Delighted to be Told I Was Wrong

He corrected everything I ordered. Thank goodness. Having successfully navigated the flight to Milan via Detroit and Amsterdam, and benefiting from the kindness of strangers (one who helped us find the train station below the airport, another who alerted us at Saronno that we were waiting at the wrong track platform, and James and Kim, relocating from London to San Francisco to help with Barclays absorption of Lehman Brothers, whose moral support and diligent navigation got us to the dock and onto the water) we arrived without incident in Bellagio. Three planes, two trains, one hydrofoil, and about a mile walk later, we found our hotel. Amazing. And still on our feet after 29 hours of transit.

Checking in, settling in, and strolling around we paused on the patio to survey the panorama: sloping village in the foreground, the lake stretching out before us, met on the far shore by yet another village creeping up the mountain on the horizon. We thought to sample the local fare, ordered, but were dissuaded. "No, not that at this time of day. Try this."

It was to become a familiar response. Later, after a shower and a fresh change of clothes, we descended to the dining room for dinner. Our waiter -- the same culinary counselor from the afternoon -- corrected every single order I placed. Without exception. He allowed Lori the 2nd course we had both initially selected -- a fish with which we were unfamiliar -- but he redirected me to the grilled sardines. That way, he seemed to suggest, we could share. Later, after the minted eggplant appetizer accompanied by fresh mozzarella so fresh it virtually oozed its way onto the fork, and the 1st course risotto with perch (not to be confused with the risotto with the catch of the day in which I was initially interested) and after we had just stepped across the threshold of heaven with the main course, Christian -- the waiter, who we ultimately discerned to be the son of the owner -- went on, with a proud smile, to confess, "I am your fisherman." No wonder he knew what he was talking about.

I am not sure if it represents a weak ego or a strong one, but pushing back from the dinner table, exhausted and absolutely satisfied, I have never been so glad to be comfortable with correction. I think tonight we will simply arrive for our reservations with one question: "Christian, what shall we have tonight?"

Molto bene!