Ohanami
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Ohanami
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22. December 1902
1902, when Constantinople was still Orient.
In the covered market
the merchant asks the traveler,
whether she likes spices.
She smells into the colorful bazaar,
a surge of everything she likes and dislikes,
foreign and unapproachable.
The cinnamon, she knows yes,
but the red?
"Saffron," yes, she takes something there.
"Ah and a lemon",
for refreshment, of course.
Deeper the traveler goes in,
Kapalı Çarşı is the name of the market,
burned down, they say.
She can still smell the smoking wood,
the ashes, the wind that faintly reaches her.
Or is it the incense that penetrates to her from afar?
A church, here in the Orient?
As a Catholic, she finds it nice.
But then she sees the mountains,
piled up in front of her,
2 Piaster the gram.
Like rock candy it looks,
she thinks.
"There I like to take something",
for contemplation, of course.
She wanders around,
the bag is full,
her head is pounding,
the smell is too strong.
In the evening, finally, she lies down in bed,
lets itself a bath,
respectively,
well,
the bellboy was so nice.
She feels strange,
a little cold.
She closes her eyes
and she remembers,
it christmas already at home!
And at home,
in the harsh Munich air,
there are Kipfeln with
beautiful vanilla scent.
She wishes
she would take them with her,
to the memory, of course.
In the covered market
the merchant asks the traveler,
whether she likes spices.
She smells into the colorful bazaar,
a surge of everything she likes and dislikes,
foreign and unapproachable.
The cinnamon, she knows yes,
but the red?
"Saffron," yes, she takes something there.
"Ah and a lemon",
for refreshment, of course.
Deeper the traveler goes in,
Kapalı Çarşı is the name of the market,
burned down, they say.
She can still smell the smoking wood,
the ashes, the wind that faintly reaches her.
Or is it the incense that penetrates to her from afar?
A church, here in the Orient?
As a Catholic, she finds it nice.
But then she sees the mountains,
piled up in front of her,
2 Piaster the gram.
Like rock candy it looks,
she thinks.
"There I like to take something",
for contemplation, of course.
She wanders around,
the bag is full,
her head is pounding,
the smell is too strong.
In the evening, finally, she lies down in bed,
lets itself a bath,
respectively,
well,
the bellboy was so nice.
She feels strange,
a little cold.
She closes her eyes
and she remembers,
it christmas already at home!
And at home,
in the harsh Munich air,
there are Kipfeln with
beautiful vanilla scent.
She wishes
she would take them with her,
to the memory, of course.
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Delizie al Limone
Alessandra walks through the alleys of the small Sicilian town of Taormina. It's the first vacation alone for the 30-year-old; she and her longtime boyfriend broke up in the winter. She has taken ten long days off from her boring office job in Milan to spend them here. It's early April and early afternoon, the sun is high, it's pleasantly warm and Alessandra feels wonderfully relaxed in her white linen dress, her dark blonde hair under her straw hat blowing in the light breeze. She has been here for a few days and is glad that the crowds of tourists that usually populate the city have stayed in the lower streets. Alessandra is just noticing her stomach growling when a wonderful scent hits her nose: lemon and vanilla, succulent dough with a little powdered sugar on top. She turns around and sees a small bakery. "Pasticceria da Giovanni" is written in squiggly red letters on a tiled sign above the entrance. Alessandra can't help herself, the wonderful smell draws her in, she enters and orders her two of those little spherical tarts right away, they are called "Delizie al Limone".
The bakery has a garden where all kinds of flowers bloom, the view goes out to the blue sea and to the small offshore island with a villa made of natural stones. She takes the first bite of the tartlet. The taste is wonderfully lemony, it is not only the juice in the dough but also the peel, at the same time the tart is soft and gentle, the sponge cake dough wraps the lemon like a blanket. Alessandra smiles and takes a second slice. What a surprise: inside the tartlet is a cream filling that tastes strongly of vanilla. It draws in the warm air. The heavy scent of the white flowering jasmine bush, next to which she is sitting, wafts over to her and mingles with the scent of the tartlets. At the end of the small garden is a blossoming orange tree. Below her, the first bathers venture into the still cold Mediterranean Sea.
In the evening, Alessandra has a date with the vacationer in the neighboring apartment, Marco, an investment banker from Turin. They go out to eat at a fine fish restaurant, but Alessandra can't help but think of the bakery with the lemon tarts the whole time. So after the last glass of Grillo, she convinces Marco to walk up the steep alleys again, maybe the bakery is still open? And yes, Giovanni himself, an old, white-haired nonno, is still smiling behind the counter, in front of him a wide variety of tarts, cakes and pies. The bakery smells different now than it did this afternoon: Giovanni must have baked fresh, because there is an intense smell of vanilla and cake batter. Alessandra also finds this smell simply wonderful, so she orders two vanilla tarts and sits down in the garden with Marco. The sun has already set and the first stars appear in the sky. Again the jasmine wafts over, this time stronger, in the night it smells stronger. And with vanilla, creamy and powder-sugar lips, Alessandra and Marco kiss for the first time.
A week later, Alessandra is back in her small and overpriced two-room apartment in Milan and can't forget the cupcakes or Marco. She searches all over Milan for a bakery that bakes these cupcakes, but none taste like they do at da Giovanni's. She calls Marco, they meet again, they become a couple. In the fall they go to Sicily again, eat the tarts, look at the sea, are in love. The little pastry shop in Via Silipigni becomes their place, their living room. Two days before their departure, Giovanni dies unexpectedly of a heart attack. He has no heirs, no children. What is to become of the pasticceria? After a brief reflection, Alessandra and Marco are clear: they will buy the bakery.
The next spring, Alessandra and Marco are behind the counter in the small pastry shop, it is still called "Pastecceria da Giovanni". Again the scent of lemons, vanilla and jasmine wafts through the alleys of Taormina and a young woman in a white linen dress enters the store: "What smells so wonderful here?" she asks. Alessandra smiles, "It's the Delizie al Limone".
The bakery has a garden where all kinds of flowers bloom, the view goes out to the blue sea and to the small offshore island with a villa made of natural stones. She takes the first bite of the tartlet. The taste is wonderfully lemony, it is not only the juice in the dough but also the peel, at the same time the tart is soft and gentle, the sponge cake dough wraps the lemon like a blanket. Alessandra smiles and takes a second slice. What a surprise: inside the tartlet is a cream filling that tastes strongly of vanilla. It draws in the warm air. The heavy scent of the white flowering jasmine bush, next to which she is sitting, wafts over to her and mingles with the scent of the tartlets. At the end of the small garden is a blossoming orange tree. Below her, the first bathers venture into the still cold Mediterranean Sea.
In the evening, Alessandra has a date with the vacationer in the neighboring apartment, Marco, an investment banker from Turin. They go out to eat at a fine fish restaurant, but Alessandra can't help but think of the bakery with the lemon tarts the whole time. So after the last glass of Grillo, she convinces Marco to walk up the steep alleys again, maybe the bakery is still open? And yes, Giovanni himself, an old, white-haired nonno, is still smiling behind the counter, in front of him a wide variety of tarts, cakes and pies. The bakery smells different now than it did this afternoon: Giovanni must have baked fresh, because there is an intense smell of vanilla and cake batter. Alessandra also finds this smell simply wonderful, so she orders two vanilla tarts and sits down in the garden with Marco. The sun has already set and the first stars appear in the sky. Again the jasmine wafts over, this time stronger, in the night it smells stronger. And with vanilla, creamy and powder-sugar lips, Alessandra and Marco kiss for the first time.
A week later, Alessandra is back in her small and overpriced two-room apartment in Milan and can't forget the cupcakes or Marco. She searches all over Milan for a bakery that bakes these cupcakes, but none taste like they do at da Giovanni's. She calls Marco, they meet again, they become a couple. In the fall they go to Sicily again, eat the tarts, look at the sea, are in love. The little pastry shop in Via Silipigni becomes their place, their living room. Two days before their departure, Giovanni dies unexpectedly of a heart attack. He has no heirs, no children. What is to become of the pasticceria? After a brief reflection, Alessandra and Marco are clear: they will buy the bakery.
The next spring, Alessandra and Marco are behind the counter in the small pastry shop, it is still called "Pastecceria da Giovanni". Again the scent of lemons, vanilla and jasmine wafts through the alleys of Taormina and a young woman in a white linen dress enters the store: "What smells so wonderful here?" she asks. Alessandra smiles, "It's the Delizie al Limone".
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