π The Mediterranean — Sea, Sun and Supper

Somewhere between Marseille and Mykonos, the Mediterranean sun falls across the sea like molten glass. The coastline is a conversation in flavor, a dialogue between lemon groves, terraced olives, and slow-cooked meals that have survived centuries. In Sicily, the air smells of salt and smoke. Sardines blister on charcoal, anchovy butter melting in the heat. Blood oranges tumble into salads with fennel and mint. Each bite stretches like a sentence, long, deliberate, reflective. Flavor here is not rushed. Time itself seems to pause, as if the sun’s golden arc had slowed to watch us eat. The Greek islands offer another rhythm: oregano, lemon, and thyme riding on the wind. Octopus dries under the sun, only to be later kissed by flames. Wine flows slowly. Conversations meander. Nothing is urgent except the appreciation of presence. In Valencia, saffron spills into rice like sunlight poured over sand. Every meal becomes a meditation, a lesson in simplicity, patience, and shared pleasure. ...