On night one, I didn’t venture too far, thanks to my 02:30 sleeplessness. Lucky for me, I’d thought ahead and booked Caffe dell’Oro at the sister property of my beloved Continentale, just next door.

The set-up was so chic, with the Italian women at the neighboring table in an eclectic mix of playing card sized diamonds and Zara pumps (those cobblestones, I would too). There was also clearly couples of Americans on their honeymoons in some equally observable ensembles, which made for excellent people watching.

At the recommendation of the waitress (and my stomach) I started with the amberjack hamachi that came with a sidecar of beet juice to pour over it. Delicate and delicious, even if it looked like a bloody mess.

The pasta sounded fine on the menu, like not overly excited, but it sounded best to me of the pasta options, so here we are…but wow, oh wow, this was probably the best pasta of the weekend. Fusili with raw shrimp, saffron, togarashi, bacon, and pecorino. Cooked perfectly al dente, I savored every single bite and honestly should have returned for it another evening, but then I’d have never met the good Marco. More on that later.