The Three Flavors of Madelina

Pietro De Luca was not a handsome man. He was squat in stature and somewhat thickset in his middle. Even at the fairly young age of thirty-one, he had a receding hairline and a bald spot on the top of his shiny head. And although he was a well-loved and respected merchant in the quaint village of Triora, a Provence in northern Italy, there was one thing that the village residents found completely baffling: Pietro had won the heart of the most beautiful maiden in their village.

After all, Pietro was not dark and dashing in the least, as were many of the handsome men in Triora. And yet, when he had asked the lovely Madelina for her hand in marriage, she had readily accepted. No one had ventured to question Pietro on how the fair damsel agreed to be his wife, for it would not have been proper. But if you were to ask him, he would simply have answered, ice cream.

Every generation of the De Luca family men were much like Pietro in looks and physique. And yet all the De Luca men had married Italian beauties for as far back as memory could tell. The De Luca ancestors knew the way to a woman’s heart – and that was through the art of making the most delectable ice cream one could ever hope to enthuse the palate.

And thus, it was with Madelina.

From the simple delicate taste of creamy vanilla to concoctions mixed with confections and fragrant liqueurs, Pietro was like an artist with a painter’s brush and canvas, experimenting with infinite and untried flavors. The combinations of fruity and rich to mellow and clean were endless. Adding an unexpected pinch of this, and an unprecedented dash of that, his superb creations were known as far south as Naples, and beyond.

Now it was that the lovely Madelina commonly walked to the marketplace once a week, strolling along the cobblestone streets, her basket swaying with her stride. The men of Triora could not help but to stop and stare at her as she passed, sometimes tripping over each other for the best view. They all knew she was a married woman, and yet her beauty was like that of a siren’s lure.

She wore her dark hair in long waves down her back, or sometimes tied with a silky ribbon. Her cheeks were always blushing like a glowing peach, and her lips, so full and round and red. She strode to the market seemingly without a care in all the world, sometimes humming sweet melodies like the song of an angel. But if she saw a man staring at her, she would quickly turn away, for not only was she faithful to her husband Pietro, but she possessed the epitome of shyness.

This shy trait of hers became quite evident on the wedding night of Pietro and Madelina. After everyone had left, Pietro went in search of his new wife, who could not be found anywhere. He called and called her name, then in wonder, went and sat on the edge of the nuptial bed. Hearing a small noise from beneath, he peaked around and saw her little bare foot sticking out from under the bed skirt. Getting down on his hands and knees, Pietro lifted the coverlet and there she was.

“My darling. Whatever are you doing under there?”

“Mio Dio!” she exclaimed. “I am looking for … for my earring.”

“Well, then may I help you?” Pietro asked.

“No!” she cried. “I mean …oh, here it is, Pietro. I found it.”

“Will you come out from under the bed, then?” he asked. But his new bride would not answer. “My goodness,” he then said. “It is such a hot evening. I think I will go get a bowl of my latest flavor of ice cream: Sweet White Fig, Fico Bianco Dolce.” And Pietro rose, and gone but a few moments, returned with a bowl of the frozen dessert.

“Fico Bianco Dolce?” a sweet voice asked, and she popped her lovely face up to see. “May I have a small taste, my husband?”

“Why, of course, my dearest flower.” And Pietro held the bowl just out of her reach so that she would have to come out from her hiding place to take a bite. She came and sat next to him, and he handed his bride the bowl, and watched with delight, his maiden eat every last delectable spoonful.

Pietro loved his Madelina dearly. And not without reason. All could see she was the very essence of loveliness in everything she did. Graceful and poised, she filled her space with sunshine wherever she went. Even the birds and butterflies would flit about her when she worked in the garden.

But as well, Pietro knew most of the men in the village watched her, secretly wanting her for themselves. Pietro, aware he was not the most handsome man in the world, felt uncomfortable having seen the looks other men gave to his Madelina. And the more he thought about this, the more worried he became, and wondered if his wife would ever take a lover.

When his uncertainty finally got the better of him, however, he asked Madelina if she had truly been virtuous in their marriage.

“My darling husband Pietro,” Madelina said, taking his hands into her own and looking into his troubled eyes. “To stray has never entered my mind, nor will it ever. I will always remain faithful to you and you need never worry,” for she was most perceptive and sought to ease his fears. He was her strength, she told him, her rock in the stormy sea of life. He cared for her like no other would, and he made her feel safe. Besides, he made the best ice cream the world had ever tasted. And after all, his ice cream was the ultimate key to her heart.

Yet despite her words of reassurance, Pietro saw how the men of the village continued to long for her. And he had to be certain of her fidelity. Pietro thought and wondered how he could put Madelina’s virtue to the test. Then one sleepless night, after much tossing and turning, he at last devised a plan to determine once and for all, if Madelina was indeed as honorable as she claimed.

In his plan, in which he felt a bit contrite, he would take certain essences of Madelina and put them into three new flavors of ice cream. Then he would invite the villagers to taste each untried flavor. If any of the men revealed the taste was at all familiar by a memorable reaction, he would know that man had experienced Madelina in that way.

The first element from Madelina were her tears of joy. One night, after an evening of deeply moving lovemaking, Madelina, as she sometimes did, cried ecstatic tears. She laughed and laughed and wept and wept, and before the tears could drop onto her pillow, Pietro caught them in an amber vial. He put the vial with her joyful tears under the floorboards where they would remain fresh and cool.

A few days later, when it happened to be a sultry evening, Pietro made passionate love to his wife, and the room, being especially warm, made her perspire profusely. But before her perspiration fell onto the sheets, Pietro took a topaz vial and caught the trickles of sweat running down her bare skin. He placed this vial under the floorboards next to the amber vial of tears.

Lastly, when the moon shone bright in the still of the Italian night a few days later, Pietro turned Madelina’s lovely face to his, and gave her an impassioned kiss on her wet, crimson lips. And as he kissed her, he caught the melting fluid from her open mouth into a ruby vial. And like the previous ones, placed the ruby vial under the floorboards alongside the others.

All the following day, when Madelina would be gone at the marketplace, Pietro took the vials one by one, and created a different flavor of ice cream for each, pouring the full contents of the vials into a new creation.

From the amber vial filled with Madelina’s tears of joy, he created Candied Pumpkin Zuccata, a delectable orange ice cream with a splash of lemon and great measures of sugar. From the topaz vial, filled with Madelina’s perspiration of passion, he made Nettarina a Polpa Gialla, a tangy frozen dessert made from nectarines and infused with sweet honey; And lastly, with the ruby vial, he mixed Madelina’s kiss with burgundy cherries in sweet syrup. He called this flavor, Amarena Cherry Bacio.

Exhausted from the day’s hard work, there was one more thing Pietro had to do.

After Madelina had returned and went upstairs to sleep, Pietro made a sign and placed it in the shop window, then he closed for the night, for he knew that tomorrow would be a very busy day. The sign read:

“Three New Delicious Ice Cream Flavors! Come Try!”

Bright and very early, when Pietro awoke, there was a great clamor downstairs, outside his shop.

“What is all that noise?” Madelina asked, sleepily.

“It must be an especially warm morning, because I think people are wanting ice cream.”

“At this hour?” Madelina asked.

“It appears so, my lovely darling. Go back to sleep,” he whispered, and Madelina closed her eyes and rolling over, promptly fell back to sleep.

Dressing hastily, Pietro rushed down the stairs and indeed saw that people had formed a line outside his shop, wanting to try his new flavors. “All right, all right, I’m coming!” he laughed, and quickly unlocked the doors. “There’s plenty of ice cream for everyone,” he cried, as the shop rapidly filled with excited customers waving lira in Pietro’s face.

Pietro couldn’t fill bowls with the three new flavors fast enough. But as he worked, he kept an eye on the young, handsome men who tasted the ice cream, alert to any kind of telling reaction. There were exclamations of “Oh, so sweet,” and “Absolutely delicious,” but none of them acted strangely – and none of them seemed to be familiar with the tastes.

By the end of the day, the shop had at last emptied of customers, and very little was left of the new flavors. As he locked the door, he had to admit not one customer recognized any of the three essences of Madelina, and this put his mind at ease once and for all. But as he wearily turned to ascend the stairs, Madelina came rushing down.

“I’m so sorry, my love,” she exclaimed. “For some reason I was so very tired, and have slept away the afternoon. Did you have a busy day?” But before Pietro could answer his wife, Madelina noticed the sign in the window. “Pietro, you made three new flavors?” And when Pietro nodded, somewhat sheepishly, she asked, “Is there any left? I wish to try them.”

“Alas, there is only a dollop of each, I’m afraid,” Pietro said. Nevertheless, he took a spoon and scooped out the last of the Nettarina a Polpa Gialla, the perspiration of passion made from nectarines and sweet honey. Savoring the flavor in her mouth, Madelina suddenly began to perspire profusely.

“Dalla Vergine!” she exclaimed. “I am burning up! I feel as if my very blood is on fire!” And her cheeks flushed scarlet as if she had a fever. “Hurry, Pietro, let me taste the next flavor.” And he handed her the last of the Candied Pumpkin Zuccata, the delectable orange ice cream with a splash of lemon and great measures of sugar.

At once Madelina felt overwhelming happiness, and dancing about the room, began to weep exultant tears that flowed down her still hot and blushing cheeks. “I feel so blissful and happy!” she cried. “Oh, Pietro, I could dance and dance all evening long,” she sobbed, and she whirled around him, her cheeks drenched with joyful tears.

“Quickly, Pietro. I must taste the last one!” she gasped, barely able to slow down enough to grasp the spoon.

Pietro, greatly entertained and completely charmed by what he had created, scraped out the remaining flavor that contained Madelina’s impassioned kiss, made with burgundy cherries in sweet syrup, the Amarena Cherry Bacio. Madelina took the spoon and swallowed the dark red flavor.

Madelina suddenly stopped dancing. She looked deeply into Pietro’s eyes, her heart still beating fast, and overcome with love, tenderly took Pietro’s face in her hands. In the next moment, Madelina began kissing her husband on his lips, his cheeks, his forehead, and his lips again.

“Take me back to bed, amore mio,” she whispered, kissing Pietro’s ear. “For I am not the least bit sleepy.” And scooping up his most faithful and beautiful Madelina, carried her up the steps.