Hi, and welcome to the first issue of The Sprezza Diary in its new home.

I've been writing on Substack since last year, quietly, inconsistently, in the way you do when you're still figuring out what you're trying to say. I'm still figuring it out — but I've decided to stop waiting until I have it perfectly sorted. This is me, writing and sharing the books I’m reading, what I’m tasting and things I’m doing. Thanks for being here.

This past Saturday I drove east on 64 toward Hunsader Farms, which is about twenty minutes from where I live and somehow I'd been putting off going all season. I went for peppers and tomatoes and came home with those plus cucumbers, cantaloupes, ginger, and a bundle of flowers I had no business buying but couldn't leave behind.

There's something quietly corrective and deeply grounding about taking a trip to a local farm to gather fresh produce. In the past, I’ve never been one to frequently visit farms for my fruits and vegetables, primarily because of the sheer convenience of having a grocery store just a mere five minutes away from my house. The ease of grabbing what I need from the store shelves without much thought has always been appealing. However, as I’ve grown more intentional with my lifestyle choices and become more conscious of what I consume, my interest in sourcing my produce from local farms has significantly increased.

Living in Florida presents its own unique set of challenges in this regard. The climate here can be quite tricky, as many farms tend to close during the summer months. This is largely due to the intense heat and humidity that can make it uncomfortable and even unsafe for both staff and visitors. The summer season is also synonymous with the rainy season in this region, where heavy downpours are frequent and have the potential to wreak havoc on the field crops.

For now, I'm making the most of the fresh produce that's still around before Hunsaders closes for the season. Knowing these are the last of the goodies makes every bite feel extra special. The cantaloupe is sitting on my counter right now. I'm waiting for it to be perfect.

I recently completed reading a captivating short story titled "Brandy Sour" by Constantia Soteriou, and I find myself currently immersed halfway through another intriguing book, "Four Thousand Weeks" by Oliver Burkeman. Interestingly, these two books, though seemingly unrelated, are engaging in an unexpected dialogue that I hadn't anticipated. "Brandy Sour" is a compelling narrative set against the backdrop of the Ledra Palace Hotel during a tumultuous period in Cyprus's history, marked by war and conflict. The novel is intricately woven through the perspectives of the hotel's staff and guests, offering a profound exploration of the weight of time and history through its rich 20th-century storytelling.

On the other hand, "Four Thousand Weeks" presents a contrasting yet equally thought-provoking perspective. In this book, Burkeman challenges the conventional notion of striving to "get on top of things or the efficiency trap," suggesting that this pursuit is nothing more than an illusion. He argues that by accepting and grieving the impossibility of this effort, we can attain a sense of liberation and freedom. The title, "Four Thousand Weeks," refers to the approximate number of weeks one has if they live to the age of eighty. While this figure may initially seem substantial, it becomes startlingly finite when you calculate it against your current age.

Reading these two books simultaneously feels particularly fitting for the stage of life I find myself in at the moment. "Brandy Sour" offers a poignant reflection on a nation's history and the past while “Four Thousand Weeks” makes you think what's worth doing with the time you actually have.

I've been curious about the Guy Mousset Côtes du Rhône Rosé for a while — it's a southern Rhône blend, Grenache-forward, the kind of wine that's made for exactly this weather. I finally opened a bottle this week and it's doing what a good rosé should: cold, a little mineral, not trying too hard. Perfect for a Florida evening when the air is heavy and you need something that doesn't ask much of you. This wine can be paired with a semi-soft cheese like Cacciotta (Italian) or Fontina.

I also have a bottle of the Sangiovese Di Majo Norante 2021 waiting. Southern Italian Sangiovese — earthier and wilder than Tuscany, which is exactly why I'm interested. That one I'm saving for when I have something worth eating alongside it. The tomatoes from Hunsader feel like the right occasion.

Thanks for being here for issue one. I'm planning to show up twice a month, same format, different contents — like a letter from a friend who reads too much and thinks about wine/food more than is probably reasonable.

Until next time :)