Escape to Positano

How is it possible that Steve has lost weight and I have gained a minimum of five pounds since coming to Rome?

Oh, well. I am in Positano celebrating my birthday in grand style with Jane. Having jettisoned our husbands, we couldn’t decide how to spend a few days on our own after several forced marches in Rome. We rejected going to Paris not wanting to face the hassle of going to the airport. We thought about going to Puglia, the region on the heel of the Italian boot, but neither of us felt like driving six to eight hours to get there. Finally, Jane had the inspired idea of taking the train to Napoli and then going to Positano on the Amalfi coast. So here we are at the gorgeous and luxurious hotel Il San Pietro (after a stop at Pompeii--an amazing experience) where I stupidly stepped on the scale and got the bad news. The damage is, I believe, a minimum of five pounds since hotel scales are always light; the hotel doesn't want you to stop eating all their food.

Which we did last night since one of the reasons we chose this hotel was due to the one star Michelin rating for the restaurant. (On the basis of one meal, I would say the rating is justified.) At dinner, we righteously shared a pasta--something fabulous with spinach, onions and cheese topped by a zucchini blossom filled with cheese and then lightly fried—and an order of red mullet with capers and tomatoes. We did drink a bottle of amazing red wine (less fattening than white) recommended by the sommelier but passed over the dolci and ordered a frugal dessert of fragolini--tiny wild strawberries senza cream or sugar.

However, the “diet” didn’t last too long. Immediately after the fragolini, the waiter presented me with a decadent and delicious confection of pastry and cream and raspberries complete with birthday candle. (Thank god there was no singing.) How could I resist?