A candid camera … goes to Italy

I knew something was up. I sensed adventure. My master spent much of the day cleaning my lenses, packing extra film and checking all my parts to make sure I worked perfectly. When he put the converter in the case, I knew we were venturing somewhere distant.

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DAY 1: 6pm, GMT, suspected location: Charles De Gaulle Airport, Paris

What the @#%? Hey, stop touching my lens! No, not the X-ray! Leave that film case alone. Don't open that bag-please. Parle vous Anglais? Can't you understand me? Don't you know who I am? I'm a HASSELBLAD.

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Finally in the air. Au revoir.

20 HOURS LATER

All that jostling around on conveyer belts, handling without care and being thrown in with the cargo is exhausting. Now what's this language? I've heard it before, it's a dialect my master Ignacio knows ...

DAY 2: Bergamo, Italy

Just as I thought. We are in Italy. Scusi! Can you please take me out of this case? Grazie, grazie.

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In my master's hands at last. Zoom! Flash! Pop! Click! This is more like it. There's so much to photograph. One minute a piazza, the next pizza!

Hold it! Great! Yeah, that's good! 'Gotta' get that. Click!

To the citta alta for a quick apertivo! What a great idea-free snacks and inexpensive wine served late in the afternoon. Snap!

Trying to find Hotel Macaroni, but given directions to Hotel Marconi! Can't possibly read all the signs on the autostrada. Master needs a scotch before he can think to ask for directions again. And get the kid a Limoncello, per favore.

Later, a litre of wine. I hope my master remembers how to focus me!

DAY 3: Sarmeola, just outside of Padova

Stopped for cigarettes at the Tabacchi en route to the pizzeria. The pizzaioli is a true artisan-a highly respected trade.

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A quick cafe and cigarette and my master will be ready to roll. What's taking so long? Is there such a thing as a quick meal here? These Italians linger longer for lunch. Life seems to revolve around food, or rather food revolves around life? Suddenly I feel so esoteric ...

DAY 4: Quistello, on the outskirts of Mantova

In the Panaria. Why were all the lights turned off? We can't take pictures like this! This is not unusual, we find out; most Italians conserve energy-utility bills are outrageous!

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Everyone smokes like a chimney. Elevators the size of closets. Rooms the size of shoeboxes. Cars on cobblestone are clamorous. The gray-shaded lamps situated on the tops of the buildings give the town a goolish glow. Have to adjust the shutter.

Flash! Pop!

DAY 5: Gioto, on the edge of Mantova

Cos'e?

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Ah! It's the Sulumeria where the Italians shop for (what else?) salami, salsicce (sausage) and cheese. The metal grate covering the front door is closing, a sign the shop is almost shut down for the night. We are spotted and the owner invites us in.

What's that beautiful piece of machinery? She is red. I have never seen anything so beautiful. A manual hand crank, flywheel slicer. Is there such a thing as love at first sight? She's already been cleaned, ready to put away, but our new Italian friend is happy to help. And in return?

Smile, please. Snap!

What is Italy without romance and love? Ciao!

DAY 6: Linate airport, Milan

Who gift wraps cheese? They do here in Milan. What isn't fashionable? Time for me to go back in my case, but before I do ... Pop! Click! Flash!

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LET YOUR INSTINCTS BE YOUR GUIDE.

Massimiliano, routinely called 'Max', is only 28 years old. At 22, he carned entry into that famous red culinary catalog of 'Who's Who' known as the Michelin Guide with his first star. Now, he has three. This chef is just one of four generations of Alajmos in the restaurant business, but he's the first and shining star of another kind.

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Some say, "Podova," some say, "Padua." Regardless, it's the city of saints, a paradise for product and haute couture--think cuisine, not clothes. Pilgrims of two different natures--religious and culinary--are drawn here to honor the town's most famous saint, St. Anthony. They also come here for the miracles Chef Alajmo delivers in his restaurant, Le Calandre.

"I create dishes first in my head." He then, transforms these 'visions' from pot to plate. Mr. Alajmo makes mental notes on flavor combinations and cooking techniques as a composer would notations on a musical score. He trusts his senses wholly, giving himself over to them, allowing them to guide him in the kitchen. "I trust my sense of smell so completely that I can imagine the flavor of a finished dish from the scent of the raw ingredients."

He continues, "I have to know where a piece of meat comes from. It's not enough for me just to taste the raw filet--I need to know the animal's origin in order to pin down the flavor of the herbs it ate. Why? So I can use the same herbs when cooking it. This is a fundamental rule of my cooking. If a meals smells good people will want to taste it."