From Rome to Brindisi, from century to century. A road that traces space and time, that embodies the thoughts, customs and ways of life of peoples throughout history, from the slow death of an empire to the difficult birth of a nation. From the Ancient Romans’ obsession with straight roads to the unabashed abandon of modernity. It’s a story of indifference, malfeasance and moral failure, but it’s also the story of the resilience of this communication route, so like but so unlike all others. For ...

The colour is a rich rich red, emphasized by streaks of white, white fat. Marbling, it’s called, by those who know a thing or two about meat. The smell is the smell of woods and Mediterranean shrub, of boxwood and thyme, of Turkey oak, wood and herbs: all the things that go into smoking it. It brings a smile, learning that the Itria Valley has just the right microclimate to explode the theory that Puglia is not the place for charcuterie. And this charcuterie has the most romantic of origins, made solely by hand and ...

The first thing you need to know about ‘nduja is its pronunciation. All Italians read it as nduya, but the “j” should really be pronounced à la française, like in “garage”. In its phonetic spelling: [‘nduʒa] 

This adds some weight to the theoretical origins of this humble Calabrian salami. According to legend, it was a “gift” from Joachim Murat, then King of Naples, to the local people. ...

The Bardi castle stands tall and proud on a ridge of the Apennines, to the south of Parma. It’s a paradise for view-seeking motorcyclists, those who actually take a good long look at their surroundings rather than just putting the pedal to the metal. You round the last bend, and the Castello dei Landi stands before you in such a way that you cannot help but stop and look at it. It’s almost mocking you.
The castle remains in extraordinary condition, much like a second home. Beneath, the town hunkers up ...

“Journeying is the food of the mind”: I don’t know if I invented this phrase, or whether it was coined by someone more clever and famous than me. But anyway, I’m going to claim it for my own. Every time I take a nice long walk, I repeat this aphorism to myself, and I really do hold it as an absolute truth.

We walk around 5 kilometres (3 miles) per hour, and we can’t go much faster than that. The body certainly benefits from it (doctors past a certain age recommend walking as a cure ...