The first meal I ate in Rome was nothing much. Just some homemade pasta (spaghetti cabonara) with a side order of sautéed spinach and garlic. (The great romantic poet Shelley once wrote a horrified letter to a friend in England about cuisine in Italy: "Young women of rank actually eat—you will never guess what—GARLIC!") Also, I had one artichoke, just to try it; the Romans are awfully proud of their artichokes. Then there was a pop-surprise bonus side order brought over by the waitress for free—a serving of fried zucchini blossoms with a soft dab of cheese in the middle (prepared so delicately that the blossoms probably didn’t even notice they weren't on the vine anymore). After the spaghetti, I tried the veal. Oh, and also I drank a bottle of house red, just for me. And ate some warm bread, with olive oil and salt. Tiramisu for dessert.

我在罗马的第一餐饭很平常。只有自制意大利面（奶油培根鸡蛋面），配上炒菠菜和蒜头。（伟大的浪漫诗人雪莱曾写过一封大感震惊的信给在英国的朋友，说起意大利食物：有身份的姑娘居然吃——你肯定猜不到 ——蒜头！）此外，我还吃了洋蓟，罗马人对他们的洋蓟十分自豪。而后女服务生端来一道特别招待的惊喜小点——炸节瓜花，中间一小团起司（烹调得如此精致，甚至花儿们可能都没留意到它们已脱离藤蔓）。吃过意大利面，我试了小牛肉。喔，我还喝了一瓶红餐酒，只我一人喝。还吃了温热的面包，沾橄榄油和盐。甜点是提拉米苏。

Walking home after that meal, around 11:00 PM, I could hear noise coming from one of the buildings on my street, something that sounded like a convention of seven-year-olds—a birthday party, maybe? Laughter and screaming and running around. I climbed the stairs to my apartment, lay down in my new bed and turned off the light. I waited to start crying or worrying, since that's what usually happened to me with the lights off, but I actually felt OK. I felt fine. I felt the early symptoms of contentment.

吃完这一餐，走回家时约摸晚间十一点，我听见从我那条街的某栋建筑中传来的声音，听起来像是聚集了一群七岁孩子——也许是生日派对？笑声、尖叫、跑跳。我爬上楼梯，回到公寓，躺在我的新床上，熄了灯。我等着开始哭泣或发愁，因为这通常是我熄灯后做的事情，却居然没事。我感觉很好，我觉得有心满意足的迹象。

My weary body asked my weary mind: "Was this all you needed, then?"

我疲倦的身体问我疲倦的心：那么，你需要的就是这个？

There was no response. I was already fast asleep.

Eat, Pray, Love

没有任何回应。我已呼呼大睡。