the Bruschettas …

The story of Enzo Bruschetta, the Baker, his too-small hands, and his bitchy wop Princess wife Gloria, from the beginning.

["The Bruschettas" first appeared as a serial in early 2003 on the old, original teresadifalco.com and bears no resemblance whatsoever to the author's current state of mind.]

Enzo was tired. He wiped his hands on his apron. It was early in the day but he had been deep in flour since 3:00 this morning. The yeast was light today – touchy. His kneading was off. He met his orders, but he was displeased. Tomorrow was another day. He sighed.

“I’m leaving”, Gloria called out from the front of the store. “My nails and then Bunko – I’ll be home at 9:00”.

“Yeah, you be good!”, he called back laughing, though the door had already slammed behind her. It wouldn’t do to talk to Gloria about his troubles – the business. She would have no part of it.

On their wedding night, her father told him, “Enzo, your hands. They’re too small. They’re small. What use do I have for these hands? They’re no good for this thing, these small hands. You’ll be a baker. It’s an honest living, Enzo. You’ll be a baker and you’ll bake bread. Now, here’s something for your new life” (he slipped a thick envelope into Enzo’s coat pocket) “and we’ll never speak of this again.” And that was the last of it.

At first, he was happy to bake. It was honest work, and a good living, but now, well, it was not what it used to be. His hands were tired. His knuckles, hollow. Enzo was weary. The dough did not double as quickly. He was punching it down three, sometimes four times a batch. He sighed.

The bells on the front door tinkled as it opened. “Eh, Enzo!” Boomed Joey Palmieri, walking toward the counter. “Eh! Enzo!” he said again, grinning broadly. Enzo forced himself to smile. “What’s it gonna be today, Joey?”

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