This is not our last Friday before we leave for Abu Dhabi, but it is the last Friday we will be able to go into the market for lasagne at Lucia’s. When we lived in Adelaide, our market day was Saturday and we went for breakfast, but during our visits home, we have a Friday ritual when we go to Lucia’s, the lads have lasagne and I have gnocchi. Youngest washes his lasagne down with a hot chocolate. It is, he says with some authority, the best in the world. Which may be the case, but it still seems an odd chaser for lasagne.
Today’s was a smaller shop than usual – all of the usual stalls, Barossa Fine Foods, Organics, Say Cheese – but less in our basket each time. A small slice of brie, but we don’t need any more sandwich cheese, apples but the pears will not ripen in time, just one loaf of bread and we won’t take one for the freezer. And then, our final and favourite two stops. Flowers. Chocolates.
It is fair to say that we went wild in Haigh’s, disguising our greed with cries of, ‘Dad loves these! These are presents for Dad!’
We left with a large foil bag for Dad and a packet of marshmallow kroquettes to be shared when we left the store. Outside the store, we stood around the trolley rearranging things and ahhing about the samples we’d finished eating, but not enjoying and I said, ‘Look! Can you see? I’m so happy I’ve started to cry.’
The lads looked up and into my eyes, and seeing my tears of chocolate began to giggle. ‘Mum!’ said one and rubbed my hand. ‘It’s true, they’re very good,’ the other said.
Of course, this being Adelaide, if you’re crying tears of chocolate which, let’s be honest are tears of lust and avarice, you’ll hear a voice beside you saying, ‘Tracy!* Is that you?’
*obviously, they’ll only say Tracy if your name actually is Tracy, or if they’ve got you confused with me which probably wouldn’t happen, because I’m sure you’re taller than me