On our first official day, we stumbled into Pasta Fresca da Sabrina. She didn’t speak a lick of English, nor we, Italiano, but the charades that stood in for language worked—we picked up fresh sausage-stuffed ravioli. Walking down the main thoroughfare, we knew we had to find some pistachio pesto, which we found at a most touristy shop, where the lip-glossed and Versace-bloused lady spoke perfect English and urged us to try a sardine spread. Keeping on, we headed back up the many sets of worn stone stairs to our AirBNB. We saw a man offloading what looked to be fresh tomatoes and so, we manoeuvred ourselves “thataway”.
He was, sure enough, offloading crates of fresh fire-engine red tomatoes and basil-green zuchinnis.
His small shop was full of fresh produce: lettuce of many varieties, green, red, big, small, vined, non-vined tomatoes; oranges, lemons, eggplant, and on and on. We simplified, picking up tomatoes and with one more stop for fresh pane at a bakery around the corner, skipped off to our AirBNB cucina. Well, Andrew skipped.