Manzo alla Sarda

Previously

…That evening, I found a message on my phone from Giovanni. Just a single line, sent from the airport in Cagliari: “Found a note in my coat. Nonna’s handwriting. She said: ‘The recipe is in the soil. Dig with your hands.’ I think I understand.” I smiled and put down the phone. Outside, the night was settling in, the first stars appearing above the rooftops. The thread was still there, thin and bright, leading southward—toward myrtle and honey, toward fennel and wine, toward a lost recipe that might, in the end, be the smallest part of what Giovanni was really looking for.