Italy

There are few more beautiful places in the world than the Amalfi Coast. Ancient villages vie with lemon groves for the prime real estate on the cliffs – with views that take you over the rooftops, through the fresh laundry flapping in the breeze, out to the blue sea. Truly gorgeous.

But when you try to walk in those quaint little streets, all you can see over the heads of the tour groups are stores selling t-shirts and limoncello. That’s the trade-off – at least in the big-name towns like Amalfi, Ravello, Positano, and Sorrento – there’s truly beautiful scenery but you’re going to have to share the view with a lot of other people. A lot of other people.

We stayed in Amalfi in a lovely, funky hotel up above the town – The Villa Lara. We ate in town and very well. My favorite was a place called Marocco where I had spaghetti with shrimp and lemon. I’d never tried that combination before and Amalfi is the place for it. The local lemons are famous – and unbelievably large – like the size of your head – and they carry a lot of taste. That’s it, I think: just toss the pasta in oil and lemon (probably juice and a little grated peel) and toss in the shrimp. It was totally satisfying with a glass or two of the local white wine.

“You know, I once saw an American TV show where someone was eating a fried Oreo.” This was the phrase that poured out my host in Torino’s mouth as we discussed the difference of food in each culture. I couldn’t help but laugh. Instantly, an image of Oreos, fries, chocolate, and dough being deep-fried at a county fair entered my mind. ‘In America, we can fry anything…even cheesesteaks,’ I thought.

“America, home of the fried,” I said out loud to my host.

As someone who was always on the bigger side, growing up, I made a vow two and a half years ago to give up deep fried foods. My only exception to the rule was tortilla chips. However, for two and a half years, fries and funnel cake never graced a single plate placed in front of me.

But my fast of fried food recently came to an end in Milan, Italy as I stepped into Luini, a famous shop in the heart of the city. The shop, recommended to me by the few people I knew to have spent extended amounts of time in Milan, is home to the very special panzerotti—fried pizza dough filled with deliciousness.

When I first heard the phrase “ZaZa,” I thought it might have referred to some strange dance move created decades ago, possibly performed by the Tracy Turnblad character, played by Ricki Lake, in the original Hairspray (John Waters, 1988). I imagined Lake’s character flailing her arms in the air, shaking her bum from left to right, tapping her feet to the drum, and exclaiming, “ZaZa!” on a certain beat. Thankfully, I had thought wrong: Instead of the ZaZa referring to a dizzying dance stunt, it was the most tremendously tasty Trattoria in Tuscany—a restaurant in Florence, whose food is so good, it may make you want to flail your arms up in the air and yell ZaZa!

In the far back of a square, just beyond the San Lorenzo, in the Piazza del Mercato Centrale, a neon “ZaZa” sign hangs above the big Trattoria. Immediately, I was attracted, not only to the bright sign, but also the outdoor seating that the Florentine workers at ZaZa refuse to put to rest for the winter, despite the chilly weather. As my roommate and I approached the hostess stand, I thought to myself ‘Tonight, I will be eating dinner in style. Tonight, I will be eating true Italian cuisine,’ something I had not done yet since returning to Italy for the first time in two years.

Normally, one encounter with an old bear would terrify a person. It would probably scare a person out of the wilderness and into solitude for an unforeseeable amount of time. It would most likely be an experience worth putting behind and never having to relive. In fact, the only person I have ever read of, other than circus acts and zoo trainers, to have ever made his life about becoming friends with old bears is Mr. Timothy Treadwell, who was deemed Grizzly Man by Mr. Werner Herzog in a 2005 documentary by the same title. Treadwell was the victim of one of the old bears he had become friends with during his life in the wilderness with them.

Recently, I survived an encounter with an Old Bear – only this one wasn’t big, fuzzy, and scary – this one was located in the center of Rome – this one was just a hidden gem crouching in a dark alley waiting for it’s prey to walk by and step inside. This one had sharp teeth that captured my friends and myself and welcomed us for one of our most wonderful dining experiences in Italy yet—this one was an old bear worth encountering.