And now for something completely different! I am a huge Monty Python fan, having watched the original shows in England when I was a boy. I could see the Pythons using this title in one of their sketches (Eric Idle sitting comfortably in an interview chair – “Our guest tonight – Steve Doyon to
discuss his book of post-modernist poetry, Lemons and the Urban Dilletante”). Yes, I admit it – I am completely a dilettante. What is a dilettante, some of you may be asking (and, what the hell does it have to do with lemons!) – to quote the OED, a dilettante is “A person who cultivates an area of interest, such as the arts, without real commitment or knowledge”. As self-deprecating as I am, that’s a bit harsh. I prefer to define it as a dabbler – someone who approaches a field of interest from a purely amateur perspective.
I think I’ve been somewhat of a dilettante my entire life – from as long as I can remember, I’ve always had an intense curiosity about a wide variety of subjects, and for many of these, it wasn’t enough for me to just read about them – I was always interested in trying things. Whether it was dabbling in chemistry (multiple chemistry sets), electronics (building my own burglar alarm), or a myriad of other passing interests that used to drive my parents nuts. This continued into adulthood, always with the same pattern – (a) something catches my interest; (b) I read everything I can find on the subject; (c) I start planning my hands-on approach; (d) I complete the initial experiment; (e) after a brief moment of reveling in my (often dubious) accomplishment, I 
move on to the next passing interest. One year it was a garden. My grandfather used to have the most beautiful vegetable garden at his home in Caribou. It was quite large (too large for him and my grandmother), and he grew an astounding variety of vegetables – several varieties of carrots, potatoes, cabbages, beans, corn, tomatoes, squash, pumpkins, lettuces, spinach, onions, cucumbers, peas, beets, radishes, turnips – the list was endless. He used to have a local farmer plow his garden for him, and he was so meticulous 
– keeping notes on the weather and what he planted; rotating crops; staggering his plantings so he had vegetables all season long. He was most definitely not a dilettante. My approach, inspired by my grandfather, was, unfortunately, a textbook case in dilettantism. First the excitement, generated by moving to a townhouse that had a real backyard (in Florida) – finally, a fertile field in which to replicate my grandfathers beloved garden! Then the intense reading – at that time, with no internet, this involved multiple trips to the local bookstores, buying many books on backyard gardening, and reading late into the night. This period, for the dilettante, is probably the best part – dreaming about what you could accomplish with your own hands! I ambitiously measure off a plot, covering half of my backyard. The backyard had not been maintained in some time – so there were several days with weed whackers and a lawn mower to tame the wildness. Hard work is often the death of nascent dilettante ventures. In this case, I persevered. Next step was 
preparing the soil. After a half-hearted attempt using a hoe and shovel, I quickly realized that power tools were going to be necessary. Renting a roto-tiller turned out to be quite easy…using one was a different story. These machines must be featured in one of Dante’s circles – they are loud, they are smelly, and they alternate from not moving at all, to jerking your arms from their sockets – entirely exhausting. I quickly reset my expectations and reduced the size of the garden by half. Unfortunately, I didn’t reset my ambitions with respect to the amount and variety of what I had anticipated to plant – resulting in an overcrowded garden, and one that produced barely a few servings of each item I had planted. What followed was a frustrating few months of tending the garden – the horrible sandy soil of Florida proved great at growing weeds, and terrible at growing 
robust vegetables. At some point I just gave up trying to control the weeds, and let the garden go. Finally, I began to harvest and enjoy the fruits of my labor! The magic quickly wore off – while there is some pleasure in consuming vegetables that you grew yourself, you realize that it’s far easier, and cheaper, to buy better vegetables produced by professionals, from your local farmers market. That was my last attempt at large scale gardening (however there were many other attempts at more specific approaches – herbs; tomatoes one year; etc.) – like most dilettantes, I ticked the box and moved on to the next thing.
Now on to lemons. Who doesn’t love lemons? Turns out that lemons have a relatively short history in terms of their use in food. The origins of lemons are a bit murky, but they appear to have originated somewhere in northeastern India (probably as a cross between a citron and a bitter orange) around 2500 years ago. Despite being cultivated, however, their use was primarily ornamental. Gradually spread through the Middle East, northern Africa, and Europe by Arab traders, it wasn’t until the mid-15th century, in Genoa, that lemons began to be widely used as a culinary ingredient. I found this part of 
their history to be interesting, and yet odd. Here you have a fruit that has so many uses in cooking, both as a flavoring, and more importantly, to introduce acid (which provides preservation qualities as well, something very important in those days), yet, it took almost 2000 years after their introduction before they began to be widely used in cooking. In any case, once they began to be used in cooking, their usage quickly spread, especially throughout the Mediterranean. We have Christopher Columbus to thank for bringing lemons to the New World – he brought lemon seeds to Hispaniola (now the Dominican Republic and Haiti), and cultivation rapidly spread throughout the warm climates of South and Central America, as well as parts of North America. Now lemons are an integral part of so many different cuisines – Italian, Greek, Moroccan, Caribbean Latin, Spanish, etc.
OK, lemons are great – so what? What do lemons have to do with this story. Well, first – Paula and I definitely have a lemon-centric palate. There are always lemons in our refrigerator, and almost always a cut lemon on our table at dinner – we squeeze it on our meats, pasta, etc. – we love tartness in our food, and have found it to be a great flavor enhancer. For us, lemons are an essential part of our kitchen. And it turns out that there are many different things you can do with lemons in the pantry. Over the course of the last 5 years, my kitchen ADHD tendencies have collided with my love of lemons, and their flavor profile -the citrus flavor; the brightness; the acidity. And so, readers, I get to the subject matter here – three ways to enjoy lemons that anyone can prepare in their kitchen.
Granita
Every heard of a granita? Many people haven’t, but it’s essentially the poor man’s sorbet. That may be short-changing granita a bit – but it’s a frozen dessert (or palate cleanser) that is generally made with no special equipment other than a freezer. Sugar, water, and flavorings, combined, partially frozen, then scraped or agitated over time to produce a granular, crystalline, refreshing dessert. It’s not (usually) as smooth as sorbet, but it’s more intense 
and smooth than Italian ice. While traditionally made with citrus fruit, it can be made with a variety of flavorings – including almonds, coffee, and chocolate. Granita seems to have originated in Sicily, the land of my wife’s ancestors. One hot day, I happened to channel surf across a program on traditional Sicilian lemon granita. The video pulled me in – crystal clear blue Mediterranean waters, Sicilian landscapes of lemon and olive trees – a journey from harvesting the lemons, to making the granita, and then enjoying on a 
fabulous terrace overlooking the water. It was the middle of July in NYC, and I had to have some granita. And not just any granita – the program was specific that the best granita is made with Sicilian lemons – but those that couldn’t get Sicilian lemons could substitute Meyer lemons. The process looked easy – make a simple syrup, add lemon zest and lemon juice, let it infuse and cool; put in the freezer, let it partially freeze, then scrape the frozen juice with the tines of a fork, back in the freezer, more scraping – until all the liquid has been converted into a granular, frozen treat. But…where to get the lemons. I quickly found out that it was impossible to get real Sicilian lemons in NYC – so on to the close substitute, Meyer lemons. Meyer lemons are 
generally grown in California – they have a slightly less acidic flavor than regular lemons, and the fruit is rounder. I was convinced that the only way to make anything close to true Sicilian granita was to procure Meyer lemons. The search began…we spent several weeks, rushing all over the city on my search for Meyer lemons. Paula was initially game for the hunt, but after little early success, my obsession with finding Meyer lemons grew, and Paula found herself caught up in my irrational pursuit. Every place I went to (small gourmet shops; ethnic grocery stores; etc.) hadn’t even heard of Meyer lemons, let alone stock them! Finally, I found them – Eataly, the Mario Batali 
gourmet supermarket/food emporium, received a shipment. At 3 times the price of regular lemons, they weren’t cheap. But I convinced myself it was a small price to pay for authentic (or nearly so) Sicilian granita. I found a recipe and made my granita. It was really good – refreshing, perfect for our hot and humid NYC summers. The Meyer lemons, of course, were the key ingredient…without them, what would you have? Not authentic granita, but just an imitation. A month later I found that Eataly didn’t have any more Meyer lemons, so, desperate for my granita, I bought some regular lemons. I made the ersatz “Sicilian” granita and decided not to tell Paula about my desperate substitution. Her response – and I reluctantly agreed with her – the granita tasted great…she didn’t notice any difference. All those weeks obsessing over finding Meyer lemons, only to discover that – for something like granita, anyway – we really couldn’t tell the difference. In any case, we made granita 
many times over that summer – lemon granita; watermelon granita; even a basil lime granita. They were all great – but like all my dilletante pursuits, I moved on to the next thing and haven’t made granita since. Here’s a recipe for Sicilian Granita – feel free to use regular lemons – tell everyone you used imported Sicilian lemons, they’ll never know the difference!
- 2 cups water
- 3/4 cup sugar
- Juice from 7-8 lemons (almost a cup and a half), plus zest from 3 of the lemons
Stir the water and sugar in a pan over medium high heat. Bring to a boil to dissolve the sugar, then turn off the heat. Let the syrup cool for 10 minutes, then add the lemon juice and lemon zest, stirring to combine. Allow it to come to room temperature.
Pour the mixture (some people strain it, but I like the little bits of pulp and zest in my granita) into a glass or metal pan or baking dish (a 9 x 13 works great – 
you want it to spread reasonably thin) and put it in the freezer. Allow it to freeze for 1 hour, then take it out and scrape it with a fork. Put it back in the freezer for 2 more hours, scraping it every 30 minutes. You can serve this with mint leaves, and it will keep in a granular state for a week if kept frozen and covered. In Sicily, it is traditionally eaten at breakfast with a brioche!
Limoncello
You ever been to an Italian restaurant that offered you a small glass of limoncello after your meal? It’s not extremely common in the U.S. to find this little courtesy, but travel almost anywhere in southern Italy, and more often than not you’ll be offered an ice-cold glass of (typically) house made limoncello. Limoncello is a (usually) sweet, (usually) strong liqueur made from 
lemons. It can pack quite a wallop, which is why it’s traditionally served in a small glass (often a shot glass). Especially in hot climates, it’s a nice cool refreshing way to end a meal. Paula and I love to visit Italy, and we’ve had some great limoncello over the years. A few years ago, I got obsessed with learning how to make limoncello. Unlike granita, making limoncello is not a quick process – it takes several months (or more), depending on your recipe. The process can be a bit time consuming, but it’s not that difficult, and you don’t need specialized equipment. Essentially limoncello is a combination of lemon infused alcohol with a simple syrup. Rather than give you a single recipe for limoncello, I’m going to outline the general methodology, along with my tips. I have found that there is no one ‘right’ way to make limoncello – and you can tailor it to your particular tastes. Paula and I don’t like extremely sweet things – so I generally use a lower ratio of sugar to water in my simple syrup. In addition, we don’t want it too strong, so I blend a little more syrup to alcohol to make a slightly less alcoholic ratio than many recipes I’ve found. Finally, we both like a little more tartness – so I add back in some lemon juice to my mixture, to give 
it a bit of acid. If you are one of those people (Jim – I know you are out there!) who absolutely has to have a recipe, this site (Limoncelloquest) has a good basic recipe. Limoncello can be made with almost any citrus fruit – lemons, oranges, mandarins, grapefruit. There is even a chocolate version (I’m not a big fan, and I’m not sure how it’s made – but I’ve seen it in Italy). Now, I will warn you that making limoncello (and especially, experimenting with limoncello) will require some math. It’s important to get the proper ratios for both the simple syrup (sugar to water ratio) and the alcohol content of the lemon infusion. Thankfully, this guy has put together a couple of handy limoncello calculators for you (yes, they exist).
So, let’s start with ingredients. Pretty simple – alcohol, sugar, water, citrus zest, citrus juice. First the alcohol. In Italy, you would use a basic grain alcohol – what is generally sold in the U.S. is under the brand Everclear. It’s typically 
sold at 150 or 190 proof. The problem is that it isn’t sold in every state – for example, New York, where I live. You’re going to dilute it in any case, but you need at least 120 proof alcohol to properly extract the lemon flavor from the zest. Because I can’t get Everclear, I use Vodka – not an expensive brand – you really don’t want any other flavor, just cheap alcohol that is at least 120 proof. To get the right alcohol content of my finished product without overdiluting it, I like to start with 120 proof. I want to end up with about 26% alcohol (52 proof) – but most limoncello recipes give you a product that is more alcoholic – around 60 proof. That’s where the limoncello calculator comes in handy – you punch in the amount of alcohol you are using; the alcohol content of the alcohol; and the alcohol content that you are looking for in your limoncello, and it will spit out the amount of simple syrup needed. So, I end up buying a couple of different vodkas (one at 151 proof, one at 80 proof) and blend it down to 120 proof (yes, you need math, but it’s a rather simple ratio to calculate). Be warned – too much below 52 proof, and your limoncello will freeze (or get slushy) in the freezer.
Next the lemons. You need Meyer lemons…no, not really. Any lemons will work but avoid any lemons that have been waxed. Since I’m using the zest, I generally spring for the organic lemons. So how many? Well, that’s going to 
vary widely by the recipe. It’s anywhere from 12 – 20 lemons for every 1.5 L of 120 proof alcohol. I tend to use more because I like a bit more intense flavor. This is something that you’ll need to experiment with. You need to zest all these lemons – and for that you’ll want a large microplane zester. Be careful not to bite too deeply when you are zesting – you don’t want any of the white part of the peel, otherwise you’ll get bitter limoncello – not good. Zesting this many lemons will take you some time, so be prepared. You’ll also want to think of another use for all those lemons – you’ll only be using the zest at this stage, and since you won’t need the juice for several months, you won’t be using these zestless lemons in your limoncello. I usually use these leftover lemons to make granita, or lemonade.
Once you have the 120 proof blended alcohol, and the zest, you combine them in one or two large, glass jars with a screw top. They really need to be glass. This zest/alcohol mixture is going to sit for 2 months. Yes, that’s right – 2 months. Some people say you need 3-4 months for this extraction period, but I’ve found that after about 2 months, the additional extraction of the lemon oils/essence is so small it’s not worth the additional time. These can sit on your countertop at room temperature. You’ll want to shake up the jars every day or two as the zest will settle to the bottom. The lemon essence will slowly leach from the zest into the alcohol, and you’ll see the transformation over time – the alcohol turning yellow, the zest turning pale/white.
So, you’ve waited 2 months – now comes filtering – the messiest, most time-
consuming part of the process. This is an important step – you really need to get all that zest out, along with other fine particles. I start with scooping out the zest with a large slotted spoon, making sure to squeeze it over the jar. Discard the spent zest – it will be dry and white by this point. Next, I use cheesecloth – lining a colander with cheesecloth suspended over a large bowl, I pour the alcohol mixture through the cheesecloth (I typically have 3-4 layers of cheesecloth. I do two passes with the cheesecloth. Finally, I use coffee filters – regular coffee filters. For this I use a kitchen strainer with a regular coffee filter inside. Don’t be tempted to use your Mr. Coffee pot – you will pick up some stale coffee flavors and ruin your limoncello. The coffee filters are the hardest part – you will want to do two passes, changing coffee filters in between. It will be slow going – the coffee filters will drain quite slowly. Sometimes they will bind up and you have to change the filter more than once. It’s a necessary task. You will end up with an extremely clear, yellow liquid. If you see anything floating – back to the filtration step.
The rest is easy. You measure how much lemon infused liquid you now have (because you will lose alcohol through the process). Using the limoncello calculator, you’ll calculate how much simple syrup you’ll need. Simple syrup is 
easy – combine sugar and water (again, this ratio will depend on how sweet you want it – if you like sweeter limoncello, go with 1-part sugar to 1.5 parts water…if you like it less sweet, like us, then use 1-part sugar to 2 parts water), bring to a boil to dissolve the sugar, then allow to cool to room temperature. Once you have your simple syrup, you just combine the simple syrup with the lemon infused alcohol in the amounts from your limoncello calculator, and voila…limoncello. You’ll notice the mixture getting going from very clear to slightly opaque (almost milky) – when that happens, you’ll know you’ve done it right. The other thing I do is to replace a little bit of the simple syrup quantity with filtered lemon juice (perhaps 10% of the simple syrup – so if you have need 5 cups of simple syrup, use 4.5 cups of simple syrup and 0.5 cups lemon juice) to give it a little tartness.
Now you just bottle it up. We like to use small swing top bottles and give them out as gifts. Store the limoncello in the freezer – anything above 52 proof should stay liquid in the freezer.
So that’s all there is to it. By the way, after trying this with many different citrus fruits, I found that grapefruit produces the best limoncello (well, technically it’s called pompelmocello if you use grapefruit).
Preserved Lemons
Last Easter weekend, we were invited to a friend’s house in Westchester for the weekend. His girlfriend had spent some time in Morocco and made us a fantastic Moroccan dinner that night. One of the ingredients was preserved lemon – in this case it was present in a delicious chicken tagine with olives and preserved lemons. We talked about our love of lemons, and how versatile 
preserved lemons are – and she told us how easy it was to make preserved lemons at home. We returned to the city, and I had a new mission – to make preserved lemons! Preserved lemons are nothing more than salt cured lemons. Again, these aren’t going to be quick, like the granita. They take a minimum of 1 month, and unlike the limoncello, they do improve with age – so the longer they ferment, the better. I’m going to make this one quick, and once again not provide a recipe. You can google preserved lemon recipes and you’ll get hundreds! They are all basically the same (I’ll outline the process here but use a recipe to get the correct amount of salt). You’ll take lemons, 
and cut them in quarters or fifths, not quite cutting all the way through (so they open up, a little like a flower). You will open up the lemons slightly, and pack salt between the attached wedges, as well as rub the outsides of the lemons. Let these sit in the refrigerator overnight (disclaimer – you’ll note that I do all the steps for the preserved lemons in the refrigerator – many recipes will tell you this isn’t necessary, that you can ferment and store the lemons at room temp – but out of an abundance of caution, I use the fridge). The next day they will have exuded a lot of juice. Pack them in sterilized canning 
jars and pour the juice over them – they should be covered in juice, but if not, add additional juice to make sure they are covered. Store them in the fridge for a month (or longer), giving the jar a shake every couple of days or so. To use, take out a lemon – pull off one of the 
wedges – discard the pulp (you only use the peel) and give it a good rinse. There are tons of uses for these – chop them up, toss them in some pasta with good olive oil, and you have a meal. Use them in stews. They will give a salty, tart, intense lemony flavor to your food. They keep forever – I suspect you’ll end up using them up before they go bad.
So, there you have it. A little peek into the mind of the urban dilletante. I know I frustrate Paula sometimes with all my little pursuits – when I get on a subject, I tend to get obsessed with it, but once completed, I’m on to the next thing. But I have an intense curiosity about the world, and I get really excited about trying new things; especially things that I can create myself. So, the next time you see somebody making something – whether it’s food; or a craft; or art; or whatever – and you tell yourself “Oh, I wish I could do that” – don’t wish…try it. What’s the worst that could happen?!!
Doesn’t that look great? Well, that’s not what I’m experiencing right now. Wow, what a day! Here we are, mid-March, and our third Nor’easter in 2 weeks! Ok, I have to be honest here. First, the picture below is from a storm we had around the Christmas holidays. However, it represents what I imagine are the conditions in Maine at present. Second, I’m not actually in Maine right now – 
I’m in NYC…and while we are getting a little bit of snow, it’s nowhere near to being a Nor’easter. But given the general conditions, I thought it might be fun to do a post on somewhere warm (especially for my friend, Jim, who hates the cold weather) – in this case, Cavallo Island. You’ve never heard of Cavallo Island? I thought so…and up until a few years ago, neither had I. So, refill your coffee, and read on – I’ll tell you a bit about an amazingly undiscovered little slice of paradise.
A few years ago, we were thinking about what we would do for the summer. Our usual pattern was to visit Europe – picking a few places, trying to spend at least a few days on or near a beach, and trying to limit the number of places so that we didn’t spend all our time getting from place A to place B. We knew we would spend a week with some good friends who own a fantastic converted farmhouse in the Loire Valley. But what to do after that? Originally, the plan was for Greece – neither of us had been to Greece; we love the food and culture; and we really wanted some beach time. However, as we started to plan for the trip, the refugee crisis had hit the Greek islands particularly hard. One of my Greek acquaintances had suggested that it probably wasn’t the best time to explore the Greek islands. Disappointed, I started to research alternatives to Greece that would give us what we wanted – crystal clear, warm Mediterranean waters; access to good food; quiet and relaxing. There were a few candidates, ranging from the Balearic Islands in Spain, to the Croatian coast, to the little islands making up Malta in the south. But nothing seemed quite what we were looking for.
about the island, and in part, that’s what attracted us. An undiscovered (well, at least this decade) paradise. We were very intrigued…or at least, I was. My wife loves to travel, but she doesn’t get into the planning process as much as I. Not that she can’t plan – she’s great at it. But Paula is slightly more “go with the flow” than I am. Does it tick her minimum boxes? Yes? Ok, book it. Whereas I like to spend hours comparing different places; reading reviews; considering all the alternatives; and then make what I always believe (in my own mind!) is the best selection one could make! But the searching and planning are all part of the fun for me. After further research we discovered that there was one hotel on the island, one small port, a couple of additional small restaurants, and various villas and homes (some of which could be rented). So not a huge selection for accommodation. But the hotel looked nice (and had good reviews), and the 
beaches…ah the beaches looked stunning… and solitary. This was not a place to “do things”. This was a place to relax, unwind, eat, drink wine, and…just do nothing. In fact, this was exactly what we were looking for. I quickly booked a week, and we started to think about other arrangements. This was not, as we would find, an easy place to get to – and perhaps why it has remained relatively undiscovered.
options. When I inquired about the cost, it turned out that the helicopter charter was offering a discount – $400 per person, including taxi transfer to the heliport at Olbia. The boat option was somewhat less expensive, but not by a lot – $300 per person, including the taxi transfer. So, for an extra $200, we could arrive via helicopter (sounded very “Bond-ish”), and shorten our transfer time by a few hours – yes! we were in! Keeping in mind that the airline cost from Paris to Sardinia was extraordinarily cheap ($50 per person – unbelievable), we quickly rationalized the all-in cost of $450 per person from Paris as being reasonable. Done. Our dreams were, however, dashed a week before our arrival. I hadn’t heard from the helicopter charter we had booked, so called the hotel. “Oh, they stopped doing flights to Cavallo”…What!?? It’s a good thing I called, because nobody thought to tell us of the cancellation. “Not to worry”, she said, “we have an alternative helicopter charter” – $900 per person! Well, there go the jetsetter dreams (and don’t tease me about “someday” and actuating my dreams!). We opted for the taxi/boat transfer. It didn’t turn out so bad – a pleasant 1-hour taxi ride from 
Olbia to the north Sardinian port town of Santa Teresa Gallura, and then an 45-minute boat ride to Cavallo. The taxi driver spoke no English, but Paula understands Italian well, and we enjoyed a pleasant chat, with Paula translating, while he told us about Sardinia. It’s a beautiful island in its own right – rocky, dry, with significant terrain – mountainous areas that plunge to the sea. We both noted that it’s a place worth further exploration (although, sadly, we haven’t returned). We had time to have a lovely drink at the port while waiting for the boat, and a pleasant boat ride to Cavallo. Our week of relaxation was about to begin.
hotel, Hotel des Pecheurs, is open seasonally, May through September. It is situated right on the water, with its own beach. Most of the rooms have sea views; a few even have terraces right on the water. The rooms are small, but 
nicely appointed. The hotel itself is well maintained – there is a beautiful beach, a pool, two restaurants (only one open for dinner), and a spa. It is a bit pricey, but you have to realize that, in part, you are paying for the outstanding location. This isn’t a place we would splurge for every year – but it’s worth a splurge for a special occasion. Our bags were picked up at the 
small port, and we were taken to the hotel via golf cart. Oh, I forgot to mention…there are no cars on Cavallo – bikes and golf carts only. Given the small size of the island, it’s not surprising – and it makes the place seem even more remote and quaint. There is a meandering perimeter road around the island, and while much of the island is relatively flat, there is a hill that rises in the center of the island to about 100 ft. We quickly settled into a daily routine. Up early, full breakfast in the hotel dining area (open air, and overlooking the water). Head to the Hotel beach – lounge around, snorkel, enjoy the water – then lunch at the beach café, followed by a bike ride, walk, or golf cart ride to one of the other beaches (there are six on 
Cavallo); back to the Hotel for a nap before dinner; dinner al fresco by the water; early night to bed – then repeat with slight variations. We rented a golf cart one day to explore all the beaches (one of the beaches, Rose beach, was inaccessible to all but residents of the area); we had a couple’s massage outside, in an open-air tent by the pool – but really, it was all 
about…doing nothing. Now for us, that was great – its what we wanted. It’s not for everyone – several of my friends would be climbing the walls – they aren’t good at just relaxing. But we loved it.
trips where, I believe, everyone is living within a Rick Steves bubble. I quickly got out of there. But back to Cavallo. One morning we met this Italian couple at the beach. They seemed interesting, although I noticed he walked a bit awkwardly. “Hi, I am Marco” he said as he smiled and shook my hand. We had a drink with them and learned that they were from northern Italy; that they were staying in Sardinia; and that they decided to come over to Cavallo for part of their trip. Very pleasant chap. The next morning, I was in the water, getting ready to put my snorkeling mask on, and I noticed Marco wading nearby. I smiled at him, and just as I was about to say, “Good morning, Marco”, he smiled, shook my hand, and said “Hi, I am Marco”… hmmm – didn’t we do that yesterday? Was this Groundhog Day? Oh well, perhaps he was a bit tipsy yesterday, met a lot of people, and forgot. The following day we were lounging on the beach, and Marco and his girlfriend took the loungers next to us. He walked over, shook my hand, and said…you guessed it…” Hi, I am Marco”, and proceeded to tell me, once again, about himself. Seeing the look on my face, his girlfriend confided in Paula while we were in 
the water. Apparently, Marco had had a severe skiing accident the winter before; he was recovering, but it was partially a head injury and the result was a loss of short term memory. This explained the odd behavior- and then I began to look forward to meeting Marco again each day, anew – despite the short-term memory loss and recovery, he was always in good spirits and loved to tell me about his life.
that boats were prohibited from anchoring within the cove. While we were sunbathing, a boat approached, and anchored right in the middle of the cove. There were about 4 people on board – they anchored, broke out the snorkels, and started swimming around the boat. One of the ladies was preparing some lunch. I noticed a couple of people came out of their villas and shouted something at the boat – which was met with casual indifference by the boat people. About 10 minutes later the cops (in this case, the French Gendarmes) showed up at the beach. They were armed with…a whistle. They began shouting and whistling at the boat, pointing out the large sign which clearly prohibited anchoring. The boat people just waived the cops off – again, 
a casual indifference – they were clearly not going to respond to the threat of a whistle. The cops, visibly pissed, left. But about 15 minutes later I spied a boat rapidly approaching on the horizon – the Gendarmes were back, but this time with their own boat! That got the attention of the partygoers – they quickly scrambled back to their boat, but by now, the police boat was alongside. The Gendarmes boarded, and searched the offending boat. I figured the people 
late lunch there one day to just get a change from the hotel restaurants. The restaurant sent someone in a golf cart to pick us up. The setting is outstanding – with a magnificent view of the entire island. The food was also outstanding – simple seafood and pasta, with pizza as well (although to be clear, this is more than just a pizza place). We were disappointed that we didn’t discover this place earlier in our trip, as we would have spent more time here. The snorkeling on Cavallo is awesome – crystal clear, warm Mediterranean waters, with many rocky grottoes. It’s very shallow all around the island, making for a pleasant experience for novice snorkelers like me. Before we knew it, the week was at an end and we were headed back to 
Sardinia to begin our trip home. Recently, I came across several articles about an amazing fellow named Mauro Morandi. He is the sole inhabitant of a small island (Budelli) that is very close to Cavallo. Travel and Leisure has an 
rented. There are some apartments near the port that are clearly holiday rentals – while these won’t be expensive, they are not, by any stretch, luxurious. However, Cavallo is one of those places that would be great for a large group of people – chip in and rent one of the villas right on the water – it truly will be memorable. The hotel, however, is great – highly recommended. For villas and rentals, check the usual places (Airbnb, etc.).
counting the little gelato shop near the port) – the hotel restaurants, and 