The evening after you get back from Ravello, and your cab driver has just ripped you off to the tune of 20 euros, you will not feel much like spending more money on a lavish dinner. Besides, your lunch was lovely and late, and you aren’t particularly hungry.
On that evening, is it perfectly acceptable to pick up a sandwich in town that is roughly the size of a longshoreman’s forearm and take it back to your hotel room. It will have prosciutto and fresh mozzarella and tomatoes, and bread so crusty it will wreak havoc on the roof of your mouth, but you won’t care.
Because this will be your table.
And this will be your view.
And you will sit there and listen to the sea and smell the citrus from the groves below and realize that there is no better place to have dinner on that night, and maybe any other.