There are varying levels of being sure.  And each person has a different level of baseline acceptance before they are sure of something.  This runs through everything and I’m beginning to have a better understanding of the parameters each character in the scene has around being sure.  Is this greek yogurt 9% fat or 2% fat, because whatever we got last time was no bueno.  Are we sure we’re walking across the tarmac to the right airplane?  The name on the side doesn’t match our tickets.  Are you sure that is the turn for the rental car return, it looks like a sidewalk with a bunch of people walking – ok, this one was really the case where I just didn’t see the sign.  Time and time again, invitations to be wrong, to trust, and sometimes if luck is on your side to be right.

There is an unfamiliar yet more comfortable area to operate: be unsure.  This was never so true as a delicious meal on the road between Naples and Bari, Italy. It’s about a 3+ hour drive and so our plan for the next meal was to just find something along the way.  Our cruise director found a great place, a cave-turned restaurant that happened to specialize in steaks, a regular appearance at our dinner table back home, but was so far elusive.  We knew it was a long shot.  Walking in I was expressing with my face the awe of the interior and with my best wincing face said “cinque ?” holding up my hand with 5 fingers out.  In the most polite non-english way he shook his head and said sorry – he couldn’t fit us in, and next time suggested reservations, offered me a hearty farewell handshake as he saw the rest of my family filter through the doorway behind me.

As we stood out front of the restaurant looking around not seeing any foot traffic, it was back to Google Maps for our next meal.  Looking left and right, I mumbled “maybe we should ask this guy for any recommendations?” … as if he was reading my thought bubble he walked out the front door with pen and paper and scribbled Di’ Pietro and pointed up the hill.

A winding drive up and over the next hill we had questions from the back seat “Are you sure they are open?  Do they have steak? Are we sure this is legit?”  We arrived to a place without a big sign, an understated door, slightly overgrown exterior.  However the sign that caught my eye as we approached was the unmistakable red square of Michelin recognition.  We entered through both time and place and are now in the front entryway of someone’s home circa 1960’s.  Newspaper clippings, articles, pictures, and sketches decorate the walls.  We started off with the simple “cinque?” + a simile and was taken to the large table already setup in the back.  Other members of the host family were seated at the other sparse few tables.  It was both homy and awkward as though someone you don’t really know invites you over for dinner.

We struggle through the first few interactions with the waitress who’s younger and the proprietor who keeps looking to me speaking Italian, a bit louder and bigger gestures, and I’m like dear in the headlights, but with a smile – I take that everywhere (thanks mom).  Not sure what I just agreed to, and how much food I’ve just ordered, hangry-style questions and tone start coming after Annie and I.  I’m not sure, I don’t know I blurted out as an explanation trying to both meet their level as well as be assertive enough so they would stop asking.

A few other courses go by, and we now have the rhythm of just ordering the next thing given the one, two, (or could have been three, again I don’t know) options.  A menu was ultimately presented which helped, but by now we almost friends enough to warrant a dinner invite.  The bottle of wine brought to the table had their own subtle name on it, turns out the son of the chef makes the wine for the restaurant.  The food is authentic, real, and the flavor of each dish is distinct and intentional.  I am sure, that was an excellent meal.

The bottom line is, I’m finally to the place in the trip where I don’t need to be sure, though it’s not a natural place for me to operate.  Also, I don’t expect the sibling dynamics will ever get to the point of them admitting I don’t know, or I’m not sure to each other on this trip; but its the most relaxed I’ve been all trip, felt like home, and a fantastic meal to go with it.  Maybe we should ask a different question – being sure is too heavy.