About

My name is Sara, I was born one morning in July of an unspecified number of years ago (let's say after man's landing on the moon and before John Travolta in a cream tuxedo showed the world the excitement of Brooklyn's night clubs), I grew up amidst the beautiful mountains of Cortina, and I've recently transplanted in California, San Francisco, just for fun, or for real.
As a child, depending on the day, the temperature and the mood, I wanted to be a knitter, a teacher, a nun (!!), a dancer (imitating my sister who was imitating Heather Parisi*), a puppeteer. As an adult, instead, I have yet to figure it out.
When you don't find me at farmers' markets, or stirring yet another jam, or else photographing an artichoke, I may be running in Golden Gate Park, at the movies for the latest Woody Allen film, or in warrior pose.
Below I've compiled a list of some of the things I like. A random list. For those of you who are curious to know me better, and for myself as well. Ready? Go!

Running 26.2, once more, and once more. Coffee, fresh water and Tartine's almond croissant. Designer jeans, leather jackets and... ehm... even black stretchy pants. Yoga, a cat named Charlie Scooter, Woody Allen and the Cohen Brothers. Independent movies and the occasional Hollywood hit. Almodovar, Javier Bardem and Mark Zuckerberg. Kitchen tools and recipe books, home-made fermented stuff, Radio Deejay and wine, red wine. Running, alone, loud music and sometime tears. My Cortina in the Alps, Venice any time of the year, and Florence. And Paris. Falling snow, pink sunsets in the Dolomites, happy hour spritz (Aperol with olive for me, thanks). The quest for the perfect pizza dough. Homemade potato gnocchi. Summer, the beach, raw fish, Saffo and the Greek lyrics. Niccolò Ammaniti, Calvin & Hobbes, my iPhone Android and everything Apple. Billie Jean, old family video recordings, Bono Vox. High heel shoes, but on other women. Fashion magazines and thrift stores. San Francisco. The Mission. Fresh baked bread and cinnamon rolls. Spending Saturday afternoon in a non-virtual bookstore, and walking on empty streets on Christmas Day. Sea salt and raw meat. Fireplaces, farmers markets, black and white photography. Vintage furniture and real wood. Mismatched dinnerware. The smell of freshly cut green grass, a very sexy side craw pose, a man wearing a t-shirt, oversized sunglasses, John Lennon and cable knitted hats. Francesco Guccini. Tattoos, but not all of them, Spanish accent and Central Park. The Soccer World Cup, Roberto Baggio and Photoshop. Jerry Seinfeld, Dave Matthews and Marcello Mastroianni. Cappuccino, the real one, in a ceramic cup and with lots of foam. Shavasana. Learning to forgive myself. And most unfortunately, Louis Vuitton.


*Heather Parisi is a fairly well known show-girl, extremely popular on Italian TV during the 80s.