Salty, citrus-bright and volcanic, it tastes like the Ligurian-coast fantasy the novel keeps returning to. Its sunny acidity keeps pace with the book's humor while a mineral edge hints at longing.
A pale, glamorous rosé with the faded-film-star elegance of the novel's old Hollywood threads. Dry and delicate, it is the right glass for a story that is wistful but never heavy.
A Hollywood-tinged love story that drifts between a tiny Italian seaside inn and the wreckage of ambition. Funny, tender and quietly aching, it reads like a long lunch that turns golden at the edges.
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