A Little Limoncello is Good for the Memory

On an early summer evening we made dinner for friends, who brought dessert.  They were flying in a few days to visit some of the very same parts of northern Italy J and I did a few years ago.  Just hearing “Piemonte,” “Alba,” “Barolo,” “Liguria,” filled my heart.  I started talking in that enthusiastic tone of someone who has just gotten back from a trip and still feels close enough to touch it.  That experience was essentially the force behind this blog.  

She’s Italian and grew up in Turin (widely-claimed home of aperitivo); keeps a place on the Ligurian coast in Sanremo (or San Remo).  Fly into Nice and it’s a short drive across the French-Italian border, on the Riviera di Ponente, Coast of the Sunset.  (I stayed on the other side of Genoa, the Riviera di Levante, Coast of the Sunrise.)  We had homemade tiramisu for dessert and homemade limoncello for our digestivo.  A drink of grain alcohol, lemon rinds, and sugar, it burned the back of my throat.  The limoncello was poured mercifully into tiny shot glasses.  The rest is now hanging out in our freezer.  I admit to being a little afraid to bring it out.

So, I’m going back to Italy with maybe a few new posts and have split my very first post – written just over a year ago – into two.  I’m finally heeding (somewhat) my teenage niece’s comment that my blog posts can be too long.

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