I was in Reggio Emilia–an ancient little town in northern Italy, sitting at a vast wooden table in a room with stone walls and floors. I was warmed not by the hearth beside me but by the broth in front of me. I closed my eyes. Scents perfumed me and I blissfully became one with hints of flour and tomato and oregano.

My body tumbled forward and my eyes opened with a jolt. I surveyed the scene before me. Not a simple abode in Reggio Emilia after all, but a sea of commuters from the inside of an El train in Chicago. It was Monday morning. Reggio Emilia was just a dream. And, yet, it wasn't. I had been thinking about the meal I had the night before at Chef/Partner Sarah Grueneberg's Monteverde Restaurant and Pastificio. The taste memories conjured up the comforting Italian scene in a way that food had never transported me before.