Osteria

The timestamps, 11:43 PM to 10 AM, followed by single-line responses.

"Let's meet at Osteria after client check-in.

I'll cover the wine again.

The next time, you pick the artist, Dyl." Most emails copied Petra, and for each inside joke about sculpture or design dreams, there was a lingering undertone, references to shared nights, working late, ribbing about unshared secrets, the kind of familiarity that doesn't quite belong to professional colleagues.

On a Thursday night, just as sunset lit the city in molten amber, I sat at the long table sorting through bills and notes from my consultancy.

My hand shook as I paged through another round of bank statements.

There it was, another dinner at Osteria, another out-of-the-way jazz club, charges that always lined up with Dylan's emergency overtime.

That same evening, I received a message from a friend in the gallery circle.

John, who's the bar manager.

Last night we dined in Osteria.

Osteria? Osteria D'Ovideo.

You know, it's named after the owner.

The owner's name is Manfredi Lefebvre Odovideo.

Um, my family began, uh, to work in the wine business with my grand-grandfather in 1917, and, uh, at that time, uh, wine was, uh, a totally different, uh, experience.

So first of all, you have to consider that until a few decades ago, um, the, the work of producing grapes and, uh, making wine was different from the work of, uh, of selling the wine at that time, at the beginning damjohnes, so then the big bottles which were delivered to the Osteria, where they were serving wine by the glass or with, uh, on the carafe.

Uh, and so my family began as a family which, uh, was, uh- ... dedicated and focused on selling the wine.

So, uh, my grandmother and my grandfather were, sorry, great-grandfather and great-grandmother were going to, uh, to choose the grape varieties from which, uh, they were, uh, then buying the wines.