GELATO DOLCE VITA & ITALIAN GROCER – Mesa, Arizona

“La Grassa” (The Fat One) is the nickname of Bologna, Italy.  While that sobriquet may seem unflattering, Bologna bears it with honor.  This city in the north-central region of the country is considered the “gastronomic heart of Italy,” a place where food is an art form and a passion.   This may be best exemplified by one of the foods born in Bologna.  I’m talking, of course, about gelato.  Throughout “Lo Stivale” (the boot, a nickname bestowed upon Italy because the shape of the peninsula resembles a high-heeled boot) gelato is revered.  Not surprisingly, Bologna is not only the home of Italy’s oldest university (and the oldest in the western world), but home to Carpigiani, “Gelato University.” Mesa, Arizona is the home of two of Carpigiani’s distinguished alumni.  Both Walter Bergamaschi and Marti Printy, founders of the Gelato Dolce Vita attended the Gelato University.   Having grown up in Bergamo, about two-and-a-half hours from Bologna, they have been around superior gelato all their lives.  In 2010, they launched Gelato Dolce Vita (literally “Gelato Sweet Life) in Mesa.  At the time there were only two gelato shops in Phoenix.  Ice cream shops dominated the market.  In time, customers began to appreciate the difference…

Fabio on Fire – Peoria, Arizona

In the early ’90s, a mesomorphic V-shaped woman’s man with the mononymous name Fabio garnered worldwide recognition for his appearance on the covers of hundreds of romance novels.  With his flowing mane, chiseled physique and aquiline nose, Fabio Lanzoni was lusted after and admired–at least by readers of romance lovers.   The idyllic man perceptions were reinforced when Fabio revealed that he cooks (albeit with I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter, a product he’s been hawking on television for more than a decade). When I told my Kim, we were headed to the western enclave of Peoria, Arizona to dine at a restaurant called Fabio on Fire, her immediate reaction was “you mean that hot guy on all those book covers has a restaurant.”  As a not-so-hot guy perpetually waging war against a middle-age spread, I certainly fall short in any comparisons to the hunky Fabio (thankfully my Kim hasn’t resorted to calling me “Flabbio”).   I did console my Kim with the assurance that “there are several “hot” guys at Fabio.”  I didn’t tell her they’re hot because of proximity to stoves and ovens (and the 82-degree Phoenix heat on a late December day). Though somewhat ambivalent about the hot guy…