April 7, 2025

If you add up all the time I’ve spent in Italy, it comes to a little over a year. But there is one trip that stands out above the rest. In 1990, not long after Phil and I got together, we traveled to Tuscany with my mother for a series of art classes held in a castle called Gargonza.

I had already fallen for Rome by then and had passed briefly through Lake Como. But Tuscany, with its rolling hills, hilltop villages and golden light, was a revelation. The trip was technically about art, and between classes we spent time in Florence and Siena, wandering the cathedrals and museums. At the end of the day, it was the small towns and villages in the countryside around Gargonza that stole my heart.

This was the first time I had tasted “real” Tuscan food. I was enchanted by the Wednesday morning market in Monte San Savino, where the proprietors select their best produce on your behalf. The macellaria (butcher shop) offered a slightly alarming moment: a chicken that came with the head and feet still attached. We became acquainted with Mario and Loretta who owned the tiny alimentari (grocery store), packed to the rafters with amazing things to eat, including local olives, fresh pasta and incredible olive oil. Cooking in my little kitchen in the guard’s cottage at Gargonza castle, I discovered the legendary alchemy of Tuscan cuisine, the way their extraordinary simple ingredients created food that was truly magical.