The first familiar sight in the Naples train station was a sfoggliatelle – a sweet lemony ricotta cream inside layers of flaky dough. I hunted them down in Baltimore’s Little Italy whenever I got to town – sometimes without success. But here was my favorite Italian pastry welcoming me to Italy.
When I asked for una bottiglia d’acqua, they understood. Of course, I had to have an espresso too and the gelato was calling my name. As I listened to the Italian conversations around me, I was surprised at how much I understood. Ah, Italia – it feels like home – my grandmother’s.