At this point, we had been in Italy just 3 days and had been given 2 bottles of wine, a bottle of grappa, 3 cookbooks and 4 teacups. My bag was getting heavy, my stomach was always full and the only time I’d touched my purse was to buy one bottle of water.

Gig number three was in Rimini, on the east coast. Massimo dropped us off at the train station and we said our goodbyes - reluctant to leave our new friend, translator and protector. 

We were greeted enthusiastically by a group of well dressed men at the Rimini venue. I was playing in a cave-like restaurant owned by Paulo - a gourmet Italian chef. Before sound check was even finished, I had a local wine in hand and a basket of warm vegan bread drizzled in olive oil and dusted with flaky salt before me. A short time later, we were brought shot glasses full of garlicy lentil dip with crostini slivers perched atop. Then, a salad of raw, bitter vegetable slices with intense lemon dressing, followed by a tomato and potato medallion topped with a soft poached egg, shavings of white truffle and a drizzle of  balsamic reduction. This lead on to artichoke soup with tagatelle and fried sage leaf and, to finish: a rose and orange scented dairy-free cream with a crust of caramelized sugar and a local handmade biscuits called ‘cats tongues.’

This was of course, accompanied by the local red - Sangionese di Romangra and hot espresso. 

Then I had to play. Oh yeah.. I’m here for the music! 

Gig numero quattro was in the deep south - the heel of the boot. The venue was just outside of Lecce in the small town of Novoli, - a theatre style space in an old stable with a dramatically curved ceiling made of large slabs of cream-coloured stone. We were sent to a local restaurant for dinner courtesy of the venue manager, Mario - an incredibly sweet and professional man who didn’t speak a word of english, making for some creative sign language and Liz and I grasping at every Italian word we knew. In true southern style, the audience turned up an hour late and once there sat silently and cheered loudly, despite my voice sounding tired. 

A group of indie kids asked for an autograph and told me they couldn’t offer a recipe since their mammas made their food. They were all in folk or indie bands and wanted to compare favourite artists so we told them to take us to the local bar - which as it turned out, was also the restaurant where we had had dinner. Once there, we drank the local red - negaromara, while talking about music and helicopter construction for several hours.

We had the next day off and decided to stay south in Lecce to soak up some southern warmth and Baroque architecture. We had dinner in a ‘typical Puglia’ restaurant:  wholemeal bread with warm white bean dip and wild chicory leaves in olive oil. Handmade thick slivers of twisted pasta with rich, sweet tomato sauce. Artichoke hearts slow-roasted in salt and olive oil. Our waiter for the night was Roberto - a classically sleezy Italian who would randomly cup our chins during dinner and tell us we were “fantastico!” and had “splendid-a eyes!” After a glass of Passito and an espresso we left the restaurant towards our nearby apartment. Roberto chased after us with a business card in hand. 

“Grazie grazie, ciao ciao!” Before I knew what was happening, he had grabbed my face with both hands and was violently attacked my lips with his. As quickly as it had happened, it was over and he was walking back to the restaurant looking pleased with himself.. leaving Liz and I reeling in disbelief, the taste of Roberto’s chap stick lingering like burnt rubber after an accident.

We hit the grappa once back at the apartment and spent some time giggling about Italian men and trying to decide whether it was my baggy, high necked jumper or my travel-weary, sagging-at-the-knees jeans that had implied I was ‘asking for it.’

Ciao, Ciao Italia! Kiss kiss.