Operation Gelato is go! Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to redenominate your Euros into Gelatos before you end up with a fistful of useless Lira.
Yes, it's an airplane son. Where we're going you really don't want to arrive by boat.
On second thought, no need to worry about dumping those Euros, none left.
Daddy, is this the Five Star Movement you were referring to?
Where'd Skye go Daddy? Is she landing at Adventure Bay now?
Nothing says hip like a chalkboard door. It only opens for those who can garner 500 likes for an Instagram post of a vintage typewriter.
Hang on, I got three blog readers for a post of a vintage rotary dial, does that count?
Where's Rossini when you need him? Someone fire up some William Tell Overture.
Looks like the Leaning Tower of Pizza has gone all low-carb.
The heart of the Fashion Capital of Europe. Soon to be the Fashion Capital of a Moderately Sized Mediterranean Nation.
So your Azzurri missed out on a World Cup berth? Welcome to the club. And by club I mean the Columbus Crew not Roma. Sorry.
When in Italy eat at... uhm... the place that's four subway stops from home?
Auntie Catherine from London arrives just in time for gelato o'clock.
The good news is gelato in Italian is gelato.
Son, when you're 16 we'll see if used Corollas come in this color.
Mommy, can I have a stroller with gullwing doors please?
It's always a good sign when a hanging bike is the sign.
A little piece of home. No Eataly doesn't count, there's nothing little about four stories of olive oil and truffles.
In Italy the hipster Vespa touch isn't staged, someone actually, you know, parked there to grab some oranges around the corner.
So about that Last Supper, I may have painted over the wrong wall. Sorry.
Look Dad, an original Caravaggio! You can tell by the dramatic chiaroscuro and muscular, almost god-like physiques.
In fact, if he wasn't a starving artist Caravaggio would have been right at home in the ultra-hip Carlo e Camilla in Segheria restaurant, where a monumental cruciform communal table seems to float out of the inky shadows of a reclaimed warehouse, illuminated only by a single row of theatrical chandeliers and the flickering backlighting of a hundred candles.
This is the kind of place you expect to stumble in on a secret society in the midst of some twisted spring equinox ritual. Make sure you review it on Yelp if you do.
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