Bread Lounge

Bread Lounge

Los Angeles, USA

It is Downtown Arts Districtai??i??s bakery. You could miss it the first time, since it hides in the busiest crossing on South Santa Fe Avenue. Letai??i??s say you will have to go there on purpose. For the Balkan Borek, puff pastry triangles with sesame, rightly scorched, very crumbly, and filled with feta cheese, spinach and onion. For Challah, the Jewish Friday plait bread, and for the big breadsticks with Kalamata olives and zaai??i??atar, a mixture of herbs, marjoram, oregano and thymus. Homemade middle-eastern delicacies and perfect baguettes, worth a Saturday morning line, among young people from the neighbourhood studios.

La Rustita

La Rustita

Marche, Italy

Empty beaches, closed chalets, deserted promenade. In autumn, the Adriatic Sea is tepid and good-natured, vaguely sad, and only belongs to a few. Above all, to those who live there and can enjoy the last days of sun sitting in the courtyard of a port trattoria at lunch. In Fano, young people love to meet at La Rustita, and so do we. We eat seafood salad, grilled squids, fried fish, mixed salad and white wine of the house between white wood and salty breeze.

Taverna della Rocca

Taverna della Rocca

Marche, Italy

La Taverna della Rocca has the fragrance of my childhood Sundays: long tables and meals that resembled a ritual; the smell of dense meat sauce ai??i?? cooked slowly ai??i?? and of hand-rolled egg pasta that characterised the holiday; the smell of grilled meat. The only ai???eccentricityai??i?? here are the piade sfogliate grilled and served with wild herbs and local toma cheese (the house women are quite proud of them). An ode to dedication and simplicity.

Confiteria Bristol

Confiteria Bristol

Buenos Aires, Argentina

A boy and a girl walk on via Esmeralda. At the end of February, though the summer is about to end, the air in Buenos Aires is still torrid. They have just arrived and today they have no destination. The small ConfiterAi??a Bristol is the address they are not looking for. The girl orders two vegetarian empanadas, and the boy three with meat, with no hesitations. In front of the convex windows of the confectionerai??i??s that since 1952 lives on the domestic rituals of the local upper middle class, they speak with the man at the counter ai??i?? a Peruvian who learnt the trade as a boy ai??i?? and with a distinguished woman whom the confectioner introduces promptly as a regular customer and granddaughter of President Avellaneda. These delicious turnovers of crumbly wavy pastry ai??i?? the girl will learn to mould them with greater and greater skill ai??i?? are the main course of an improvised picnic on a bench in the small park in front of the Palacio de Relaciones Internacionales. She bites them slowly, while he wolfs them and smiles with eyes wide open, as he did when he was caught doing some prank as a child. Buenos Aires was his world back then; now it is the city where he goes back and takes his new love.

La Bamba de Areco

La Bamba de Areco

Buenos Aires, Argentina

Only the pampasai??i?? prairie beyond Buenos Airesai??i?? north-western suburbs can silence the enthusiasm that Big Sur glaciers stirred in us. We have just left them. It is a summer Sunday; the wind pampers the treesai??i?? foliage with deep hypnotic caresses. At the end of a dirt road, a young gaucho awaits us near the gate, as sculpturesque and fierce as the horse he controls with minimal moves. We follow him up to the entrance of a purple residence edged in white, along an intimate procession that cuts in half the neat land at sunset. Everything in this maternal rural landscape seems to be cautiously dancing with ancestral moves. The grass is greener, and the sky is airier and higher. This Land has become, also for us, a promise of happiness…

Hub PorteAi??o

Hub PorteAi??o

Buenos Aires, Argentina

ai???All happy mornings resemble one anotherai??i?? ai??i?? Here I am, Jonathan Safran Foer. We woke up at Hub PorteAi??o with a discreet and innocent jolliness, which even the passing rain drumming on the veranda could not disperse. The wall garden at our back, we sat on the striped sofa and sipped coffee in decorated china, while waiting for our daily medialunas to come out of the oven, stately and fragrant. The historical neighbourhood families resumed their classic routine while the sun dried the smaller puddles. In our spare time, we exercised our idea of luxury: we idled on the roof terrace, a private Eden among building tops, lingered in the big marble bathtub and, when snack time came, treated ourselves to a portion of homemade cake and a mate, while resuming that book about enchanted estancias.

Oviedo

Oviedo

Buenos Aires, Argentina

It is summer in Buenos Aires; lunch regulars start sitting down in Oviedoai??i??s radiant dining room and greet with familiarity the waiters, busy with the last preparations. We get quickly used to ceremonious gestures, faint pleasantries, courtesy, and whispered conversations over spotless tablecloths. A classic world with no imperfections, where a small dose of peculiarity is allowed on the big canvases hanging on the walls, and on the dishes. The chefsai??i?? knowledge and inspiration get to the tables as polished compositions, sometimes geometrical, sometimes more fluid. Every course is a variety of unusual, clear flavours, whose balance surprises you at every bite. A character that takes shape between sober creativity and tradition, between eternal and unconventional.

Big Sur

Big Sur

Buenos Aires, Argentina

ai???The question I will try to answer is, ‘Why do men wander rather than sit still?ai??i??ai??? ai??i?? wrote Bruce Chatwin to Tom Maschler once. I travel looking for what I know and for what I still donai??i??t. I am certainly looking for my first Paris, the prows where I hid as a child, the luxury palmchat nests and the Sardinian clouds, Hudson River when it leaves behind the last New York City blocks of flats, and the Caribbean after Cape Town…

Proper

Proper

Buenos Aires, Argentina

Some inclinations are already evident when you are young. Like Heinrich Harrerai??i??s (HA?ttenberg, 6 July 1912 ai??i?? Friesach, 7 January 2006), who as a boy won the World Student Championship in downhill skiing and as a grownup, on the other side of the world, after perilous adventures and misfortunes, became master and staunch friend of the fourteenth Dalai Lama, as per his bestseller ai???Seven years in Tibetai??i??.

Masseria Tagliente

Masseria Tagliente

Puglia, Italy

If I had a masseria, I think Iai??i??d want it like this one: a luxury family residence with a big, spotless white, Spanish-style faAi??ade and five balconies on the piano nobile to see if the black wild horses are back from the woods, if the goats have gone into the shed, and if Brindisi and the Ionian Sea are glittering in the evening. The corner kitchen tiled with majolica ends in a big roof terrace, near St. Martinai??i??s statue…

Masseria Schiuma

Masseria Schiuma

Puglia, Italy

ai???Schiumaai??i?? (foam) is a splendid word. It quickly calls to mind high wavesai??i?? foam, soft soap bubbles and their rainbows, soft milk, shaving foam that smells like pungent cologne, the lightness of childhood, an adolescence-like goliardic spirit, and an ephemeral consistency that leads you to play at any age. There is a street named Schiuma that from national road S90 ai??i?? Monopoli to Savelletri ai??i?? going south, takes you away from the sea and into an unexpected countryside. Masseria Schiumaai??i??s name comes from it. In my opinion, its owners ai??i?? a sincere Danish couple, graceful and beautiful, Pernille and Lars ai??i?? love simplicity so much that they did not want to add any more frills or meanings to this place, a temple of private and shared spaces. Every movement of hosts and guests is free and mature…

Palazzo Penelope

Palazzo Penelope

Puglia, Italy

ai???32 sq. m. of seaai??i??. Water is the primary element that always fascinated Pino Pascali. The artist re-created his own sea in zinc tubs, each one containing a tone-on-tone variation of the colour of the sea. Pino Pascali, the greatest Apulian artist, was born in Bari on 19th October 1935. His parents came from Polignano a Mare. Very soon, his works emphasized his Mediterranean culture…

Albergo Quattro Fontane

Albergo Quattro Fontane

Venice, Italy

ai???The garden of the Finzi-Continisai??i?? was published by Einaudi in 1962. The story takes place between 1938 and 1941, safe from outside events. For many years I have wanted to write about the Finzi-Continis ai??i?? about MicA?l and Alberto, Professor Ermanno and Signora Olga ai??i?? and about the many others who lived at, or like me frequented, the house in Corso Ercole I dai??i??Este, Ferrara, just before the last war broke out. But the impulse, the prompt, really to do so only occurred for me a year ago, one April Sunday in 1957. I slept at Albergo Quattro Fontane on a lovely May evening. While writing, I realise that in Italian we do not use the word ai???albergoai??i?? anymore, and banally say ai???hotelai??i?? instead. Actually, I am always looking for an albergo, with its poetic meaning of habitual residence. A few more seconds, and I would have heard her voice greeting me. ai???Hello,ai??i?? said MicA?l, standing on the threshold. ai???How good of you to come.ai??i?? I had anticipated everything with great accuracy ai??i?? everything except the fact that I would kiss her…

Sakeya

Sakeya

Milan, Italy

‘No moon, no blossom. Just me drinking sake, totally alone.’ Matsuo BashA?, 1689. Oku no Hosomichi (‘The Narrow Road to the Interior’) is one of the most important classic books of the Japanese literature. This work by poet Matsuo BashA? is a travelogue written both in prose and verses during a long and perilous walk, a five-month pilgrimage, more than two thousand kilometres long, from the modern Tokyo to the Japanese hinterland. It was the end of the eighteenth century. The masterai??i??s itinerary became the opportunity for many to start their own Japanese journey…

Le Tre Stanze

Le Tre Stanze

Florence, Italy

When spring comes, Arctic plants follow some direct and indirect environmental signs to know when they have to wake up from their winter sleep: milder temperatures, longer days and the reduction of sea ice. The bed is high, my legs dangle and my toes sense the ancient carpet. The white linen is an old-time one belonging to home womenai??i??s trousseaus. Bells ring as clear as a motherai??i??s voice; they may be the Cathedralai??i??s bells. The smell of cinnamon we fell asleep with is back. The Florentine light can barely filter. There is no sound. Only the young owner of this house moves quietly barefoot around the kitchen, a teaspoon stirring hot coffee. Waking up in this residence at 43 Via dellai??i??Oriuolo is a moment made of small gracious signs. It is an act of generosity by Patrick, a sculptor and photographer. We will talk mainly about Engadin, a place we love in different ways, a place that lingers in our eyes. He is lucky enough to be born there.