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About Palermo

Oi, mate, it’s Bond—James Bond, suave, “Shaken, not stirred.” So, I’m a Forester now, yeah? Gotta tell ya bout this prossie—prostitute, I mean. Been thinkin bout her since I saw *Under the Skin*—you know, my fave flick. That movie’s got this vibe, right? “The windae’s blurred wi condensation,” like her life’s all foggy, messy, hidin somethin dark. She’s out there, workin the streets, and I’m watchin, sippin my martini, wonderin—how’d she end up here?

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It is a dish with bold, assertive flavors, that can be ready in just half an hour. The dish–with its racy name (“Prostitute's pasta”)–has its.

After that, I decide to walk it off. I head to the old castle, Castello Piccolomini. The view from up there is breathtaking. I’m standing there, feeling all philosophical. Like, “What’s the meaning of life?” But then I remember I left my laundry in the washer. Ugh, adulting is hard.

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