A summer in Capri: between hands in dough and tiramisu

I am in Capri, and my cooking tells the story of this island the way only someone born here can. I come from a family of women — grandmothers, mothers, daughters — who for generations have kept alive a simple, authentic cuisine, one that needs no embellishment because it already has everything: the quality of the ingredients, the scent of the sea, the light of an island that knows how to be generous like few others. My tradition begins with the hands of my grandmother Dora, who passed down to me the art of handmade pasta, and of my grandmother Nenne, keeper of the traditional tomato sauce and fried pizza — a Capri ritual that smells of home, of narrow lanes, of Sunday family gatherings. Simple recipes, rooted in the territory, born in kitchens where time moved slowly and every gesture had its own value. Cooking for me means keeping this memory alive, bringing to the table the true flavours of Capri — the ones you won't find on tourist menus, but in homes, in families, in the stories of those who truly live this land.