Giulia

I grew up in Catania and have lived in Bologna for nearly a decade, which means I spend half my life debating whether a four-hour slow-simmered ragù or pasta alla Norma with coarsely grated ricotta salata is closer to religion. When I travel, I skip fine-dining tasting menus: I set an early alarm for the covered morning market, duck into neighborhood bakeries as the first trays come out of the oven, and look for family-run trattorias where the menu is handwritten on a single sheet of paper. I always pack my suitcase half-empty because I already know I’ll be coming home with two kilos of vacuum-sealed cheese and a couple of bottles wrapped in my sweaters.