Years ago, at the tail-end of my time in Italy, I traveled to Lìpari, an island off the coast of Sicily, and rented a cottage on a farm. Everyday the family left me different things in a basket by my door - fresh tomatoes one day, garlic another, and freshly laid eggs on the next. It was glorious to make dinner each night with something from their farm. On the second to the last evening I was there, I was sitting outside with a glass of wine, crusty bread, fresh cheese and beautiful, sun-kissed tomatoes from the farm. Signorina! came a voice from the main house. I put down my glass and walked toward the house. The farmer's wife asked me if I would like to watch them make tomato sauce that evening. Vieni fuori alle due, d'accordo? Come outside at 2 in the morning, okay? Okay. At two in the morning, I pulled on some jeans and a sweater and walked out in the chilly morning air. It was a full moon though I don't know if that was significant in this family ritual, or if...