I've come for dinner at the apartment of a woman my age and her late-teen daughter. The antique-toned room is filled with the soaring soprano vocals of a classic Italian opera. I comment that it is unfamiliar to me, and the woman responds "Oh, you don't know Haydn? We just love it, it's just so beautiful, and so sad... my daughter actually came home from college several times just to hear it". She mills around, busily cooking and setting the table. I'm not much of an opera fan, but I can hear the deep sadness, and it is oddly beautiful.

The woman serves us an appetizer, some sort of rich green flatbread, cut in quarters like a pie.