My sense of control disappeared when I reached the aisle with the fig preserves and pistachio cream. I should have grabbed my own basket. By the time I ran into Luca rounding the corner I was cradling an armful of food like it was a lumpy baby and he let out a laugh reminiscent of a delighted five-year-old riding a merry-go-round for the very first time. He’d upgraded from basket to cart, which was now filled with cheeses, cured meats, two loaves of pane nero di Castelvetrano, and small containers of delicious things like olives and anchovies.
