The Terenzios moved to Cincinnati from Stamford, Conn., changed the name of the little deli to Mia Sposa Cafe (“my spouse” or “my wife” in Italian) and planned to gradually add an Italian accent (she's third generation Italian-American, he's first generation) to the lunch menu, offering daily homemade specials. She would cook the food she knew best, while her husband welcomed customers at the door.

        “The first time I came in here and saw taco salads on the menu,” Ms. Terenzio remembers, “I said: Taco salad? What is that?”

        Before then, she had never heard of anyone eating chili from a bowl — much less chili on top of spaghetti.

        “Where I come from, people put chili on hot dogs,” she says.

        She soon discovered, of course, that many Cincinnati customers love taco salads and chili from a bowl.

        The woman with the black hair and intense brown eyes was confident she knew what's best for her customers because she is undoubtedly a wonderful cook.

        She worked in an Italian restaurant for 12 years and learned to cook by standing on a stool as a little girl, watching her grandmother simmer soups and meat “gravy” (tomato sauce) for hours. Her grandmother, Ida Miranda, emigrated from Italy and lived with Ms. Terenzio's family until she died 18 years ago.

        “This is going to sound crazy, but I talk to my grandmother at night,” she says. “I ask her: Does someone have a curse on me up there?”

        Ms. Terenzio is frustrated because all lunch customers haven't been receptive to her menu changes. Not only do they insist on eating taco salads and chili, some are reluctant to try her minestrone, eggplant rollatine, stuffed squash on marinara sauce and other homemade specials.

        “A woman came through the line one day and asked me how the Cajun chicken barbecue was, and I said: I don't know. I didn't make it,” she says. “Then I asked her to try my escarole and bean soup. She did, and she loved it.”

        Many of her customers don't know how to pronounce escarole (EHS-kuh-rohl), much less what it is (a mildly bitter green related to curly endive). But like the ambushed woman in the lunch line that day, once they try it, they want more.

        Ms. Terenzio makes it like her grandmother, with tender beans, chunks of garlic and a generous pinch of red pepper flakes in chicken broth.

        Within a couple of months, the comforting escarole and bean soup has become one of Mia Sposa's signature dishes. Ms. Terenzio only hopes customers will try the other food her Italian grandmother taught her to make.

        “If they want a tuna sandwich, that's fine,” she says. “I eat tuna sandwiches. I just want to try to win them over. To show them a little bit of Italy.”

        Mia Sposa, 151 W. Fourth St., downtown; 421-4905.

Lisa's Escarole and Bean Soup

        6 to 8 cloves garlic, peeled and sliced thinly
       3 tablespoons olive oil
       3 (15 1/2-ounce) cans cannellini or other white beans, undrained
       2 bunches escarole, stemmed, chopped and washed three times
       Salt and pepper, to taste
        1/4 to 1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
       2 cups chicken stock
       Grated Parmesan, for serving

        In large pot, saute garlic in olive oil until soft. Add beans with their liquid and bring to boil. Add chopped and washed escarole, salt, pepper, red pepper and chicken stock. Stir well and bring to boil. Reduce heat and simmer until escarole turns soft — but not mushy — and light green.

        Sprinkle grated Parmesan on soup before serving. Makes 4 to 6 servings.

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