I quicken my pace before the rain starts. Passing below oak, chestnut, and beech trees beginning to turn fall colors, I walk past stone villages and the carved images of saints erected in the Middle Ages to protect locals from the Black Death and other misfortunes. Finally, I reach the rustic Ristorante San Martino, a restaurant on the edge of Palanzano.
There’s nothing my soul wants more than a hearty, hot meal. Within minutes, a steaming plate of cappelletti—hat-shaped, filled pasta in broth—appears before me, together with some food I didn’t order, but the owner delivers with the expression of someone who won’t take it back. “My husband made it this morning,” Simona Zappoli says of the focaccia. “Try it.”
