Stepping off the plane in Milan at 16, I entered a world that felt both entirely foreign and intimately familiar. I had spent my childhood immersed in Italian culture, raised inside a family pizzeria surrounded by my loud, loving Abruzzese relatives. For my grandparents, cooking was an anchor to their roots, filled with the comforting staples of their home region: pasta e fagioli, porchetta sandwiches, and sugar-dusted pizza fritta.
Growing up in that environment made me feel like an expert on Italian cooking. Pasta and pizza weren't just favorites; they were the absolute staples of the table. But spending those summer months in northern Italy completely rewired my ideas about the cuisine, revealing a culture far richer and more varied than I had ever imagined.
