Massimo

     Tonight I stumbled upon Aria, a trendy little wine bar in the West Village.  I have passed this hot spot a number of times, and it is always jam-packed with a happy, care-free, thirty-something crowd. Or so it seems, as I think I don a few more grey hairs than the clientele sitting at the bar.  They check their iPhones and straighten their Theory dresses. And I pass by longingly on my way home from work. But tonight, there were merely a few candles lit and a lovely young man in a beret at the door.  He lured my beer-drinking husband and I in for some cicchetti (Venetian for tapas) and of course, some wine.

     It seems that Sean and I have these regular New York moments wherein something memorable happens and we inevitably wish someone else could be there to experience it with us.  Nonetheless, we sat at the white-tiled bar drooling over the choices of eggplant stuffed with goat cheese or shrimp wrapped with thinly sliced salami grilled to a hopeful perfection.  That's when Massimo approached.

     "Would-eh you like-eh to start-eh with some-eh thing-eh to drink-eh?  
    
     Ahhhh. My heart always skips a beat when I discover an opportunity to chew off an Italian's ear. Sean just might be a little worse.  We hear the accent and we become leech-like, sucking every drop of informational blood from their memory. Tonight was no different.  Oh we waited, like skilled predators, playing it cool, scouring the menu, watching our prey pace the floor in anticipation of an order from his only customers.  And then...then we made our move.

 "Are you from Italy?"
"Yes-eh.  Torino."
"Ahh yes.  Oh, how beautiful it is there."
"You've-eh been?"
"No.  Next year. "

     And so it began.  Before the night was over, we learned that Massimo, having only been in New York for three months, has more passion for his homeland than perhaps an artist has for his canvas.  Though he loves New York, it is " ehhhh differen-teh" he says.  New Yorkers are "a mess and so are the Romans."  He  means this in a most loving and respectful way, as he reminded us repeatedly that he loves New York.  It's just "ehhhh differen-teh."  We learned about his long-haired twin who is an actor in Rome and his mother who was devastated when he moved her 30-year-old bambino so far away.  Massimo has traveled the world bartending in Greece, Sweden and now New York.  As for drinks?  He could only say in his broken English that in New York, bartenders pour a lot of vodka and soda, because that's what their customers seem to want. But in Italy, bartending is an art with fruit (FRU-I-teh) and passion, mixing good-tasting drinks. Like the Negroni he made for us with wine instead of gin garnished with fresh cut strawberries and thin slices of orange. Delizioso. Grazie. Molte Bene.

     He heads back to Torino in early September, and I will probably never see my kindred spirit again.

     When you punch up "Massimo" in a web dictionary, such words and phrases as Roman Princely Family, Fabius, Leone, and Maria Gabriella all pop up, among many other lyrical Italian notes of importance.  Impressive? Maybe.  But as far as I am concerned, Massimo, the Italian wine bar bartender simply means "friend."