I ate the best dessert of my life almost a decade ago in a town called Paraino, seven miles down the winding road that leads from the cliffside town of Positano toward the sea.At the bottom of the road there is a tiny harbor where a man named Armandino runs a restaurant with his daughter. I ate lunch there, outside by the pier on a clear blue spring day.I was with the man I loved, and we ate. We ate tuna preserved in olive oil, with little black olives and slivers of onion. Then pasta with baby clams, still in their shells.

 

Then there was a plate of seafood: black octopus, no bigger than the pad of my thumb; pin-sized white bait; whole little anchovies; a single, whole med mullet, just longer from his head to tail than my hand. Each had been dipped in batter and fried and served with lemon. After lunch we had hard nut cookies and a kind of half-frozen pudding. And then small dark coffees. After coffee, there was limoncello, made from the lemons that grow up and down the cliffs.When we finished our liqueur we sat, dazzled by the meal, the bright water, and the birds picking fish off rocks and letting them fall again boats dropping in and out of the nearby harbors, which were sunk too deep into the cliffs' mouths for us to watch them dock.

 

Then Armandino came to our table carrying a bowl of dark, wet walnuts, still in their shells, and two half glasses of red wine. We explained that we were too full and had a distance still to drive that day. Armandino pressed the wineglasses down and cleared a space between them for the bowl of walnuts, and another for their shells. It would be better, he said, if we left lunch with the tastes of the next meal already in our mouths.Cookies and lemon liqueur said nothing of dinner, but half sweet walnuts and wine began to whisper. Something of another hunger, another meal of again finding a place to sit together, again finding something good to eat.

 

We nodded, understanding then, and began to crack and peel the nuts, still wet inside their shells.We stopped talking and just peeled, watching thin filaments of walnut skin coming off when either of us hit on spots with good focus. We sipped our wine slowly and remained there, peeling and sipping, getting no drunker but more ready, until the sky began to darken, and it made sense for us to go.