Every Sunday morning, in the deep summer south of Florida, my husband Daniel and I make Prosecco “mimosa” with fresh juice. After espresso and cooking breakfast, we let the Prosecco take us back to summer in Italy, even while our four daughters sprawl on the cool floor with blankets, books, and cartoons. For a moment, we are back on our open-ended bike trip, when he proposed to me in a restaurant in Firenze (who could say ‘no’?), and our daily cafe breakfast was pastry and coffee before we biked to the next Italian town. Then, and here, we surrender to the summer heat. Now, instead of hoarding our oranges and saving our Prosecco for special days of breakfast-in-bed, we have a ritual of fresh sparkling and sweetness. Every Sunday.
(I created this piece as a submission to a photo contest for participants in From Plate to Page Ireland in May 2013. Nino Franco was a generous sponsor of this intensive food photography, styling, and writing workshop. Though there was Prosecco flowing at the workshop meals, and an empty bottle in my suitcase leading to a sweet note from TSA, Nino Franco has not paid me to endorse their products. I would like to know where I can find more of that Rustico stateside, though. You know, for my pub.)