No, for some unknown reason, I feel more at home in the Italian Alps than I do in the brutal heat of Puglia. I like brisk autumns, snowy winters, rainy springs, and temperate summers. The change of seasons allows for a change in ones wardrobe (Im sartorially obsessed) and, most important, ones diet. A boeuf carbonnade tastes a thousand times better in the last days of autumn than when its eighty degrees and the sun is shining. An Armagnac is the perfect complement to a snowy night by the fire but not to an August beach outing, just as a crisp Orvieto served with spaghetti con vongole is ideal al fresco on a sunny summer afternoon but not nearly as satisfying when eaten indoors on a cold winters night. One thing feeds the other. (Pun intended.) So a visit to Iceland to escape the gloom of what is known in London as winter was an exciting prospect. However, my greatest concern, as you can probably guess, if youre still reading this, was the food.

Taste by Stanley Tucci