As our group stood on the crowded Spanish Steps in Rome, a stylish man approached my husband, Phil, whose travel bag dangled from his shoulder.
“You shouldn’t carry your bag like that,” he warned. “The gypsies will steal from you.”
Phil clutched his bag and turned away.
“I own a glass factory,” the man said in perfect English. “Would you and your friends like to come and see?”
Marilyn HawkesCLICK IMAGE TO VIEW
Rome’s narrow streets lead to the Spanish Steps, where tourists gather.
“No, thanks,” Phil said, sensing a scam.
“If you’re looking for a good place to eat, there’s a great restaurant not far from here,” the stranger said. “They serve a wonderful dish called Chicken in a Paper Bag.”
The man scribbled the name and directions on his business card. “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “If you don’t like your lunch, give the waiter my card and tell him to put it on my tab.”
Phil turned back to our group, incredulous at the man’s bluster.
Our friends took a taxi, but we decided to walk. Leaving the tumultuous Spanish Steps behind, we wandered through quiet, leafy streets that soon gave way to walled villas guarded by men with machine guns.
courtesy
of Marilyn HawkesCLICK IMAGE TO VIEW
The author (left), her husband and her friends dine on Chicken in a Paper Bag and other Italian delights.
When we reached the restaurant, our companions were already seated. As we sipped wine from crystal glasses, garlicky aromas wafted through the room. I opted for the recommended chicken, which was cooked and served in a brown paper bag, and came floating in a buttery sauce flecked with moist vegetables. Savoring every morsel of tender chicken, I cleaned my plate.
When the bill came, Phil asked the waiter if he knew the stranger who’d sent us.
“Are you kidding?” the waiter said. “He’s one of our best customers. He owns the finest Venetian glass factories in Italy. He definitely would’ve paid for your lunch.”
So much for trusting our instincts.
Reach the reporter at mhawkes@cox.net.
