Jill was done. For three weeks I'd been force feeding her on a take-no-prisoners march through the restaurants of Italy. I had all but nailed her feet to the floor. And then four days in Rome – dio mio, Roma! If you don’t eat well in Rome, you’re an idiot.
Now she was on strike. “Forgive me, honey, but I have to go light tonight”, she said. “Just a little grilled fish and a salad. And no wine.”
This last was underlined as if to indicate it should have some special meaning for me.
“Just eat what you want, baby” I said, moving right past it. My focus was on the menu, planning my point of attack.
We were in Ristorante Lorenzo in the stylish seaside resort of Forte Dei Marmi, just down from Pietresanta on the Tuscan coast. Versilia is the beautiful name Italians give to this region. Lorenzo is not only the best restaurant in town but one of the most stylish, most satisfying in all of Italy.
Have you ever tasted Limburger cheese? So you think you're eating a pair of regular socks. Then you realize you're eating your brother's socks. 
Can we talk about how strange a yoga class in London is? Stretch out
your kidneys, she kept saying. Elongate your kidneys. Her British
accent easing me from one pose to another…but…kidneys? Really? I
don’t even know where my kidneys are. Honestly, I know they’re
somewhere in my torso region but to the point where I could isolate
them into a stretch. It was really strange.
Right up front let’s just say Death Valley is not a destination trip for foodies. Don’t fool yourself for a minute on that score. Death Valley is where you go to see extraordinary beauty, hike mind blowing rock formations, find God or ingest mushrooms (not particularly in that order), but one does not go for culinary arousal. Not that you can’t eat well and enjoy some surprisingly good meals but as my illustrious travel companion (i.e. foodie daughter) pointed out, that is because we weren’t expecting much.
