You never know what things will be like until they happen. All things. Especially travel. People can talk at you and talk with you and throw their experiences in your face like a water balloon or you can read about them in books like Eat Pray Love or watch them on TV with Anthony Bourdain or Andrew Zimmern at your side while you fantasize that that will be your life one day.

But when that day comes, secretly try to prepare yourself. You’ll sit with your mother (or boyfriend or husband or dad or sibling or solo) at the airport, (tiny) tears in both of your eyes, as you embark on what will be the most significantly eye opening, senses touching, comfort zone thrusting experience of your life, and you won’t know what’s ahead of you. You won’t know that falling in love exists in a magnificent kaleidoscope of forms. You won’t know that the best food of your life is waiting for you in 200 year-old stone farmhouses in in the middle of nowhere in Piedmont, Italy. You won’t know how the European train system works, that you’re not supposed to talk to that girl who offers to help you with your 50+ pound suitcase (aw, she’s so nice! no, she’s not. she wants your Euros), or that Italian dogs eat pasta specifically made for dogs (they’re Italian!). You won’t know Italian. But that’s all okay. That’s the beauty of it.

Because you won’t know anything until you do it.

And once you do it, you will learn that Italian people view food in a much, much more serious way than Americans do. You’ll think you know but you really don’t. Messing around with their religious-like lunch and dinner two hour sit-downs just absolutely does not happen. The daily and always (not only for Thanksgiving or Christmas) tablecloth-laden tavola becomes the center of life, bustling with plates being passed around like you’ve never seen food before and you’re never going to see it again. Getting it into your stomach becomes all that matters in the world in that moment. A way of connecting with yourself, and with the people around you.

In Italy, seasonality in full force is the norm. And the family at first farm I was staying at had gardens that produced much of what we ate. We ate a variety of different things, all succulently mouth-watering (that I cannot wait to share on here), but since it was summer, we ate perfectly blooming zucchini flowers, so visually beautiful and simply prepared. Before this trip, I had seen Giada de Laurentiis prepare them on her show Everyday Italian (sidenote: most Italians have no idea who she is. Or Mario Batali. Hmmmm.) and they scared me. Seriously, Giada, we’re eating flowers here? Yes, yes we are. And they’re going to be good.

This was a typical recipe that was prepared at least once a week, and for me, it symbolizes part of the time that I was in Italy, in summer, with these blooming everywhere in sight both in gardens and the farmers markets I was a part of. They are widely available here in the US as well, you just might have to search a bit for the last harvests of summer. Whole Foods, Fresh Market, your neighborhood specialty store, or local farmers markets will most likely have them.

You won’t know until you try. In the words of Ben Stiller,  “Do it, do it.”

Fried zucchini flowers

Adapted from Maura Fourneris

Notes: This recipe is so easy that I’m not including amounts. Use however many zucchini flowers you have on hand. One cup flour and one cup water will coat about 10-12 zucchini flowers. For an extra kick, you could also use beer instead of water. Up to you.

Coconut or avocado oil, for frying (or a frying oil that you prefer)

Equal parts gluten-free all-purpose flour and water

Zucchini flowers

Salt

Paper towels, to drain

In a large skillet or pan, heat a half-inch of vegetable oil until it reaches 350 degrees F. Alternatively, test the oil for readiness with a wooden spoon. Submerge the end of a wooden spoon in the oil, it’s ready when tiny bubbles form around it.

In a large bowl and while the oil heats, mix equal parts flour and water together. Season, to taste, with a bit of salt. Dunk the zucchini flowers in the mixture to coat completely, and letting the excess batter fall back into the bowl. Gently place a few flowers in the oil. Let fry, about 1 minute per side, until nicely browned. It’s important not to overcrowd the pan here. Be sure to work in batches.

Once the flowers are ready and golden, let them drain on a few layers of paper towels to soak up the excess oil. Season with salt, and serve immediately or as close to it as possible. These are best fresh.