Happiness is Made in Italy 01

Picky Nicky falls in love with his adopted home all over again

Confined to London for the first ten weeks or so of Britain’s Covid-19 lockdown, I missed travelling to Milan for what would have been my 21st year at Salone del Mobile, had it been staged. For me, the annual trip includes spending the weekends before and after the fair in the house I share with my husband Álvaro and our two Weimaraners in the hills outside Florence. Italy has been my home, either full time or part time, for the past 20 years and I longed to return.

I longed to shop at our greengrocer-ona-truck in Florence’s Piazza della Libertà, and at Galanti, my local rosticceria (Italy’s slow-food take on the takeaway); to eat at Zeb Gastronomia and Trattoria Cammillo, my restaurants of choice; and to enjoy the ritual of morning coffee, standing up, at Pasticceria Stefania. The coffee, prepared without my having to ask, comes with a very fine brioche or two. It’s my preferred way to start the day, after I’ve ridden there on my Vespa.

I also longed to return to scouting for the best that Made in Italy has to offer. There is nothing quite like the passion and precision that Italian technicians and artisans can achieve when partnered with creative talent. I never turn down an invitation to see how things are produced, anywhere from the factories of Agape, B&B Italia, Cassina and Zegna to the tiny ceramic workshops in Grottaglie in Puglia. Whatever they make, they share a pride in doing so, striving to make the best, rather than the most. That to me is Italian quality.

Another thing I longed for was to dive into the sea, off Italy’s magnificent coast. And so I did; returning to Italy in mid-may to produce a shoot for this issue’s Armani Casa story (page 082), I then stayed put for the whole summer.

This year is the 50th anniversary of Hotel San Pietro, perched above the rocks outside Positano on the Amalfi Coast. It was opened in 1970 by Carlo Cinque and today is run by his niece, Virginia, and her two sons, Carlo and Vito (family businesses are another pillar of Made in Italy). Álvaro and I have visited every July for seven years. After a high-speed train from Florence to Salerno and a four-minute walk to the port, we get a 40-minute speedboat ride to the hotel’s beach, sometimes accompanied by dolphins. We go to Carlino, the beach restaurant, and dine in the shade, heading to our room only at the end of a day spent in and out of the sea, kept going by a serving or two of watermelon and an Aperol spritz. Evenings begin on the terrace for an aperitvo, while a mandolin-and-guitar duo play Neapolitan tunes. We depart the way we arrived, after settling the bill on the beach, and never leave without making another booking.∂