wore sneakers. It was summer, but the fall rains were early. I clipped through the streets at ease. This had become home. After one month of trekking through the western hills of Bretagne, I was now stationed in Paris, relishing each wet step on the street. I had rented a small apartment, a 7th floor walk-up in the 11th arrondissement, and was having my first real experience of being alone on a trip. Alone to transform myself into whatever I desired. Alone to have only Paris as a lover—full of its pink light and strange, silent, high-context eyes, locking in to me.<< MORE >>

Halloween. You could make a lengthy Discovery Channel series on the holiday—the origins, its transliteration into various cultures, religious opinions. (Oh, Wait! They did do that!!) Although it makes good TV, maybe we don’t need to understand everything about Halloween. Maybe we just need to celebrate the birth of fall and the whisper of the winter to come.<< MORE >>

What does dirt mean to you? Maybe not much if you are living in an urban city where no matter what, food shows up in the stores, the trains get you where you need to go; and pavement spreads and slides along the ground and up buildings, creating ease of transportation—encasing you in a seemingly steady world. For those nearer to the agricultural universe—where the fruit of your labor can very well mean literally the fruit of your labor—soil is a more immediate and important thing. Nevertheless for all of us these days, survivalism can cause many things to feel immediate, and the actual victory of survival can brings heartfelt shared celebrations wherever there are humans on earth. << MORE >>

One of the best lines ever in a movie: “Make it. Make the pasta. Make it. Make it. Make the pasta! Come on. Let’s go!” Poor Secondo. If you haven’t seen the movie Big Night (1996, directed by Campbell Scott and Stanley Tucci), you haven’t seen the best food movie ever made. What? No. I’m not kidding. It really IS the best food movie ever made. The last scene of the movie is by far one of the best-acted scenes ever shot on film—AND IN ONE TAKE. Okay. I’ve pitched it enough. Go Netflix it. How rare for Americans to make their own pasta, yet how common in Italy. When Americans think pasta, most of the time they think of dried, packaged spaghetti. Sadly, it’s true. Unless we’re living near an Italian with the goods to teach us a thing or two, we probably think of pasta as purely pre-fab. “They do that in factories,” we say, “with machines…like bubble gum.”<< MORE >>

Water squirted up from the olden spout and into my mouth. I managed two large gulps, but what didn’t make it beyond my lips splattered onto my face and the cobblestone bricks of the Roman piazza. “Now you are Italian,” he said. I smiled. “Really? I thought it took Italian DNA to create Italians.” “No. This makes you officially Italian.” It was blazing hot, and although the Pantheon was old news for my two Italian guides, I couldn’t help but stare back at it from the piazza. I wiped the fountain’s water from my chin. I was fascinated with its antiquity, not the part that sat with its Catholic “upgrade"—even though the upgrade was pretty antiquated in and of itself—but the part behind that veneer, bold and raw before Rococo and gilt edging. It was blazing hot, andalthough the Pantheon was old news for my two Italian guides, I couldn’t helpbut stare back at it from the piazza. I wiped the fountain’s water from mychin. I was fascinated with its antiquity, not the part that sat with itsCatholic “upgrade"—even though the upgrade was pretty antiquated in and ofitself—but the part behind that veneer, bold and raw before Rococo and giltedging.<< MORE >>

"Did you say, 'Priest Strangler?" I asked. "Yes. That's what this pasta shape is called." "That is totally insane," I said, shaking my head. I was within the walled Italian city of Urbino in Le Marche, which clearly was the inspiration for many a fairy-tale children's book. The Palazzo Ducale proudly stood in the sun, its spires on full alert. Narrow cobblestone streets carved themselves through Romanesque buildings. Shop owners hovered in their doorways like guardians to secret passageways. I expected someone in renaissance clothing to pop out from behind a roman brick and say "Hear Ye! Hear Ye!"; or better yet, the cast of Monte Python's Holy Grail to materialize singing "Brave, Sir Robin... Brave, Sir Robin." << MORE >>

Sometimes it's one simple meal that will indoctrinate you into a culture and burn memories into your brain. I had been to Le Marche before, but in the winter, where the sea was asleep, foggy and distant. I was content to stay perched up on the mountain in Civitanova Alta or around Pesaro avoiding snow storms and learning how to make broth--the Marchigiani way. But now in August, the sun was high over the waters, the umbrellas on the beaches stood up proudly in the sand and just about everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, was out on the beach or in the sea. I thought about my poor, pale, New York blue skin tone and how it was sure to reflect light from the sun like a mirror and take out a small plane. Nonetheless, I, too, wanted to be on that beach and in the water.<< MORE >>

If you have picked up a travel magazine anytime over the past 20 years, I am sure you have been given advice regarding travel spots in Italy. Italy has been and has stayed one of the most traveled destinations of all time, most particularly Rome, where the city’s amber light and historic wonders fill you with a romance rivaled only by Paris. Outside of Rome, tourists have continually flocked to Florence, Venice or Pisa for great art and architecture. Yet, over the past 10 years or so, Tuscany became the greatest destination spot outside of Rome as agritourism flourished. Vacationers flocked to the hills for great food, wine and olive oil. The English bought villas and implanted themselves as they had done in France for generations. Tuscany was then followed by Umbria, and now even a bit of Romagna (holding its beloved city of Bologna) as a sure hit on the list. Yet remarkably, Le Marche was somehow missed... but not for long. << MORE >>

There seems to be a growing consensus that breakfast is the most important meal of the day. It gives you energy; it helps you lose weight; you spend more time with your kids; it helps you work; and the list goes on and on. However, one reason not mentioned often is that psychologically, breakfast is important. Most people don't like to get up and cook something first thing. They want to sleep till the very last minute. Sleep is prized, and understandably so. But, I have found that getting up, and having that extra 30 minutes to an hour to prepare, sit and eat breakfast makes all the difference in the world regarding the remainder of the day. Here's why.<< MORE >>

When I was in college one of my mentors, Leslie Marmon Silko (Native-American author and teacher) told me that “Art will always transcend a border, but politics will not." This was a very sage and unexpected response to my question, “Ms. Silko, should I choose to be a writer or a diplomat?" When I think back to that brief conversation, I am stunned at its truth. Human beings connect over paintings, sculpture, music, film, theatre and one of my favorite art forms… food. I understand that not everyone agrees on what is proper to eat. Some eat meat; some do not. Some eat dairy; some do not. I also understand that food can bring people together, help resolve differences and teach tolerance.<< MORE >>