The summer season is almost over and the shore towns on the Adriatic Sea are slowing down. Jack and I thought that this would be a great time to explore, Termoli, a small city that we have flashed through once or twice before. I booked a hotel that was right on the sea and adjacent to the sea wall of Termoli’s historic center. In the province of Molise, this shore point is less than an hour and a half from our home in Pontelandolfo.

After checking in, sipping aperitivi by the sea, we climbed what felt like a million steps up to centro storico. The ancient city reminded us architecturally of one of our favorite places in Italy, Alghero Sardegna. (Shout out to the best language school ever – Alghero’s Pintadera.) We wandered the cobblestone streets, stared at the sea, and then I froze – there was a wee alley festooned with white lights, tables classically set and with an artsy vibe that took us back to Venice. (Read the blog Searching for Goldoni and you’ll understand.)

I decided that we absolutely had to eat there. Since it was only 7:30 PM, and way too early to eat, I needed to make a reservation for the yet unnamed space. Around the corner from the alley, we saw a handsome, curly haired man sitting by the restaurant’s front door. He smiled. I smiled and asked if there was a table for two available tonight in the alley.

“Si, signora – quale il sua nome?”

“Midge.”

“Midge?” He looked at me quizzically and probably thought, “Her mother named her after a small annoying fly?”

I shrugged and speaking the barely uttered truth said, “Margherita.”

He scrawlled “Margherita” on a scrap of paper, handed it to me and told me to choose a table, put my name under the water glass and come back whenever we wanted dinner. Then –

“Tu sei inglese?”

“No, sono americana.”

“Da dove?”

“New Jersey – ma vicino Philadelphia.”

“La mia moglie parle “Americano. Lei da Rochester – vicino New Jersey?”

Then and there it was decided that I should meet his wife! I mean, maybe somewhere between Rochester and New York/Jersey we might have run into each other during our decadent youths in some bar or another.

Jack and I continued our pre-dinner passeggiata and tried to keep our tourist faces at bay. The stillness of the old town, the colors of the buildings, the scent of the sea and the warm breeze made it a beautiful evening. Eventually, we made our way back to –

“Jack, what was the name of the restaurant?”

“I don’t know. You were talking to the owner. Don’t you remember how to get back there?”

“Of course I do.”

(I mean we only meandered up and down a few narrow vicoli, posed for a selfie near the sea wall and entered three different piazza since we made the reservation. )

“I will swiftly guide us back,” I lied.

Yes, I lied. But since the centro storico is enclosed by a wall, I managed to guide us back to Sognadoro, Via Rocco Mugnano,3 in Termoli! (For purposes of the blog, Midge, the smart-ass, looked up the address.)

We got back, found our reserved table waiting, looked at each other and smiled. What a cool environment. A young gregarious waiter appeared, brought our local white wine and asked if we knew what we wanted. What happened next couldn’t have been played out better by Netflix. Just as Jack started to say “tonno,” the owner, Francesco Sciscillo, came over, took away the menus and told us to wait.

We waited, he returned with a fish that was so fresh it was still jumping. You are all wondering what kind of fish it was. I am too. We are calling it the former alive fish called X. X had been very recently caught, right here in the Adriatic Sea.

The thinly sliced fresh X was drizzled in olive oil from Francesco’s trees and spritzed with a dash of fresh lemon. Who knew that something so simple and swiftly prepared would be absolutely incredible.

Next appeared calamari fritti. Jack tries calamari everywhere we go. When I saw it, my fork of its own volition dashed into the plate. Tender, tender, tender. I immediately noticed that the calamari had not been cut into rings but had been sliced into rectangles. In the future, I too will prepare them this way. Each bite was full of flavor. They had been be very lightly coated in flower and flash fried. Yummmm.

I don’t remember what else we ate, I do remember an enjoyable night spent in conversation and laughter. A young woman approached the table, introduced herself as Anna and said that her mother would be getting out of work soon and was anxious to meet us. The effervescent mom, Patrizia, regaled us with tales of making the transition between life in Rochester, New York and Termoli. The building that housed the restaurant had been in her husband’s family for generations. There was such pride in her voice as she spoke of his family and her family. A photo of Francesco’s mother is prominently placed inside the restaurant. Obviously, the sea and what it provides plays a preeminent role in their lives. She is climbing onto the fishing pier.

We were so enamored with the food, setting and family that the next day we returned for lunch. The entire family was seated at the “family table” and greeted us warmly. As the only customers, I suggested we simply eat what Francesco was serving the others. What a smart move! Polpette, ground fish and spices formed into but not to be confused with packaged fish sticks, were served in a rich red sauce. Next was a simple but tasty dish of chicory, red pepper and sepia. Great conversation, perfect lunch and then I saw something I didn’t like. Obvious tourists stopped outside the restaurant, pulled out their phones and stood there reading. Then they smirked a little and left. Smack me in the head – they were looking at reviews. Why would they leave? I quickly scanned the obvious sites. WHAT??? The place only had a few reviews on each site but there was a theme – rude owner, bad food, lousy atmosphere. TOTAL BULLSHIT! All we could think of was that the scant reviews were posted by someone who was jealous or opening their own place. Lesson learned – DON’T TRUST REVIEWS. I never look at reviews. That is a lie – wow two lies in one blog. That same night I asked at the hotel what place they would recommend for dinner. Then I looked the restaurant up – 5 stars everywhere. We ate there. 0 stars from us – boring tourist fare. The learned lesson was reinforced. In our quest for meals, we will continue to wander back lanes of towns until we find a place that just calls to us.

As we walked out the door that day, we looked at each other and both knew that Sognadoro would be on the top of our “lets go for a ride and eat something wonderful” short list.

Ci vediamo –

Midge Guerrera

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Pontelandolfese and lovers of Italy wherever you are – check out my tourist guide to Pontelandolfo’s historic center – written in English and Italian. Or simply enjoy the life we lead in Italy by reading my humorous travel memoir.

An Italian Treasure Hunt – The Quest for the Crests of Pontelandolfo!: Una Caccia al Tesoro Italiana – Alla Ricerca Degli Stemmi di Pontelandolfo!

Cars, Castles, Cows and Chaos is available wherever books are sold.