It’s official: I am a coffee snob. I intend to fully and unapologetically preach to my Starbucks-drinking, drip-coffee-making friends when I step back on North American soil. Just know, friends, that I am right. The bialetti is my new java religion. Espresso never tasted so rich, smooth, creamy, electric. It is the start, middle, and sometimes second wind nightcap to this Dolce Vida of mine. (which, by the way, is a real thing – not just a beautiful overused Italian phrase!)

Now that I’ve clearly mastered the art of Italian eating, I’m keen to head to Tuscany and take a cooking class in Sienna. Rumour has it you drink wine while you learn (my kinda school!). My friend says we should travel on together – “con accompagnatore” is the only way to go, he insists, usually with a flirtatious wink.

I shrug. We’ll see, Casanova.

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