I’ve dreamed of going to Europe for as long as I can remember, reading about it in books, watching it in movies, and wondering if the air really did feel different on the other side of the ocean. This summer, I finally found out.
We left Dulles Airport late on a Friday night, June 13, and flew all night into Frankfurt. I barely slept, too wired with excitement and too uncomfortable to doze off. A couple of hours later, we were in Turin, Italy, where I got my first real “welcome to Europe” moment: stepping off the plane into sunshine that somehow looked warmer.
By the time we climbed aboard the bus to dinner, we were equal parts delirious and giddy.
Our welcome dinner was at Relais Bella Rosina, tucked at the edge of a forest preserve outside Turin. It felt like the kind of place that’s been quietly perfecting itself for centuries — terracotta roofs, mountain haze, and the hum of cicadas in the distance.
We sat down to what turned into a full-blown feast:
Antipasti: cured meats, cheeses, hazelnuts, and honey
Vitello tonnato (veal with tuna-caper sauce — yes, tuna and veal together, and somehow it works)
Castelmagno cheese risotto
Braised beef with golden potatoes
Panna cotta with crushed pistachios
“Welcome” cake with fresh berries
There was also carne cruda, raw beef tartare with a drizzle of orange. I tried it because when in Italy, but one polite bite was plenty for me.
By dessert, we were fading fast, but there was this golden light coming in through the glass walls that made me want to stay awake just a little longer. The Piedmont region means “at the foot of the mountains,” and that’s exactly how it felt — grounded and peaceful, the kind of quiet that feels familiar even when you’re four thousand miles from home.
That first meal taught me two things: Italians take dinner seriously, and jet lag doesn’t stand a chance against seven courses and good company.
Salt Latch 