This is my second visit to Sicily. The first time, with the best of friends: Steve and Linda. Many years ago, we travelled to name places like Taormina, Catania, Palermo. It was a good introduction to this remarkable culture I am inadequate to describe.

This visit is at the invitation of the incredible Food Diva Victoria Granof. Author of many cookbooks such as The Ultimate College Cookbook and Chickpeas. She also wrote a book of Sicilian Pastries: Sweet Sicily.

Which brings us to this moment – in the Sicilian town of Noto, where Victoria and her team of photographers, assistants, and friends have gathered to make a brand new, contemporary cookbook of Sicilian pastries.

This is a trip that took many months of planning – and the renting of three different villas. The “middle” one in Noto has six bedrooms for eight people: Italian, British, Los Angelena, and a couple of New Yorkers (including me).

I had a month in Italy planned, which so happened to land at the same time as Victoria’s trip to Sicily to bake and photograph her pastries. I am filled with gratitude that she invited me to join her troupe for several days and nights.

We are eating and drinking together. And exploring this part of the island.

A Visit to the Baroque Town of Modica

Where we visited a flour (yes flour not flower) shop which milled grain, sold filberts, and typical Modica-style pastas like Busiata. We strolled. Ate ricotta. Bought chocolate. And tried Gelo di Limone.

Pasta

Grateful. Gratitudine. Gratitude.

Were it not for this level of friendship, I would not likely have ever visited a town like Modica by myself.

Just one day in Rome – and I managed to pack in two helpings of gelati, cacio e pepe, countful glasses of vino – and a new word.

Grandini. But that comes later.

My flight from JFK to FCO was, as they say, uneventful. It started a little disappointing but quickly sequed into an unexpected treat. I booked Finnair – hadn’t paid that much attention because I did it months ago and on Expedia. One thing I could never figure out how to do was pick my seat. Until the last day when they wanted to charge me about $150 to choose. Which pretty much negates getting a great deal now doesn’t it!?

I ended up in a middle seat in the third row from the back. I reacted with a groan. The flight attendant heard me and pointed out that the entire row in front of me was open. I quickly moved to the aisle seat. And three hours later when it was time to sleep – I stretched out over four seats and entered into the Land of Nod. Made a big difference for this traveler who doesn’t take altering substances to sleep on overnight flight.

We landed 90 minutes early and within an hour I was settling into my Casa Piccola. The woman who rented to me – the lovely Clotilde who has been renting me a place to lie my head for years here in Rome – described her other place as a “small house” on Via Urbana. First, she meant small apartment. Secondly, it is about the size of a medium-sized Manhattan apartment. It is lovely – with the miniature clothes line out the kitchen window, pots and pans stored in the living room, and the sounds and cooking smells of people living all around me.

Oh – and two flights of f’ing treacherous unevenly-spaced stairs.

Via Urbana is in Monti — known as Suburra in Ancient Rome. It was the red-light district – and home to both the lower class workers, and Julius Caesar. Never really spent that much time here. Lots to explore. It’s a pretty happening strada. Where I got my first helping of cacio e pepe. And gelato at a place that trumpeted some gorgeous macarons (follow nyproducer on Instagram for some of this). And hours later some celestial gelato next to a charming little piazza. I had “avocado, lime and vino bianco” and “apple, almonds and cinnamon”. Uh-maze-ing. think I shall return and try pumpkins with its seeds and cranberry. And call it Thanksgiving in Rome.

Grandini is the Italian word for hail. Not as in “Hail, Caesar” but as in holy shit who knew it was going to storm tonight!?! While finishing my second glass of Primitivo and my little bowl of cheese and salami, a dramatic boom of thunder cracked the night. And the downpour began. First pelting rain. Then grandini. I, of course, had no choice but to order another glass of vino and switched to misto verdure. A dish of caponata, dried tomatoes perfectly softened in olive oil and some treatment of zucchini I am going to have to figure out before I leave.

I made it home, had the veg with my eggs the next morning. And must simply meet who was playing Volare at 4 this morning.

My first 24 hours in Roma.

I am morally, ethically, spiritually, physically, positively, absolutely, un-de-niably and re-liably in love. Certifiably. With the High Line, that is. That delightful park built upon the elevated track right next to the Hudson River, along the west side of Manhattan.

Last week, Section 2 of the High Line opened up to the public. I have been waiting for just the right time to experience it myself. I usually walk in the early morning, both because it fits into my schedule and because there are usually very few people up there at that time. It always thrills me – whatever the season. But, man, they have dressed my High Line up for this particular moment. Like a grand dame all dolled up for the ball. The trees are lush, the flowers blooming, even the grasses are puffed up like peacocks.
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It’s always strange that last day (or at least last FULL day in Roma).

On one hand,  I want to eat everything I think I won’t be eating for awhile.  Although,  in fact,  it will be as if tomorrow when I will be here again.  It has been soltanto — only — a week that I’ve been here (or as the baristas in the coffee bar across from “my” apartmento said:  “poco, poco“).

In Piazza San Pietro

And – as you have read — I have eaten many wonderful Italian delights.  I am certain at no cost to the avoirdupois because I have eaten like the Italians.  Nothing in between my basic,  albeit indulgent,  repasts.  Un caffé and pastry in the morning.  Pasta, panino or pizza for lunch.  Usually one,  okay,  sometimes two,  gelato per day.  And light dinner if it was a heavy lunch and vice versa.   In between: camino, camino, camino. Walking walking walking.

So, on this “last” day,  I shall treat it like any other day in Roma.  Mangia bene and camino.

Oh, wait. I think it’s time for gelato!

Here I am, in the land of the Danes now, staying with my friend, the priest.  He lives in the center of beautiful Copenhagen.

Upon my arrival from Gatwick, 90 minutes from the land of mushy peas and crisps, I am greeted with a lunch, Danish style.  It came with instructions.  Thank God.  An appropriate thought, when lunching with a man of the cloth.  I recognized most of the ingredients of our repast.  It was in the design of the eating, I found fascination.

On that table was smoked salmon, some kind of sliced pork with swirls of parsley and pepper, dense dark bread, a sweeter type bread with golden raisins, cheese, tomatoes (that would be toe-MAH-toes), cucumbers, sliced sweet pickles and a bottle of Italian beer.

Now the instructions.

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And, we’re not talking those donut-shaped tiny little oat cereals.  I am posting from London, baby!  The land of fish & chips, fab Indian food, and baps (big ol’ luscious looking rolls).  Yum!

A glimpse into Janet Eats on vacay.  Vacations can, of course, be challenging on the food front.  There is a wonderful technique in Weight Watchers® that enables you beforehand to consider your weight goal.  Three choices: lose, stay the same, gain.  If gain, how much?  Lose?  Really!?  On vacation?!!!  You are a better man than I if you can make that your goal.  But, hey, it is YOUR weight loss journey.  I usually choose gain two-three pounds.  Generally, it works.  Especially if you add walking to the equation.  I tend to pick walking cities.  And, certainly London qualifies for that.  Even the little towns outside of London, which happens to be where I am staying with a friend.

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Mt. Saint Helens

You know you don’t have to climb every mountain.  Or, follow every rainbow.  But, if you are trying to set yourself realistic goals, then you can probably should add ford every stream to your list: one stream at a time, anyway.

When you decide you want to make a change in your life that will really stick, keep it simple.  Don’t go getting all grandiose about it.  “I want to lose weight” is not a good goal.

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