It was one of those spring days in Intra by the shore of Lake Maggiore.
The day had started with little promise, and the debate in the house was whether to take overcoats or umbrellas.
But Rosa reasoned that like most spring days, the rain would give over, the sun would come out and by midday we would all be in shirt sleeves.
Now that may have seemed a bit optimistic, but it pretty much turned out as she predicted.
And by early afternoon, we had done the ferry, walked along the shoreline, explored some interesting buildings and surveyed the restaurants.
As you would expect those along the shoreline were inviting but expensive, and following a hunch, we plunged down a side street, around a corner and found one of those unassuming little places which are missed by most tourists and are frequented by locals.
That said, apart from one other customer we had the restaurant to ourselves, and you got the impression that if there was a rush of eager clients, they would arrive later, long after most of the tourists had left, looking for more exciting prospects in the nearby town of Verbania.
But that was just fine, because it meant we had the undivided attention of the owner, who pointed out the specialties of the house, while warning us about the “pig broth" which was "very hot”.
Just what we ordered I can't remember, but I am guessing it will have involved a pasta dish, some interesting plate of roasted vegetables and a selection of little fried fish.
It was one of those places which quite clearly had the stamp of the owner all over it, from the old faded photographs of local celebrities to the equally old wireless in the corner, which if turned on would I suppose have played a mix of popular music from the 1960s into the 70s.
There was no “free Wi-Fi” sign and no card terminal, for this was strictly a restaurant frozen in time, roughly between when lava lamps and flared trousers were thought the height of fashion.
And to reinforce that sense of time travel, there was the cash till, which looked to have been installed thirty years ago in an effort to go with the times.
It was a sturdy no nonsense sort of machine which offered up a paper receipt, but it still looked sleek and stylish and finished in those colours popular in the late 1970s and early 80s.
I liked it and resolved to look out for one when we got home, if for no other reason than this was the past.
It’s successors, linked to the internet, will instantly record your order, relay it to the kitchen and be ready at the end of the meal to connect with the cash terminal, and send the card payment out into the ether.
Instead, we paid for the meal in cash, having checked the handwritten bill and walked out into the bright sunlight.
Such was our meal in the restaurant, down a side street, and round a corner, in what seemed to have been sometime in 1979.
Location Intra, 2018
Pictures; Intra, 2018 from the collection of Andrew Simpson
But Rosa reasoned that like most spring days, the rain would give over, the sun would come out and by midday we would all be in shirt sleeves.
Now that may have seemed a bit optimistic, but it pretty much turned out as she predicted.
And by early afternoon, we had done the ferry, walked along the shoreline, explored some interesting buildings and surveyed the restaurants.
As you would expect those along the shoreline were inviting but expensive, and following a hunch, we plunged down a side street, around a corner and found one of those unassuming little places which are missed by most tourists and are frequented by locals.
That said, apart from one other customer we had the restaurant to ourselves, and you got the impression that if there was a rush of eager clients, they would arrive later, long after most of the tourists had left, looking for more exciting prospects in the nearby town of Verbania.
Just what we ordered I can't remember, but I am guessing it will have involved a pasta dish, some interesting plate of roasted vegetables and a selection of little fried fish.
It was one of those places which quite clearly had the stamp of the owner all over it, from the old faded photographs of local celebrities to the equally old wireless in the corner, which if turned on would I suppose have played a mix of popular music from the 1960s into the 70s.
There was no “free Wi-Fi” sign and no card terminal, for this was strictly a restaurant frozen in time, roughly between when lava lamps and flared trousers were thought the height of fashion.
It was a sturdy no nonsense sort of machine which offered up a paper receipt, but it still looked sleek and stylish and finished in those colours popular in the late 1970s and early 80s.
I liked it and resolved to look out for one when we got home, if for no other reason than this was the past.
It’s successors, linked to the internet, will instantly record your order, relay it to the kitchen and be ready at the end of the meal to connect with the cash terminal, and send the card payment out into the ether.
Instead, we paid for the meal in cash, having checked the handwritten bill and walked out into the bright sunlight.
Such was our meal in the restaurant, down a side street, and round a corner, in what seemed to have been sometime in 1979.
Location Intra, 2018
Pictures; Intra, 2018 from the collection of Andrew Simpson
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