Picture it: Sicily, 1912. A beautiful young peasant girl with clear olive skin meets an exciting but penniless Spanish artist. There’s an instant attraction. They laugh, they sing, they slam down a few boilermakers. Shortly afterwards he’s arrested for showing her how he can hold his palette without using his hands… but I digress. He paints her portrait and they make passionate love. She spends much of the next day in the shower with a loofah sponge scrubbing his fingerprints off her body. She sees the portrait and is insulted. It looks nothing like her, and she storms out of his life forever. That peasant girl was me. And that painter… was Pablo Picasso.
Picture it, a candle, present day: The fresh scent of Sicilian lemon blended with a mild Italian olive oil, and lastly topped off with a creamy vanilla.
Bonus: Let me tell you a story. Sicily. 1912. Picture this. Two young girls, best friends, who share three things: a pizza recipe, some dough and a dream. Everything is going great until one day a fast talking pepperoni salesman gallops into town. Of course, both girls are impressed. He dates one one night, the other the next night. Pretty soon, he drives a wedge between them. Before you know it, the pizza suffers, the business suffers, the friendship suffers. The girls part company and head for America, never to see one another again. Rose, one of those girls was me. The other one you probably know as Mama Celeste.