Florence, handmade pasta, and the city that made me a chef.

In 2004, I packed my knives, left behind everything familiar, and moved to Florence, Italy to attend Apicius—The International School of Hospitality. I was just 19 years old and only a few months postpartum after placing my birth son for adoption (a story I’ll share in another post). I was grieving, growing, and searching for something I couldn’t yet name. Florence would become the city that held all of it.

Finding My Feet in Florence

My apartment was tucked just steps from the Ponte Vecchio, in Piazza Santo Stefano—up what felt like a thousand stairs. Technically, there was an elevator… but it was old, rickety, and usually broken, so we didn’t take it very often (and when we did, it was kind of terrifying). No Ubers. No shortcuts. Just cobblestones, grocery bags, and my own two feet. I walked everywhere—to school, the market, and the little places that eventually felt like home.

I shared that apartment with two other culinary students, including the incredible Alejandra Ramos, now a regular on The Today Show and an amazing chef in NYC. The energy in that place, even with all the stairs, was electric. We were young, hungry, and in love with food.

The Dishes That Changed Me

Florence taught me more than how to cook—it showed me how to feel food. Two dishes, in particular, changed everything for me: handmade pasta, which demanded presence and rhythm, and tiramisu, the traditional kind made with egg yolks, whipped egg whites, strong espresso, Marsala wine, and cocoa powder—no cream. That version ruined me (in the best way), and to this day, I can tell from one bite if a chef truly understands the soul of a dish.

That experience taught me something I’ve carried with me ever since: to cook well, you have to go to the source. It’s not enough to follow a recipe—you have to taste the dust in the air, feel the warmth of the land, speak the language of the dish. And Florence gave me that language.

The Man Who Made Me Taste the Blackberries

And then there was Jonathan Ferace, my wine instructor and a true sommelier—through and through. He was wildly passionate. The kind of passion where the veins in his forehead would bulge while he described a wine in vivid detail—talking about tannins, salt, raspberries, and minerality. He’d get so worked up sometimes, there’d be spit flying. I was 19 and totally overwhelmed. I remember thinking, this man is absolutely crazy about wine.

But I stuck with it. Week after week, I kept sipping, kept listening and then one day, I took a sip and said, “Blackberries. I taste it.” That was it—I was in.

When I turned 21, I enrolled in the International Sommelier Guild’s four-year program and earned my Sommelier Diploma. Later, I continued with WSET, eventually earning my Advanced Diploma. To this day, I just love a good glass of wine—because once you learn to really taste, it never leaves you.

Living in the Layers of Italy

What many people don’t know is that I didn’t just study in Italy—I lived there. For a time, I called a tiny apartment in the village of Jesi home. It sat just outside the ancient city walls of the Marche region, and I fell in love with the rhythm of life there. I cooked with whatever was freshest at the market, walked everywhere, and soaked up the heart of each region I visited.

Over time, I made it to 18 of Italy’s 20 regions, tasting their unique flavors, exploring their local traditions, and deepening my understanding of what it means to cook with seasonality and soul.

It was during that time that I met my dear friend Silvana Zamperini, a chef and host who runs an agritourism called Fattoria Fontegeloni in Serra San Quirico. She makes her own olive oil and wine, teaches cooking classes, and lives this beautiful, grounded, intentional life rooted in food and hospitality. Seeing what she created planted a seed in me. She didn’t inspire me to recreate her farm—she inspired me to dream of creating my own. A space to gather, to grow, to feed people, and nurture something meaningful.

We’ve stayed close over the years, and on my most recent trip, I had the joy of staying with her again. Reconnecting reminded me all over again of the beauty of that kind of life—simple, soulful, and deeply connected to the land.

The Reunion That Brought It Full Circle

In 2024, I returned to Florence for my 20-year reunion. I met up with my friend Gerardo, just before he moved to Rome. We shared drinks, swapped stories, and laughed like no time had passed. I also reunited with Chef Marcella Anzaldo, who was as brilliant and radiant as ever. We had cappuccinos over breakfast and reflected on where it all began. One of our earliest memories together? Learning how to extract an ink sac from a cuttlefish. (Story to come...)

I also saw Chef Andrea Trapani, another beloved instructor, and we caught up over aperitivo while the sun set over the city. These were the people who helped shape me—people who poured their knowledge into a wide-eyed girl with big dreams and a messy chef’s coat.

I even reconnected with three incredible Italian art students I met during culinary school—Giacomo Luziano, Ettore Pinelli, and Gerardo Morán. Back then, it was three American girls in culinary school and three Italian guys in art school—an unlikely but perfect friendship. We’ve stayed connected all these years. Giacomo is now an art teacher, Ettore is a well-known fine artist, and Gerardo illustrates children’s books with such warmth and detail it makes your heart stop. Seeing them again was a gift.

Needless to say, a lot happens in twenty years.
I became a mother.
I got married.
I got divorced.
I turned 40.
I built a business.
I built a life.
And I found myself again—on those winding streets, in those quiet moments, with a glass of wine in one hand and a cappuccino in the other.

This trip wasn’t just a reunion with friends and mentors.
It was a reunion with myself.

From My Kitchen to Yours

Today, I live on a small farm in Gold Hill, NC, with my daughter and a few very productive beehives. I host intimate farm dinners, teach hands-on cooking classes, and cook multi-course meals in beautiful homes across the Carolinas. I do this work with the same passion I felt at 19—only now, it’s rooted in experience, community, and deep gratitude.

Because it all started here, with a pasta roller, a plate of tiramisu, and a city that changed my life.

Classic Tiramisu

(No Cream, No Compromises)

This is the tiramisu that changed everything for me in Italy. No shortcuts, no whipped cream—just a fluffy, rich, totally traditional dessert that taught me to slow down, taste everything, and fall head over heels in love with real food. It’s the kind of recipe that sticks with you, not just because it’s delicious—but because it’s honest. And maybe a little bit messy. Just like life.

You’ll Need:

• 500g mascarpone (aka two small containers)

• 8 egg whites

• 4 egg yolks

• ½ cup sugar

• Juice of 1 lemon

• 1–2 packs of real Ladyfingers (the crisp ones—Savoiardi)

• Strong espresso (brewed, cooled, unsweetened)

• A capful of sweet Marsala wine

• Unsweetened cocoa powder (for dusting)

• Optional: Add cocoa to the mascarpone mix for a chocolate twist, but don’t tell my Nonna.

What You Do:

1. Separate your eggs like a pro. Egg whites in one bowl, yolks in another. No yolk in the whites—seriously, not even a speck, or they won’t whip. Use a third bowl if you’re nervous.

2. Whip it good. Whip the 8 egg whites with the lemon juice until they’re stiff enough to defy gravity. (If you can turn the bowl upside down without a disaster, you’re golden.)

3. Make your creamy base. Whisk together the 4 egg yolks, mascarpone, sugar, and Marsala until smooth and the sugar is fully dissolved.

4. Time to fold—gently. Fold the mascarpone mix into the egg whites by hand—no spatulas. Use one hand to mix (scooping from bottom to top), the other to spin the bowl. Be gentle. Think: folding clouds.

5. Dip, don’t drown. Dip the Ladyfingers into cooled espresso for 2–3 seconds. No more, or you’ll end up with mush. Let the extra drip off.

6. Layer like you mean it: Ladyfingers, Cream, Cocoa. Repeat once or twice, ending with a final swipe of mascarpone and a dusting of cocoa.

7. Chill out. In small cups/glasses: chill 3–4 hours. In a baking dish: 6–8 hours or overnight. Cover tightly so it doesn’t soak up your fridge vibes.

Tiny Warning:

Contains raw eggs—not ideal for pregnant folks or anyone avoiding raw egg.

Twenty Years Later: Back to Where It All Began