WHAT THIS BOOK MEANS TO ME

There are parts of ourselves we only understand when we stop moving.

For years, my life has been about rhythm, discipline, performance and constantly chasing the next moment. But somewhere between travelling, dancing, competing and growing up far away from home, I realised that the things that shaped me most were often the quietest ones.

A dinner table.
A kitchen full of noise.
A recipe passed down without measurements.
The feeling of being loved without needing to ask for it.

Love, Vito

My story of food, family and finding home

was born from those memories.

This book is not only about food.
It’s about the people, emotions and moments connected to it. The memories we carry with us wherever we go. The way home can still exist inside a smell, a taste or a single conversation.

For almost a year, I’ve been writing, remembering and looking back at the moments that made me who I am today: from Southern Italy to stages and dance floors around the world.

Some stories in this book made me smile.
Some were harder to write than I expected.

But every page comes from something real.

I wanted this book to feel personal. Honest. Warm. Like being invited into my world for an evening.

I truly can’t wait for you to read it, cook from it, and step into my world: a world made of passion, hard work, family, joy… and, of course, amazing food.

Love,

Vito

Coming on 27 August

Available for preorder now

HERE

What feels like home to you?

A smell, a recipe, a place, a song, a family tradition…

MEMORIES SHARED WITH US

Sunday evenings with my two young boys, cuddled up on the sofa by the fire, watching The Chronicles of Narnia or The Railway Children on television. They would be in their pyjamas and smell of the baths they’d just had. A precious memory… they are 38 and 41 now, but this memory is one I particularly cherish.

- Anne

Coming home from school on a rainy day in Scotland to the smell of my mum baking gingerbread cake. My sister and I would have a slice with some hot orange squash to warm ourselves up. Or Sunday lunch at my Grandmas house. 6 of us sitting around an old card table with a seersucker tablecloth. We’d start with homemade broth then in the same bowl we’d have boiled potatoes and beef that had been pot roasted. Amazing! Always with lots of laughter and abundant love. Miss my grandparents so much. I’m 57 and it never goes away

- Debs

My Grandma's kitchen when I was younger. Her stews smelt divine. Her fresh gooseberry s in a bowl, which we took and dipped them in sugar. The smell of my Grandads potting shed, with the musty smell of his homegrown potatoes. A drawer where she put toys and empty April Violet talc tins. And toasting bread over the fire hearth💞

- Sue