Imagine your first trip to Italy, the stumbling journey through the airport, the long train ride into Rome, the jet-lagged taxi ride to your hotel. After a quick shower, you realize that the lunch hour is drawing to a close, so you walk a block or two in any direction and settle into a random trattoria; it really doesn’t matter which one. The wine is white, sweetish and slightly fizzy — you weren’t really given a wine list, it more or less appeared — and the bread is milder, yet more profoundly wheaty, than any bread you remember having tasted. The prosciutto — it’s like you’ve never tasted ham... More >>>