The copper pot is filled with a custard so golden it looks like liquid sunshine. Our waiter carefully ladles the sugary, egg-yolk elixir, zabaglione, into two bowls for dunking warm pansarole doughnuts. Our conversation stops, a silent competition to nab the last one. We are literally living la dolce vita.
This dessert is a tradition in Apricale, a fairytale-like village in Liguria, Italy’s crescent-shaped region that hugs the Mediterranean. It’s a far cry from crowded Cinque Terre and posh Portofino to the east. This western edge, on France’s south-eastern border, feels more authentic and calmer in the winter, with more local people than tourists. Unburdened from competing with others for reservations, you are free to live in the present. Let spontaneity be your guide – or, in my family’s case, our appetites.
