Zia Rosa

10/13/2026

Tesori, please respect my privacy during this difficult time. 😢

I was called into Bertolone's today, the day before National Dessert Day, to film, edit, and create content. Apparently being the creative genius was not enough.

I was also expected to taste the tiramisu to ensure it was fit for public consumption. Every layer required investigation. I cannot sign off on a dessert based on rumors.

Then the tiramisu martini needed… quality control. (hiccup)

So now I’m the director, the editor, AND the entire tasting department. Does The Sauce Boss have no regard whatsoever for the immense demands she has placed on me, especially after all I have gone through?!?😩

The attached photograph documents my working conditions. Someone call OshKosh. The people who investigate working conditions. Possibly the people who make the little overalls. I have no idea, I’m under considerable strain.

National Dessert Day is tomorrow, October 14. Come enjoy the tiramisu and tiramisu martini at Bertolone’s. I have personally conducted a thorough investigation.

I refuse to work under these conditions again without at least fifteen minutes’ notice so I can skip lunch.

Baci,
Zia Rosa 💋

10/12/2026

Some witches leave curses. I leave tiny pumpkins with encouraging notes. 🎃🧙🏻‍♀️
Honestly, the paperwork is easier.

For years during Autumn, I’ve been sneaking around leaving little pumpkins with handwritten messages for complete strangers to find.

No tricks. No spells. No eye of newt… just a little unexpected kindness.

Occasionally, I even hang around to watch someone discover one. From a respectable distance, naturally. Because apparently lurking in parking lots is frowned upon. 🙄

And if you happen to stumble upon a tiny pumpkin one of these days…Well, let’s just say not all witches are wicked. 🖤🎃

You can follow my little autumn adventures here…

https://www.tiktok.com/

10/06/2026

Buongiorno from Zia Rosa, whose last 8 days apparently have been so relaxing that her regularly scheduled cardiology appointment got fast-tracked.💔

The bottom number of my blood pressure is now in the triple digits, which feels unnecessarily ambitious.

So naturally, on my way out, I saw this….

This damn light pole… leaning.

I would like it entered into my medical record that the following conversation actually took place in my head…

ZIA ROSA: I could fix that.

COMMON SENSE: No.

ZIA ROSA: It probably just needs to be pushed a little.

COMMON SENSE: You are not even 3 months out from THREE SPINAL SURGERIES!

ZIA ROSA: I have tools in the Cadillac.

COMMON SENSE: YOU ARE LITERALLY HERE FOR CARDIOLOGY.

ZIA ROSA: So… no on the light pole?

COMMON SENSE: GET BACK IN THE FU***NG CAR

The level of restraint I exhibited should frankly qualify as a therapeutic intervention.

Anyway.

Now I have to deliver an olive tree to an Italian restaurant. An olive tree.

Not to be mistaken for an olive branch. Although given the past week I’ve had, I can certainly appreciate the confusion. 😂

It is not even noon. Tuesday needs to lower its expectations of me.

Zia Rosa 💋🇮🇹

09/27/2026

You have to believe we are magic… ✨

Especially when the magic involves homemade lasagna, Sunday dinner and a Marketing Director who apparently commutes by broom. 🇮🇹🧹✨

Come by Bertolone's today. The food is homemade, the welcome is warm, and apparently the marketing department is supernatural.

Oh…I’m running a few minutes late. There’s broom-to-broom traffic over Shelby County. 🧹

Tell Sonia Bertolone I’m coming in hot!

09/19/2026

Zia Rosa is working from home today.

Which sounds very professional until you realize I am currently arguing with a takeout menu.

You see, the new Bertolone’s takeout menu was going to be a perfectly respectable 8½ × 11 trifold. I had things where they belonged. Words had homes. Pictures had addresses. There was order in the universe.

And then The Sauce Boss said…

“What if we did 11 × 14 instead?”

Oh, absolutely.🙄

Let me just move everything a couple inches to the left, three things to the right, something else toward the ceiling, and ask Adobe to kindly forget everything we’ve accomplished together.

So that’s where I am today. Moving things. Resizing things. Staring at fonts for entirely too long and asking important questions such as, “Does this make me want lasagna , or have I simply been looking at lasagna for three hours?”

And I’m doing it from home because I have finally accepted something about myself… I cannot do this kind of work at the restaurant. There are people there. They speak to me…and I LOVE TO TALK.

I’ll trade the home office for Bertolone’s later this evening, though, so if you’re coming in tonight, come say hello.

I’m considerably more charming in person.

Usually.😏

09/18/2026

True story… this happened on my way home yesterday…

09/13/2026

Apparently, while I’ve been busy keeping an Italian restaurant from descending into complete anarchy, the North Pole has been turning the lights back on.

One at a time.

Tomorrow, September 14th, Letters From Santa officially begins its 2026 season. And yes, Zia Rosa knows the woman responsible. Roseanna Borelli

She drinks too much espresso, has an alarming amount of information about the internal operations of the North Pole Postal Palace, and cannot be trusted with a simple Christmas tradition without creating an entire government infrastructure for elves.

I find her exhausting. 😂

Anyway.

Santa starts taking names tomorrow.
If you’ve been good, congratulations. If you haven’t, Zia Rosa respects consistency. 😏

🇮🇹🍷🌹

LETTERS FROM SANTA

09/10/2026

For those who have been following along… I had three spinal surgeries this summer.

Three.

Because apparently after the first one, my spine said, “I don’t think we’ve gotten enough attention yet.”

There were hospitals. There were antibiotics. There were things attached to me that had cords, tubes and alarming little lights. There was a walker. There was a cane. There was an extended period during which getting from one side of a room to the other qualified as an itinerary.

And now…I’m back.

Well, sort of.

I’m working 30-plus hours most weeks, but that doesn’t mean you’ll find me holding court at Bertolone’s 30-plus hours a week. Some days I’m at the restaurant. Some days I’m at home working on menus, promotions, graphics, social media, advertising and whatever fresh nonsense I’ve convinced Sonia we absolutely need.

Today it’s football promotions and new business cards for the Sauce Boss, because after spending time with me, she has now decided hers require more sass. I’m rarely a good example, but I am forever a delightful disclaimer.

Tomorrow night, we have a catering event. Saturday, the kickoff to our pizza promotion. Sunday… who knows!

So yes, I have officially reentered society. I’m just doing it with slightly fewer original factory parts and a much greater appreciation for chairs.

But something happened recently that I wasn’t expecting. Twice.

Sarah, who used to be a customer at my vintage shop years ago, drove all the way down just to see me.

Just to see me.

There are gestures that look small written in a sentence and feel enormous when you’re the person receiving them. That was one.

And yesterday, Gina walked into Bertolone’s.

Gina used to be a vendor in my vintage shop, and I haven’t seen her in years. She knew I was working at Bertolone’s now, but she didn’t know I’d be there yesterday. Neither of us was prepared.

There were big hugs and there was that strange little moment when several years disappear and suddenly you’re standing in front of someone who belongs to an entirely different chapter of your life.

God, I had missed her.

This summer has been brutal in ways I haven’t always talked about publicly. Recovery is a strange thing. You don’t wake up one Tuesday morning with trumpets playing and discover that you’re officially back. You come back in pieces.

A few hours at work, a project finished from the sofa, a catering event, walking a little farther.

Needing to lie down, trying again tomorrow, laughing through the tears and creating something ridiculous for Facebook.

And then somebody from an old chapter walks through a door, wraps her arms around you, and reminds you that pieces of your life are still out there walking around too.

So that’s where I am.

I’m back at Bertolone’s. I’m working, I’m creating, and very slowly, I’m healing.

I’m occasionally overdoing it because apparently three spinal surgeries were insufficient to convince me that I do not, in fact, possess the structural integrity of a forklift.

And since apparently I have decided this is also an excellent opportunity for shameless self-promotion…

If you want more of the woman behind Zia Rosa… the stories, the essays, the things that are considerably too long and occasionally too inappropriate for a Facebook caption, you can find me at www.RoseannaBorelli.com.

Proceed at your own risk. There is no responsible adult supervising that blog.

And if you want a peek behind the curtain at Bertolone’s, go follow The Sauce Boss. 🍅

Sonia Bertolone has her own corner of Facebook where she takes the things that happen inside this restaurant… the conversations, the customers, the staff, something I said, something somebody posted, some completely ordinary Tuesday that went spectacularly off the rails, and turns them into stories. Fabulous stories. And perhaps most importantly, she has access to entirely too much material.

Between Zia Rosa and The Sauce Boss, Bertolone’s currently has two women with Facebook accounts, strong opinions, excellent memories and absolutely no nondisclosure agreements. Management has been advised. Wait, we are management.

But I’m here. And after this summer, being able to say that feels pretty damn good.

~Zia Rosa 🌹🇮🇹🍷

06/24/2026

🍳🇮🇹 RECOVERY UPDATE🇮🇹🍳

HOME. ❤️ Or at least the first stop on the way there.

Last night, just after 5:00pm, I left the hospital after a week, two surgeries, and more coffee than any medical professional would officially recommend.

Sarah took this photo on my way out. The flowers are covering my face because after a week in the hospital, I felt it was best to leave a little mystery in the world.

And this morning, at 3:44 am, for the first time in a long time, I find myself feeling something I wasn't expecting.

Peace.

Not because everything is perfect. Not because all the hard things magically disappeared. Not because there aren't still chapters left to write. But because I've been reminded, over and over again, that I am not walking through any of this alone.

I have friends that have become family who opened their home and their hearts to me without hesitation, and their beautiful daughters have already brought so much joy into my recovery. They each made me the sweetest get-well cards imaginable. I think that's going to be one of my favorite memories from this entire experience.
Maddy wrote a description of me using the letters of my name … And somewhere in her imagination she categorized me as “Obviously a diva” when she got to “O” . 🤣💄 Which, if we’re being honest, is a pretty accurate assessment.

Then, at approximately 4:17:a.m., unable to sleep, I did what any reasonable recovering patient would do…I ordered groceries.

Not because I necessarily needed anything; I think I was just overwhelmed by how loved I felt.
After a week in the hospital, after two surgeries, after all the prayers, messages, flowers, cards, visits, coffee deliveries, and kindness, my brain simply refused to shut off.

So naturally, I made a grocery list.
As one does.

By the first light of day, I had decided I was going upstairs and making breakfast for anyone willing to eat it. Now, for context, I'm staying in the basement.

And when I say basement, I don't mean basement. I mean a beautiful space that's probably larger than my apartment, with gorgeous views, full kitchen, private bedroom and bathroom…all the amenities. However, that meant I had to climb all those stairs to get to the kitchen.

Sarah looked at me like I had completely lost my mind. In fairness, she may have had a point.

But something was calling me upstairs. Not because I needed to cook. Because I needed to feel like myself again. So there I was, standing in the kitchen making my newest breakfast creation:

🌅 L'Alba di Zia Rosa 🌅

Made with sourdough bread, eggs, cheddar cheese, roasted red peppers, ham, butter, olive oil, and a basil-infused dipping sauce. Officially translated as …"Zia Rosa's Sunrise."

My Nonna made a version of this for me when I was a little girl…"Eggs in Purgatory” she called it.

As I cracked eggs, chopped basil, drizzled olive oil into the pan, and fussed over making everything look just right, life was happening all around me. Coffee was brewing. The girls were talking about their day. There were conversations happening across the kitchen. And for the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn't watching life from the outside.
I was part of it. That's what I needed. Not breakfast. Not even cooking.

Connection.

Then came my favorite moment.
I watched Meghan take the first bite. Then I heard…"Mom, you've got to try this." 🍳 ❤️

Sarah took a bite and immediately said…
"Oh my gosh, this is actually really tasty."
And I cannot adequately explain what that felt like.

I write for a living. Finding words is literally my job. But I don't have words for that moment.

But cooking…Cooking I can always do.

And maybe that's why standing in front of that stove felt so important. For a little while, I wasn't recovering from surgery.
I wasn't counting medications.
I wasn't tracking steps. I wasn't a patient. I was just making breakfast, feeding people I love.

And honestly, that may have been the best medicine I've had all week. ❤️🌹

And yes, it’s been brought to my attention that most people get discharged and celebrate by taking a nap. Apparently, I
celebrated by launching a culinary comeback tour. 🇮🇹👩🏻‍🍳

06/23/2026

🚨🇮🇹 BREAKING NEWS FROM THE THIRD FLOOR 🇮🇹🚨

After several days of extensive medical treatment, countless nerve complaints, and what can only be described as a suspicious amount of kindness from hospital staff, I am officially being released into the wild this evening. The situation has escalated considerably.

Sage from the cafeteria, apparently concerned about the emotional well-being of the hospital's resident Italian, arrived with an extra Luigi's Italian Ice and additional fruit, just now. He affectionately calls me ‘the diva’ and I must admit, the moniker fits.😘

Maya, one of the nurse assistants, appeared with fresh coffee in the middle of the afternoon, despite there being absolutely no medical necessity for such behavior or even my asking. ☕️

Nicole's beautiful flowers continue to brighten my room. 🌹

Meanwhile, The Sauce Boss arrived earlier carrying one of Bertolone's famous strawberry cakes for the nurses, who immediately began questioning whether she was accepting applications for adoption. 🍓 The staff has been so wonderful that I'm beginning to suspect they're trying to convince me to stay.

Unfortunately for them, my discharge has been approved for 5:pm this evening. I'll be spending a few days recovering with Tom and Sarah before finally heading home.

To everyone who has prayed, checked on me, sent messages, brought treats, flowers, coffee, laughter, and encouragement...

Thank you. More than you know.

I have a longer than usual recovery ahead of me, since there were two surgeries back to back… but if I behave, I’m told I’ll be good as new in 9-12 weeks. Now if you'll excuse me, I must get ready for my date with freedom, a comfortable pillow, and a complete absence of hospital gowns.

~ Zia Rosa 🌹
Director of Cafeteria Diplomacy & Unsolicited Kindness