27/10/2025: unparalleled ☝️❤️ TORRE DI PALME, Lu Focaro’ - Here, in Torre di Palme, the red bricks of the village tell of celebrities who, more or less discreetly, seem to frequent "the restaurant."
A few bricks, more inclined to betray the secret, have whispered in the attentive and curious ear of those who know how to listen and see, some illustrious names, citing anecdotes in exchange, however, for confidentiality. A word that for the traveler still faithful to professional ethics, and even more faithful to ancient values such as that of the given word, would never break to put on his head the laurel of "I know something you don't know, you can't know." The "red" parades close to the tables, chairs, and tablecloths under the eyes of those who, for a moment, are distracted by that silent passage.
The traveler, careful where he puts his wheels and mirrors, feels them, those eyes somewhere between annoyed and amazed. His, the traveler's, is a mandatory passage to reach the coveted abode to disembark for the night. But to store with certainty of finding three premium cameras, six super-bright lenses useful for stars and moons, merchandise he certainly wouldn't leave in some parking lot outside the walls.
And to sleep in the car... well, no way.
A night that the traveler already smells of memories, tears, and blood. Why Donald Duck will write about it later.
A traveler who, while waiting for the darkest hours of August nights, would like to indulge in the delicacies spoken of by the faithful brick.
So, now walking alongside the walls belonging to the faithful brick, those of the church of "why even this cross?" (Temple of Sant'Agostino, IN Torre di Palme), he prepares for a sweet dinner. Alone.
The terrace is full. The terraces below are packed with people bustling about satisfying their taste buds.
A cheeky classic: Polo shirt, Bermuda shorts, flip-flops.
I'm working, not formal.
In keeping with other summer attires already settled.
I would never insult a place with INappropriate attire.
She, the charismatic and austere Hostess, notices.
"Have you had dinner?"
"I was hoping to be as little of a hindrance as possible, I understand the moment."
"Come with me."
I had noticed since the morning, early afternoon—I don't remember exactly—the Hostess's strength when, through divine intercession, etc., she then took me to a certain terrace.
I was in awe, confirmed later by the sight of her busy preparing the tables for the dinner guests. A skillful balance of shapes, flowers, colors. This means that even before sitting down and sampling the dishes, the table itself is an invitation to enter a dimension different from the average restaurant, even if it's a luxury one. Something similar happened to me, accompanied at the time, in Ischia.
A dive into the Bourbon past, also made of hierarchies and deference.
Of aromas and flavors. What do you think you've read?
The layout draws an L. At the intersection, a table.
Perfect for a single person.
A single person who loves to observe, reflect, understand.
The smile of the woman who arrives to explain how to accommodate the traveler's desires, her professionalism, her kindness, are a dazzling sparkle among the lights of that evening, of that dinner.
The dinner? I've been writing about automotive and cars for over forty years. It would be like asking me how much the latest model mentioned in some note online or elsewhere costs.
We live on flavors, nuances, but above all emotions, not on the profit and loss account, labels, and food preparation.
Here is the sacred temple that encompasses everything.
Of course I would return.
Of course I will return.
When, and how, is unknown.
But there are emotions worth experiencing again.
Even "shooting" six hundred kilometers in a few hours just for a dinner that illuminates how "a life lived to the full" still makes you feel thirty.
26/10/2025: Beautiful place and the food is good. The service is very kind.
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