Hungry hungry Hippocrates.

a song to set the scene // so this is love by sneha, contejas

My gem and I were dining in Amalfi when I stumbled across this quote by Hippocrates on one of our menus:

“Let food be thy medicine, and let your medicine by they food.”

I mean, in what better place in the world would you find a quote about food being medicine and medicine being food than in the culinary capital that is Italy?

It was fitting then: to read this quote not only at another incredible Italian restaurant, but also in the presence of my gem, who happens to be somewhat of a foodie.

Okay, so he’s a Chef.

Lucky me, I’m also a lover of food.

Growing up, I always had somewhat of a refined palette. Preferring clams sautéed in white wine and butter in the stead of the typical pizza palette of my friends, I was raised with an appreciation for fine dining.

There were few things I didn’t eat.

I’ve tried the delicacy of ant larvae in Mexico.

I stomached rabbit head in the south of France.

I enjoy octopus, escargot, and sashimi.

I even ate a fried tarantula on The Late Late Show with James Cordon, served to me by Anna Faris. I mean how could I not.

Photographing my food wayyyyyyyyyyyy before it became popular, food to me was not only been an enjoyable thing to consume, but always something to appreciate, especially when it was tied to a memory.

I feel we should clarify some essential facts before we go further: I love to eat, not cook.

Don’t get me wrong: I can cook.

I can follow a recipe pretty darn well, but that’s about it.

Following in the footsteps of my mom, who followed in the footsteps of her mom, who likely followed in the footsteps of her mom, I’m not very adventurous when it comes to cooking, especially when it comes to seasoning.

But then things changed.

I met my gem.

And suddenly, my entire culinary world transformed.

Instead of viewing cooking as a means to an end, cooking suddenly became the experince itself.

The grocery shopping, the prep, the charcuterie boards we’d make for each other to nibble on while we cooked, Frank Sinatra playing in the background, the wine (there’s always a bottle of wine), the heat from the stovetop, the smells wafting from the oven, the bossing around and the “yes chef!”, the plating, the kissing of the cook before taking our first bites: that was almost better than the sensation of diving into the plates themselves.

Food not only became an activity in which we enjoyed each others company over either.

It was also present for the not so pretty stuff.

When I locked myself in a closet, working through past trauma, food was the safety offering, the sustancene I never knew I needed.

When I was sick, buried on the couch in a field of used tissues, food was the comfort, the medicine Hippocrates talked about.

When I was hangry and stubborn, food would magically appear, usually smelling so good I had no choice but to smile in gratitude.

My gem introduced food to me in an entirely different light.

Cooking became the foundation of so many of our memories together. Even when things were rough, there was food: always a comforting presence.

Cooking to me then, no longer felt like a chore to get to the good stuff. Cooking became the good stuff.

I have this super fond food memory growing up.

Every Sunday, long before my Sundays were tied to working, my dad used to make us breakfast.

While he dabbled with hobo eggs, breakfast burritos, and dutch babies, my favorite dish was good ole fashioned pancakes.

Expressing how much I missed this tradition, my gem agreed to make pancakes with me the other morning.

With a little bit of that fancy palette coming into play, we made the most heavenly pumpkin pecan pancakes.

It tasted like home. But at the same time, it tasted of a new home, for I now had this lovely (and tasty) memory I shared with my gem.

I don’t often know how to express to him how much his culinary skills mean to me. Yes, this guy prepares me some of the tastiest meals I have ever had, but he’s also made me cherish the process of cooking; which, in life, is often the most important part.

Am I spoiled? Absolutely.

Am I gaining weight? Most definitely.

Is it worth it? Always.

While I am still learning how to enjoy cooking, I am getting “batter.”

And lucky me, I have the best Chef by my side.

la bella vita.

a song to set the scene // heaven can wait by dean martin

If there’s one thing I learned about the Italians it’s that they love to eat.

And if there’s one thing I know about my gem is that he lives to eat.

Me? I too love to eat.

And drink.

And shop.

And travel.

Lucky for us, Italy provided.

My gem and I just returned from the most magical trip to Italy.

As questions pour in about our vacation: how was it? what did you do? what was your favorite part? I look down at my still tanned Amalfi arms and smile.

Where does one start?

I could look through the thousand photos I took and point out the highlights: the Napoli Sottereana, pizza in the piazza, charcuterie in the streets, visiting Pompei, pasta at the Spaghetti House (mama Mia the pasta!), Monte Solaro, Blue Grotto, espresso con pannas at Andrea Pansa, walking through the film set of The Equalizer 3, the beauty of Positano, or the day spent sunning on the beach in Atrani.

Gosh, I didn’t realize how many memories were tied to food. What did I say earlier? Ah yes. “The Italians love to eat.”

I could also choose to glaze over the not so pretty stuff, but those are the stories that make for the most entertainment later. Like:

Walking through “Cat Piss Alley”, coughing up 40 euros for a glass of rose (damn that view was almost worth it though), almost getting hit by taxi, not realizing you had to press STOP on the bus, therefore missing our stop. Oh, and let’s not forget showing up to our dinner reservation only to find that the restaurant had closed the week before.. and somehow neglected to inform us.

But, like most things in life, the stuff that sticks out are the moments in between. They’re the fractions of a second I chose to close my eyes and hold on to that feeling for just a little longer.

They always say “time flies when you’re having fun”, and I felt that, deeply. There were moments in which I felt time was just fleeting; like, is this even real?

It was so magical, so dreamlike.

The food, the drink, the views, but especially the company.

There’s one distinct memory I have, where I felt that I had truly died and gone to heaven.

My gem and I were on our private boat tour of Capri. After the brief but thrilling visit to the Blue Grotto, where we were lucky enough to have the whole cave to ourselves, we laid down at the front of the Italian gozzo boat to enjoy the rest of the ride.

I was laying between his legs, the last hint of the Italian sea sun gracing me with warmth, and my gem started to give me a massage.

With the careful caress of the sea rocking me to relaxation, and his hands working magic on my shoulders, I closed my eyes, forgot everything else in the world, and just smiled.

My gem looked down at me, at the tears of joy pooling around my eyes, and knew exactly what I was doing.

“Holding on to the moment?” he asked.

I nodded, smile spreading.

I was so happy. I felt so lucky. To be here, on the Tyrrhenian Sea, with my love, on the breathtaking Amalfi Coast. It was like a scene out of a movie, and it felt so unreal that the only way I could believe it to be true was to just close my eyes and soak it in.

This is happening. This is real.

La bella vita.

To answer everyone’s question, and to answer my own, my favorite parts of the trip were in those moments, in the times I closed my eyes.

Because the thing is: I can revisit those memories, anytime, anywhere.

Every time I close my eyes, I can go back to St. Andrew’s Square and melt as I take another bite of octopus confit.

Every time I close my eyes, I can revisit Andrea Pansa and soften as the house-made Chantilly whip cream in my espresso con panna bring about feelings of love I have never felt towards coffee before.

Every time I close my eyes, I can be back on the beach in the sea-side village of Atrani. There we are, walking along the sand picking up sea tiles and glass before diving into the warmest, clear, sparkling ocean.

Every time I close my eyes, I can toast to my gem and revel in the moment in which we made it: here, and now.

Despite the struggles it took to get there, despite the painful moments of growth in our relationship, and our continued walks through Cat Piss Alley, my gem and I were truly the luckiest: in love, and living la bella vita.

And I can go back there: anytime, anywhere.

All I have to do is close my eyes.

Sunset on the sea in Capri — Our sunset cruise of the Island of Capri. Truly heaven on earth!