Lunchtime under a canopy in Sicily. The waiter buries my very large bottle of Italian beer deeply into a sweating ice bucket. The grilled shrimp, drizzled with spicy green oil, taste exquisitely of the salty Tyrrhenian Sea. At the next table, a lanky young man with a full head of curly black hair crosses himself before digging into a tangle of spaghetti studded with periwinkles, bemoaning the chef’s heavy-handed use of parsley to his sullen date. As church bells announce the hour, a deeply tanned old man, his bald pate glistening in the midday heat, strides across the piazza in a blindingly white shirt unbuttoned to his navel, a long gold chain sparkling against his hairless chest. (at Isola Di Favignana)
Heritage Culinary Artifacts