men who sit there. I turn my shoulders in, toward my wine, never really looking at the man. Soon the gentlemen go off, and we three are alone in the place. A few minutes pass before a waiter comes by to say there is a telephone call for me. We have yet to announce our arrival to friends, and even if someone knew we were in Venice, they couldn't possibly know we were lunching at Vino Vino. I tell the waiter he's mistaken. "No, signora. Il telefono F per Lei," he insists. "Pronto," I say into the old, orange wall telephone that smells of smoke and men's cologne. "Pronto. Is it possible for you to meet me tomorrow at the same time? It's very important for me," says a deep, deliberate, Italian voice I'd never heard before. In the short silence that follows it somehow clicks that he is one of the men who'd left the restaurant just moments before. Though I've understood fairly well what he has said, I can't respond in Italian. I mumble some linguistic fusion like, "No, grazie. I don't even know who you are," thinking that I really like his voice. The next day we decide to return to Vino Vino because of its convenience to our hotel. I don't think about the man with the beautiful voice. But he's there, and this time he's without his colleagues and looking more than a little like Peter Sellers. We smile. I go off to sit with my friends, and he, seeming not quite to know how to approach us, turns and goes out the door. A few beats pass before the same waiter, now feeling a part of something quite grand, comes to me, eyes direct: "Signora, il telefono F per Lei." There ensues a repeat of yesterday's scene. I go to the phone, and the beautiful voice speaks in very studied English, perhaps thinking it was his language I hadn't understood the day before: "Is it possible for you to meet me tomorrow, alone?" "I don't think so," I fumble, "I think I'm going to Naples." "Oh," is all the beautiful voice can say. "I'm sorry," I say and hang up the phone. We don't go to Naples the next day or the day after, but we do go to the same place for lunch, and Peter Sellers is always there. We never speak a word face to face. He always telephones. And I always tell him I can't meet him. On the fifth day--a Friday--our last full day in Venice, my friends and I spend the morning at Florian mapping the rest...
538 |a Mode of access: World Wide Web.
650 0|a Autobiography.
650 0|a Electronic books.
651 7|a Italy.
7102 |a hoopla digital.
85640|u https://www.hoopladigital.com/title/15956897?utm_source=MARC&Lid=hh4435|z Instantly available on hoopla.
85642|z Cover image|u https://d2snwnmzyr8jue.cloudfront.net/hbg_9781616202750_180.jpeg