Eat Dessert First

Isola Bella, viewed from a nice spot.

Calabria on the horizon over there.

Taormina hillside.

Opening car park gate at Vincenzo’s place.

Street view of front courtyard entrance.

Back terrace—note the piles of lava ash from Etna.

Outside water faucet, with lava ash in basin.

Joe looking at (not visible here) front terrace garden.

Street name in front of house. Who knows what Marconi is known for?

Moto, tricolor flag, laundry line, the sea—essences of Italy in one shot.

Taormina archway, tufa and lava.

Fortress/castle with Arab-style arches.

Pretty door frame.

Street name is, literally, “Tight street”. And my pants hang weird without my high heels.

Crosses on the mountain.

Classic symbol of Sicily—La Carozza.

The quatrefoil drainage design makes a utility a piece of art.

Closed, darn it.

Roberto’s really is where you should buy cannoli.

Every picture tells a story.

“Lunch”. Vincenzo ordered 2 more brioche, as 4 wasn’t enough.

The technique.

More historic design elements.

Joe’s hilarious. He’s adopted the Passiegiata Pose.

More lava/tufa and arches.

Now to get some cannoli.

This was soooooooo yummy. Cousin Lucia, get over here!

So I don’t forget where I ate it.

Anteroom at one place.

On a whim, I deviated from my usual breakfast of sweets with my coffee, and had a bowl of healthy, unsweetened, multigrain, tasteless cereal with the milk that was about to expire. While doing this, Joe got a call from Vincenzo, asking if we wanted to join them around 10:00 to go to Taormina, to which we heartily agreed.

I showered, put on my Sunday best (but changed out of high heels later), and came upstairs to see Vincenzo with Joe. Elena is under the weather today, and Mariella is staying with her. After fixing my collar, Mariella bid us goodbye for now, and we asked her to give our best to Elena.

Vincenzo played jazz, his favorite, on his car’s sound system, and Roberto Murolo, a classic Italian singer, and Renzo Arbore, whose style incorporates many facets of Neapolitan music with more modern styles.

We drove in to Taormina, with stunning sea views along the way. Vincenzo pulled over so we could get a good view of Isola Bella, a private island until fairly recently, as it’s now a nature preserve. Of course, we’d been to Taormina a few times, but never with a local. Yes; Vincenzo also has two places in Taormina.

We walked the normal tourist path, void of most tourists in this cooler month of November. I pointed out a Pasticceria where my sister and I drooled over the beautiful cases of sweets so fiercely, we stopped in and bought multiple things, just to taste each one. Vincenzo nodded, saying that we had a good eye. There are many touristic grab and go places, but this particular spot produces exceptional confections. If memory serves me, he’s correct.

He pointed out architecturally historic things and explained their significance. I had thought History to have been one of my least favorite subjects (back in high school, it was true), but now I realize I needed context to appreciate it. For me, the magic touchstone is architecture. If you tell me the 5000-year all-inclusive background of how a Gothic portal became part of Taormina, I’ll listen with my jaw hanging open. 

Vincenzo took us through the “real” town of Taormina, off the main streets and piazzas and shops. We learned about bracing windows with iron frames, “battone di Ferro” embellishments, Liz Taylor/Richard Burton’s ‘Cleopatra’ clandestine cocktail at Wunderbar (also frequented by Andrea Boccelli), saw Calabria over on the mainland from Taormina, and learned of all the nations and foods that have landed or passed through there. He pointed out a fabulous restaurant, noting that it’s famous for its beloved status amongst the gay community, which Taormina wholly embraces. 

Along a non-touristy street, Vincenzo suggested we stop for a granita. Although it’s typically a Sicilian breakfast, a number of locals were enjoying them at 1:30 pm (some also ordered French fries on the side). The one time I had it for breakfast here, no doubt a tourist trap, a brioche was cut in half, filled with granita (a sugary confection; imagine ice cream flavors without the cream… in no way, however, is it sorbet or a popsicle) and topped with panna (a rich, thick cream). That is now complete crap in my memory. Today, Vincenzo ordered several flavors to taste: Kiwi and orange (made with fresh fruit), strawberries and almond, almond and caffe. The last two had panna (too much acid in kiwi/orange to mix with dairy). And 6 brioche for the 3 of us. The method is, tear off a piece of hot brioche, scoop granita onto it, eat. Vincenzo called it a lunch, and I agree—I was stuffed. He knew the owner; a friend and poet, who got his poetry legs with the help of Giuseppe Tomasello (Nonno). He called the man by his last name: Sauro.

We continued our walk, with our “teacher” pointing out more than I could track. He wanted to get cannoli from his favorite spot, Roberto, but it was closed. We went to another spot he likes; they knew Vincenzo, and said to sit on the patio a bit while they made a fresh batch for him. I said I wanted to see what else they sold; I’ll be out in a minute. As I came outside and sat down, the owner put a cannolo in front of each of us. Did I misunderstand? I thought he was buying some for later! I said, not without shock, “adesso?!” and Joe just laughed. Vincenzo said, it’s very light. (And yes; he also bought a tray for later). I completely subscribe to the idea that when you’re a guest, you tuck it in and go for it. And man, oh man, I’m glad I did. That cannolo was heaven. I don’t care if I’m on a sugar overload for the next five days! Besides, I ate cardboard for breakfast. We finished with caffe, and continued our walk to the house, which Vincenzo closed up and we got into the car. Joe asked me, when we had a moment, if I were exhausted. My Italian speaking/listening were on “full steam” mode for hours. I said I love it; I wish we had more days like this, and yes… a little bit tired. But content.

More music on the way home, as well as comparing notes on our homes’ photovoltaic systems. I’m now on the sofa in a sugar crash coma. I’m not sure what else the evening will bring, if anything. But that’s ok—we have Italian TV now.