I'm not sure what heaven is like, but I imagine it's pretty close to the Sorgeto hot springs on the island of Ischia in the Bay of Naples. Consider this scene: you take a midnight taxi driven by a trilingual Ischian blasting classic rock, careening through cobbled streets barely wider than an unladen Vespa, to the top of a huge cliff overlooking the Mediterranean. You hike down the steps carved into the sheer rock face to the inlet below, which is surrounded on 3 sides by towering walls of stone that block any ambient light produced on the secluded island. The soft crash of waves bearing down on the string of boulders 100 feet out, finishing their journey across the dark expanse of sea before you, becomes audible. Plumes of steam emanate from crevices in the coastline that reach down to the volcanic depths, next to which several pools hug the shore, offering temperatures ranging from tepid to scalding. As you slide into the waters of your choice, your every muscle melts and your eyes point skyward, where clouds of stars coalesce into a glowing band of the Milky Way, set against the pitch black night. Add in celebratory groups of people from across the globe, and you're left with the simple conclusion that sometimes, life is just plain good.
Food has been a frequent topic on my mind this summer, and not just because I consume as much as a medium-sized horse. Meals hold a special place in Italian culture, serving as a vehicle for bringing together friends and family for a period of rejoicing over delicious fare made with an extra dose of love for the people who will be savoring it. It's not just a time of eating, but of sharing and togetherness that often lasts several hours. In the authentic trattorie, the family that has perfected the menu items over generations welcomes customers into this intimate sphere, focusing as much on gnocchi as on the immediate bonds created when you taste them and suddenly figure out the meaning of life. Such exuberance is completely warranted—you'll always feel like something special is happening when you can't stop screaming molto bene after the first bite of olive oily goodness (unless you frequently go around screaming molto bene, or you “just get” Richard Simmons). Seriously, I've caused several public disturbances because I just would not stop. Start out with antipasti, then chill for half an hour. Devour some pasta, chill for half an hour. Move on to fish or meat, and then give your stomach a half hour rest as you prepare for dessert. Down your tiramisu, yell for a bit, and then chill for a half hour. Everything is accompanied by wine and the meal finishes with an after-dinner grappa, limoncello, or espresso. By the time you're done, you're at least slightly tipsy, stuffed full of the most delicious meal you can remember (always), singing Italian folk songs you didn't know you knew (and that you probably still don't, but man does it sound good leaving your lips), and wondering what gelateria is still open at this hour. Maybe that last part is unique to me, but really, can you ever eat enough gelato? The answer is no, and I'll call you a liar if you tell me differently.
I have eaten the best pizza in the world. I say that unequivocally, without the slightest hint of acknowledgment that there could be other pizza out there that is better. That's because there isn't. This pizza was so good, it was unbelievable. I remain in a state of disbelief. I am incredulous.
I had one goal when I came to Capri: find Beyonce Knowles and steal her from Jay-Z. I did not accomplish this goal. I did see a picture of the pair in several restaurants, though.
Fresh from his college graduation, Justin is spending his summer as an intrepid Let's Go Researcher in Rome.
It looks like Justin hasn’t made any quotes yet.
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