Flavours of My Italy
A Journey Told Through What I Ate
Italy didn’t just feed me. It followed me home.
When I think about my travels there, I don’t remember only the landmarks or the museums. I remember flavors. The kind that settle quietly into your memory and refuse to leave.
When I think about my travels there, I don’t remember only the landmarks or museums. I remember flavors the ones that quietly settled into my memory and refused to leave.
In Rome, it was a simple tuna pasta behind a glass counter near the station. Salty, comforting, layered with tomatoes, olives, capers, and tuna. It wasn’t glamorous. It was real. And it became mine.
In Sardinia, after long hours at the beach, it was a thin focaccia tuna melt from a mall food court panini stand. Crisp on the outside, warm and melty inside. Cheese stretching, tomatoes sweetened by heat, herbs fragrant against the salty tuna. I’ve recreated it at home many times still pressing it in a pan, no machine needed.
Olive tree in the neighborhood
In Tuscany, food expanded beyond the plate. We stayed at a small bed and breakfast surrounded by vineyards. They produced their own red wine, offering tastings and selling bottles on-site. I remember watching them harvest grapes, casually lifting them in their aprons. I copied that habit. To this day, I use my apron in the kitchen to carry herbs and ingredients—a small, practical gesture that connects me back to those vineyards.
Italian pizza surprised me too. Thin crust, lightly topped, balanced. Nothing overloaded. Just tomato, mozzarella, basil simplicity perfected. And then dessert pizzas: pastry cream topped with fresh fruit, delicate and beautiful.
The lean towner under construction
Tiramisu was everywhere. In cafés, restaurants, even packaged neatly in convenience stores. Every version slightly different, every version delicious. I never skipped it. I still don’t make it often but when I do, it feels like sitting in an Italian café, lingering a little longer over coffee.
And then there was Milan.
In a pastry shop window, I saw something I had never encountered before marron glacé. A single chestnut, glazed to a glossy shine, resting like a jewel among pastries. It looked like candy, but more refined.
When I tasted it, I understood its quiet elegance. Soft, tender, rich with chestnut flavor. Sweet but not overwhelming. Earthy and luxurious at the same time. It didn’t shout for attention it simply existed beautifully.
That piece of candied chestnut felt very Milan to me: polished, understated, intentional.
Italy taught me that food doesn’t have to be complicated to be unforgettable. A tray of pasta. A pressed sandwich. A thin crust pizza. A creamy tiramisu. A glossy chestnut.
Each flavor became part of my sense of self. Not just recipes to recreate, but experiences to carry forward.
Our first time exploring the beautiful shores of Sardinia.
This series, Flavors of My Italy, is my way of preserving those moments—one dish, one memory, one bite at a time.
Flavours of My Travel:
Learning to Wait for Dinner in Italy
Hunger, simple plates, and finding the right table
When we first arrived in Italy, we weren’t used to the rhythm of time.
At home, dinner came early. So on our first day, we went out at 6 p.m., already hungry, expecting restaurants to be open.
They weren’t.
We walked around the town, trying to find somewhere to eat. Along the way, I noticed chefs bringing in fresh seafood, preparing for the evening service. Everything was getting ready—but nothing was being served yet.
Dinner, we learned, didn’t start until 8 p.m.
We were very hungry.
We went out for dinner at 6 p.m. in Italy but surprise, everything was still closed until 8 p.m. The only place open was a tourist spot right by the shore.
A Simple First Meal
Eventually, we found a place near the shore that stayed open for tourists. They told us they could serve a small snack.
So we sat down.
Our first meal in Italy was simple:
melon with prosciutto
bread
cheese
That was our dinner.
At the time, it was just something to eat. But looking back, it felt like the beginning—learning to slow down, to adjust, to accept the rhythm of a place instead of expecting it to match ours.
Finding the Right Places
Later, as we became more familiar with the area, we started going to local restaurants.
There was one up in the hills. We had to drive up the mountain to get there. And timing mattered, if you didn’t arrive on time, there were no extra tables, no waiting list like in the U.S.
You either had a seat, or you didn’t.
But the food was always worth it.
We had steak cooked in an open fire oven, full of flavor, simple pasta, and small dishes that didn’t try to impress—but did.
And then there was another place.
A small restaurant by the shore, with no menu.
We just sat down, and the food started coming.
Dish after dish—small plates, mostly seafood. Each one different. Each one simple, but incredibly good. We didn’t order anything. We just ate what they brought.
By the time the final dish arrived—a large seafood pasta—we were already full.
But we still ate.
Everything was too good not to.
We had:
steak cooked in an open fire oven, full of deep flavor
a simple appetizer of cured fat and tomatoes (Lardo)
Seafood feast
pasta that was uncomplicated but perfect
For my son, it was just right, simple, satisfying, and easy to enjoy.
What I Learned
Italy taught me something I didn’t expect:
You don’t rush meals.
You don’t eat just because you’re hungry.
You wait.
And when the food comes, it’s simple, but it’s enough.
Some of the best places don’t need a menu.
They don’t ask what you want.
They show you what they have.
And you trust them.
Slow Days by the Shore in Sardinia
Sand, sea, and small moments I didn’t expect to remember
When I was in Italy, my days in Sardinia were simple and slow.
In the mornings, after breakfast, I would sometimes pack a small sandwich for my son. Then we would take the bus to the shore. There was another beach a little farther away, wider, quieter, and less crowded. I don’t remember the name now, but I remember how it felt.
I stayed there often.
You can hear the clock chime crossing the shore.
Not far from the shore, there was a clock bell that chimed every hour. Lying on the sand, listening to the sound of the waves, I would hear the bell in the distance. It became my way of keeping time.
When it rang three times, I knew it was time to go home.
The water was clear enough to see fish swimming near the shore. My son played in the sand, sometimes running to the small swings nearby. There were sand artists too, shaping figures from the beach, little sculptures, sometimes animals, formed carefully by hand.
At three o’clock, we would get ice cream.
Then we would go home.
A Small Moment
One day, I rushed back to a convenience store, worried because I thought I had lost my sunglasses.
I asked the cashier if she had seen them.
She looked at me and said, “ There! it’s right there! Your glasses are on your forehead.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or be embarrassed.
What Stayed With Me
There was nothing complicated about those days.
Just the sound of the bell, the sea, a child playing in the sand, and time moving slowly without needing to be measured too closely.
Some places stay with you not because of what you did, but because of how simple everything felt.
From the Beach to a Sandwich
After long hours by the shore, the kind where time moves slowly and the bell marks the day, hunger always followed.
We would leave the beach, sun-warmed and tired, and stop somewhere simple, often a small food court or sandwich stand. That’s where I had one of the most memorable meals of the trip.
A tuna sandwich on thin focaccia.
It wasn’t complicated. Just fresh bread, tuna, cheese, and tomato, pressed until warm and crisp. But after a day by the sea, it tasted like exactly what I needed.
Sometimes the best meals don’t stand on their own. They belong to a moment, a place, a feeling, a long day that makes everything taste better.
That sandwich became part of Sardinia for me.
It’s a place I think about returning to, not for anything new, but just to hear the bell again and sit by the water.
Maybe this time, I’ll capture it better in photos.
My SardiniaTuna Focaccia Sandwich post here
