These little savories up top are clouds of fried heaven, I’m here to tell you. The bowl was originally full of them. Zeppoli, I think. (We knew them in our childhood as sfinge and they’re sweet,but these were savory)

The reason I don’t know what they’re called is that we didn’t order them.

So here’s how it works at Ristorante della Posta, in the mountains of northwest Italy, the “balcony of the Alps:”

You’re seated at a table. And then the food starts arriving.

For two hours.

No menu. No questions.

It appears.

Course after course after course.

Small plates with bites of pasta. Lightly battered and fried fruits and vegetables. Cheeses. A slice of perfectly seasoned and cooked roast beef. Chicken. Salad. Unidentifiable things stuffed with spicy meat. Nocciola (hazelnut) cake.

And then, the topper. The most delicious, sweet, melt-in-your-mouth panna cotta ever.

And espresso.

64 euros later you roll yourself back down the hill home.

This was the meal about which M. asked “why would I do that?”

He now says that the meal was the answer to that question.

Heavenly.

Oh, and that last cloud of fried heaven? I ate it.

I’m sorry, Trainer Tom. I’ll work really really hard when I get back.