The magic cup, not only for coffee

White, big, smooth, perhaps somewhat irrational, but beautiful. In my recollections, at least. It’s the cup I used to drink my milk in when I was a child. There was also coffee but maybe, because of the particular period, the war had just ended, it was more like an impression of dark colouring rather than real coffee. I used to break pieces of bread into it, leave them to soak just a little and then spoon them into my mouth just before they would start to sink.

One spoonful after the other, a real mess, drops of milk running down my chin, onto the table, everywhere. But what a pleasure, what a nice morning appointment, with the radio playing, my black school uniform, the clock ticking the minutes away…

Today, maybe because of these recollections, maybe because this is the best thing one can do at the table, I still have a great big white cup that I use to eat soup in. Yes, vegetable soup, the dense one, with lots of vegetables in it, just lightly mashed so that there are still nice chunks of vegetables in it together with the very underdone pasta. Or maybe I use the cup because the tortellini soup, soup made from capon, of course, and real tortellini, the handmade ones, tiny and firm, well I’ve always had them in a cup, with a drop of red wine added to the broth.

A sip of broth, a spoonful of tortellini, another sip.

The cup for milk, the one for soup…

I think I might also have my pasta in my big white cup.