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The set lunch at the Cappello Hotel where I was based did not bring me special pleasure. Day after day, the omnipresent and all-conquering pasta dominated the meals. I had eaten so much pasta now that I was afraid it was going to start coming out of my ears. I still remembered the vast menu offered at the dining hall of the San Lazzaro degli Armeni monastery, and felt a bitter regret that I had not taken advantage of the opportunity then. Obviously what was done was done, but why lie, I naturally regretted my silly refusal of the agent’s invitation: one dolma alone would have been worth it, not to mention the cold and hot appetizers, Armenian flatbread, stewed meat and herbs, and the wine cellar – what a loss! I would probably not have turned down such an opportunity if it had not been
