Rome, Italy (Brad A. Johnson)
I was walking down the street in Rome, Italy, when I saw this scene. I laughed outloud.The people looked like giants next to the tiny car. And the car's been through hell and back, as if it were a toy Matchbox car. I also love the way the sky was reflecting off the blue paint. Sigh. I love Rome.
Damn, this really makes me want to go to Sicily. RIGHT NOW. Perhaps you've already seen this viral ad from winemaker Tasca d'Almerita?
Naples, Italy (photos by Brad A Johnson)
The goal: Find the best pizza in Naples.
“But hasn’t it already been determined that Michele makes the best pizza in Naples?” asks a friend in London who travels to Italy often just to eat. “Really?” I ask. “Says who?”“I don’t know,” he says. “Everybody?”I email a chef with long ties to Naples. He emails back: “Michele makes the best pizza.”I obviously need more opinions. So I email the chef at the new Romeo Hotelin Naples. He’s a native Napolitano, just back from a stint at the acclaimed Fat Duck in England...
Regina Hotel Baglioni
The Lowdown: Italian owners revamped this 103-room Art Deco diva on the famed Via Veneto just last year. Rooms boast period furniture and lacquered closets. And the new Panoramic Penthouse comes with a private rooftop hot tub and barbecue terrace.
Best for? Service. The bellman, the bartenders, all the way up to the gregarious GM—the best in town.
Insider Tip: The chic Brunello restaurant mustn’t be missed. But beware the sharp nails penetrating the undersides of the tables—ouch!
Caveat: It’s been ages since the Via Veneto was Rome’s most glamorous boulevard. Rates from $502; Via Veneto 72, +39.06.4540.3300
Il Bacaro
Central Rome is packed with great trattorias and hosterias serving classic pastas like cacio e pepe (spaghetti with Pecorino cheese and black pepper) and bucatini all’amatriciana (in which the tomato sauce is amped with dried red chilies and cured pork jowl). I sampled too many cacio e pepe to count, and the best I found was at Maccheroni (Piazza delle Copelle 44), a brightly lit spot with an open kitchen, charming chef and pushy waiters on a well-trodden path between Piazza Navona and the Pantheon. The walls are lined with wine bottles, including some great Chiantis and Super Tuscans. But beware, they often try to stick out-of-towners at the horrible tables in the hallway. Push back with “Are you kidding me?” and demand a seat in the middle of the action.
The road into the Sassi di Matera was built for donkeys, not speeding minivans. But my taxi driver punches the accelerator, and our top-heavy shuttle teeters around another curve. The sun has just set, so it’s hard for me to make out the slanted terrain. The right side of the vehicle squeaks past the edge of a house built into the cliff. I peer out the opposite window and see nothing but a deep, black ravine. The van seems far too big for this road, like when a snake swallows a rabbit. Yet another oncoming car forces us onto the shoulder in an unwelcome game of chicken, then the driver nonchalantly slams the brakes and jumps the curb, landing us in a weed-filled slot barely larger than the van. To the front and left, we face the mountain. To the right, I notice a dusty stairway twice as high as the van, covered in weeds and dust. I look at my driver. “Why are we stopping?”
