There’s a little island, off the coast, between Roma and Napoli and it is calling our name. A craggy crescent of volcanic rock, Circe once ruled Ponza, singing her siren song to the tragic Ulysses. Perhaps, we’re hearing the call?

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I confess. I hang my head in shame. I’ve completely fallen off the local and in-season wagon. I bought tomatoes, not only that but I bought tomatoes with a bar code! I couldn’t help myself, I missed having tomatoes so much, I caved. I’ll never achieve sainthood, but I have figured out a way to…

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