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One Night in Vienna
I was named after the woman my grandfather dated outside of Vienna after WWII when he was stationed there. The trip was to inspire me, to feel closer to him, to the original Thea, and most importantly: to myself.
Growing up, my grandfather and Nana used to take us to Europe as often as they could. Usually it was every other year. Grandpa had been raised by a single mom, one of nine children forced to spend most of their childhoods working. Because of the GI Bill, he could put himself through college and eventually start his own company, allowing him to spoil his grandkids with trips to Europe. I guess a part of me felt like going to Europe and being where he once was fighting for his life would be like completing some kind of karmic circle.
But I digress.
I want to share a short story about a bartender I met in Vienna five years ago, and the best Tiramisu of my life.
I was traveling alone, as I said before, and had just gotten to Vienna. It was early evening and I was starving and exhausted. I’d gotten a hotel room that was the right price and near the trolley. When I checked in I noticed a little advertisement for a restaurant nearby. Salz und Pfeffer was the name, its business card was split in half: one side black, one side white. A salt and pepper shaker stood on each side. Free Tiramisu with a meal when presented at Salz und…
