Challenged by the many restaurants in the most frantic town of Italy, owners diminish their praise with more modifications. More salt, less sugar. Smoked paprika, not regular. The kitchen is a madhouse for the cooks—you can all but hear the rolling of heads on each chopping board as the chef declares massacres—and not the animal kind. Re-plate that! Olive oil, not butter! Are you trying to kill this dish? It’s a symphony of mayhem, the very best kind you could digest. You wonder what exactly goes on in the beautiful minds of chefs—the curator, the innovator, the challenger. It doesn’t really matter, especially when savoring the very essence of that person through the delicate zest incorporated in the food prepared for your, your, pleasure.

You draw in closer to the breadbasket that was just sat in front of you by a stealthy woman in white and black—a server. A woman of dexterity–quick and efficient, yet gentle and appealing to look at it. You take this flaky, crusty, melt-in-your-mouth-like-butter bread and let your tongue moisten with drool and excitement. You chew with exaggeration, or perhaps it was you nodding your head yes, yes, yes! Either way, you thoroughly enjoy your piece of bread. So much, in fact, that you forgot the olive oil and pepper to dip it in. Take two?

You chase your nose after the growing scent of entrancement. Creamy, salty mozzarella cheese and soft, rounded potato balls of gnocchi captivate your taste buds in a dance of salsa. You have always been familiar with this meal, though not at this level of expertise. You cherish the keen accuracy of the flavors: basil, salt, and something else altogether. It’s okay to not know what it is—you almost never do. A quintet of herbs—gravy made from freshly grown tomatoes, pureed with the slight of hand. Luscious mozzarella chunks cut to superb size to shine through the red, made known of its existence not only through sight, but in aroma as well. How far must you travel to experience such a delicacy? However far, it is worth your every effort to obtain this reality. Hours of travelling have hyped you up for all the right things. Your gratitude does not go unnoticed, and you endeavor to search for more.

You reach for your wine—red—you don’t normally drink it as it often in the past brought your taste buds to retreat into your tongue, mortified by the bitterness and lack of sweetness most grapes usually provide. Its blend was carefully made by the grape magicians, meticulously picked by hand, tossed together like a spring salad and out came a smooth, velvety blend of red wine you’ve come to appreciate and admire. A craft unlike you’ve seen before, characterized by the generations of masters of the kitchen. Your eyes roll slightly back into your head and you catch a glimpse of the people around you. You find similar reactions to your own and you think, the chef must be so damn proud.

And what of dessert?