When Raffaele said that his mother was the best cook, he absolutely meant it. She made him a late lunch, consisting of Schlutzkrapfen, a typical local dish that was a type of ravioli stuffed with spinach and ricotta, with melted butter generously poured over it and parmesan cheese sprinkled on top. This was one of the main reasons he chose to come home nearly every weekend. He kissed his mother on the cheek and sat down to eat what was usually considered enough for three people. After today’s workout, he deserved it, he thought.
“Any plans for tonight?”, his mother asked innocently, but the gleam in her eyes gave her away.
“No, mum,” he groaned, wiping up the last bit of butter and cheese with some bread. “I don’t want to pressure her, she needs time to think about this.”
“Did you at le
