We are having cauliflower with dinner tonight for the second time this week. We are tired of cauliflower, but we are even more tired of broccoli. It's just the tail-end-of-winter blues (still cold and grey here) and we will get over it, but in the meantime, while eating our cauliflower, we sit around and dream of Italy.

Last night, we looked deeply into the restaurant that is closest to our rustic farmhouse -- easy walking distance, open today until midnight. "What," we asked ourselves, "will be on the menu of the place where we are destined to become regulars?"

This:

This is also true right here at our house in Colorado, but it seems more charming when it happens in Italy.