I collapsed onto the wooden chair with a heavy sigh, my feet were fatigued. We had walked from Taormina to a quaint town perched on the cliffs above, Castelmola. Beneath a medieval church in Piazza Chiesa Madre, we discovered a small restaurant and ordered lunch. I savoured the sun’s warm rays on my neck while watching two lovers at the adjacent table. Interrupting my gaze, the waiter placed our entrée on the table, bruschetta.
I lifted the thick toast to my lips and took a bite. The bread crunched beneath my teeth. My neck lunged forward trying to catch the crumbs from falling; it is impossible to eat this dish gracefully. Pieces of tomato flesh, seeds and juice filled my mouth, enriched by the sweet floral basil leaves. It was perfectly balanced, refreshing and completely intoxicating….