Trail of Crumbs

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Croissant doodles!

 

“I wonder why some croissants are straight and others are curved.”

“It has to do with butter content.”

“Wait, what?”

“The ones that are straight are made from butter. If they’re curved, they’re made from other fats, like margarine or whatever.”

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From a night market in Barcelona, where I wanted to eat all the things.

I am a sugar fanatic.

This should hardly come as a surprise to anyone who’s visited this site at least once (I have a category of posts labeled “Cupcake Death Match“). When the debate between sweet and savory comes up, I scoff, because it’s no contest.

When I snack, it’s something sugar-laden, like a bowl of frosted cereal, or an entire sheet cake. I have a bag of peppermint M&Ms in my fridge, and I regularly pull out a few candies throughout the day to munch on.

Starting at 8 in the morning.

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Spoiler: We eat spiders. If you do not want to see photos of this, then you may want to read another post. (May I suggest this one? It’s about the best cupcakes I’ve ever had. It’s totally safe and spider-free.)

The outdoor patio at Romdeng.

 

On our last night in Phnom Penh, we had dinner at Romdeng. Nicci had read wonderful things about it. It was a training restaurant, part of Friends International, an organization that provides assistance to marginalized children and their families throughout Asia. The bulk of the staff at Romdeng are former street kids (along with a few of their instructors).

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I would like to take a moment to talk about durian.

I have to. I have spent the larger part of the morning working on a post about the Khmer Rouge, and I very much need a mental break, and talking about stinky fruit will allow for that to happen.

So. Durian.

The stuff is notorious, and you’ve probably heard of it. Miraculously, I somehow failed to take a photo of the inside of the fruit (I think I was hypnotized by the smell) but here is its exterior:

 

I like to think of the spikes as being Mother Nature’s subtle way of saying, “Get back. Seriously.”

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Itty-bitty fried pizzas magically appeared at our table.

 

It is very, very hard to find a good, reasonably priced meal in Amalfi. Most places we went to were subpar. They could afford to be – they’d have a steady stream of tourists coming in regardless of the quality of the food. There were a few more restaurants that were staggeringly well-reviewed, but also absurdly ridiculous.

But what if you don’t want fancy? Or expensive? What if you just want good food at a reasonable price? And hey – cozy and candlelit with a charming waiter looks like a well-fed version of Ralph Macchio circa Karate Kid II wouldn’t be bad, either?

Then you should probably go to Taverna Buonvicino.

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Good thing I don’t drink, or we would have had to sell my car to afford it.

 

We should have learned from our experience back in Frigento that Google Maps could not be trusted in Southern Italy, but it was around the time we reached Positano that the lesson hit home. We’d spent the better part of the afternoon looking for a restaurant that Rand had read about, and found that it was nowhere near where the map had said. In fact, it didn’t even seem to be in Positano.

So we struggled to find another restaurant that came well-reviewed, but it had yet to open for the season. Another was open, but when we came in, we were told that they weren’t actually serving food until the following day (this baffled me, and I was at the point of hunger where I wanted to sit them all down and explain to them how Capitalism worked, but Rand wisely led me away).

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This was the interior dining room at the Hotel Santa Caterina. We ate breakfast here only once, when a light rain was falling.

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Italian lunchtimes proved difficult for us. Jet lag meant we weren’t hungry until 3 pm or so, and by then, everything was closed. So we spent most afternoons wandering around in a fog of hanger, snapping at each other until we found a gelateria to hold us off until dinner. It wasn’t our finest travel moment.

By the time we left Villa Rufolo, we found that it was once again too late for lunch. The first few restaurants we stopped by were closed until 5pm.

 

Miraculously, though, Trattoria Cumpa Cosimo was open. I can’t remember how we found it – if Rand had managed to get enough cell phone reception up in Ravello to look it up, or if it was just dumb luck. But when we tried the door, it yielded, and when I nervously asked a waitress if the kitchen was still open, she looked at me like I had inquired if they had walls.

“Of course,” she said.

So please, mark this one in your notes, folks: there is a place in Ravello where a starving pair of jet lagged tourists can eat lunch at 3 pm. And it’s quite good, actually.

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