My holiday house guests brought over a beast of a Panettone to
celebrate New Year’s morning. Grateful to sleep in and not have to cook
breakfast thanks to said Panettone, I was perhaps less so when we ate but a
corner of it and the remainder sat on my kitchen counter like a carbohydrate
coquette after my house guests left. I live alone, and carbs speak to me.
Actually, they whisper huskily to me from the cupboards and I fall prey to
their floury advances. The panettone purred:
Mangiame,
signorina. Sai che tu me desiderà! in a voice that sounded remarkably like
Sophia Loren. Her having sat out on the counter for a few days, I did not care
to partake, but hesitated to throw her away.
Then a solution struck me that pleased my thrifty nature and
rather titillated Sophia. I looked at this panettone and said: You, my dear,
would make an excellent bread pudding.
Si, she said.
