‘I love this: New York was his town, and it always would be’ – Isaac in Manhattan, by W. Allen. It is a November midday, the Arctic-Canadian wind has not slipped through the glossy Midtown walls yet, and a reliable sun lets us hope for a mild and rose sunset. Walking fast on Canal Street toward Lower East Side, my coat in my hand, I feel lucky and seriously happy. The rendezvous is at 1 p.m. at Dimes. Today Vittoria, with her blue eyes, her usual lively-child smile, and a look that is pop, rock, and cultivated at the same time, appears to me like the faithful summary of the city. Our lunch takes place among pastel shades and indie music. We have two fantastic bowls of quinoa, cauliflower, kale, Brussel sprouts, and tahini, and two generous juices of the day. A loop of colour continuity, from the tables to season fruits.