We spent the first two weeks of our married existence tromping through Italy. Very shortly after we fell in love with each other and long before our engagement, Charlie and I had decided an Italian honeymoon would be the epitome of a romantic voyage. Twenty four hours after exchanging vows, we escaped to Milan and our whirlwind tour of Venice, Florence, and the Cinque Terre. We emphasized sipping and savoring, hoping to discover Italy’s character in its food and wine.

The flavors we discovered in the canalled city were a satisfying indulgence. Relying on recommendations from the locals, we wandered through the ghetto in search of an inconspicuous restaurant with a green awning. Having made reservations ahead of time, our table was waiting for us with a carafe of house red and a menu that made my mouth water. We started with a caprese salad of large rounds of mozzarella, heirloom tomatoes, and freshly picked basil, followed by perfectly textured seafood risotto and moist pork tenderloin.

Florence, with its beautiful sights and artful existence, was a bit of a culinary miss. We wandered aimlessly in search of something authentic, but stumbled into mediocre dishes I could create in my own kitchen with dried pasta and a jar of Ragu. We relied too much on our own eyes and noses instead of searching for the insider scoop.

Narrowly missing our train from Pisa to Monterosso, we were already out of breath when we caught our first glimpse of the coast. The sun beat down on the cliffs and the water was so blue it felt an extension of the cloudless sky. We jumped off at our stop and darted straight for the hotel, quickly changing into our beach attire. We discovered the Enoteca Ciak where we purchased our first bottle of crisp Cinque Terre white to enjoy on the sand.

Monterosso held a plethora of options for dinner. We meandered from restaurant door to restaurant door perusing the menus and peeking over shoulders to catch a glimpse of the cuisine. We circled back to one restaurant several times, fascinated by the rustic brown-glazed clay pots in which they served their meals family style, and by the third circle we requested a table for two. They were full, there was no waiting list, and they would be unable to seat us for the evening. Disheartened, we picked another restaurant, but set our hearts on the Ristorante Ciak for our second night in the Cinque Terre.

The wait was worth every minute. We found our table and ordered the spaghetti and clams. It was served in their signature rustic brown-glazed clay pot, a feast for the eyes and every bite was ever so fresh and satisfying. We ate to the bottom of the bowl, every clam, the last string of spaghetti, each dice of tomato, and the very last spoonful of sauce. We were so inspired we purchased an identical pot from the Ciak Enoteca, lugged it through Italy, and recreated the dish when we returned home. My husband has truly embraced preparing the spaghetti and clams (or spaghetti and seafood) and I have truly embraced eating it. Every time we lift the noodles from our Italian clay pot, I am transported back to our tromp through Italy.