Capri sun is more than a juice box.

After a second week of classes, I was ready for some R&R. Ellen agreed, and we took a 20 minute hydrofoil to the island of Capri on Friday afternoon. Since in rained all day Wednesday, Thursday and most of Friday, our classmates and teachers suggested we postpone the trip. We already had reservations at the Capri Palace Hotel in the town of Anacapri, so we forged ahead anyway. Fortune favors the bold, or at least those who book hotels in advance, because we woke up Saturday and it was a perfect blue-sky day, with a nice breeze. Perfect weather for sitting in the sun next to a pool (or in my case, sitting in the shade with sunblock on), reading the paper or studying Italian in a desultory fashion. Though to my chagrin, I forgot my capri pants, the weekend was a nice escape from our school routine.

On Friday night we had dinner in the Capri Palace Hotel’s restaurant, which got great reviews and two Michelin stars. Based on this (and a few other dinners) we have come to the conclusion that outside of France, the storied Guide Michelin is utterly unreliable when it comes to food quality. If you’re looking for a high server-to-guest ratio, this books for you. If you actually care about what you are eating and not how many people are hovering over your table, it holds little value. Not that this was a bad meal, just not anywhere close to the gushing review. The highlights of the meal: Ellen’s first course, the seafood mosaic, and dessert, an architectural chocolate construction. Both I would happily order again anywhere. The low point of the meal was the lemon-scented risotto topped with raw fish that I ordered: the rice had a watery texture, was a little crunchy in places, lacked salt and, incredibly, needed more acid. It was supposed to be lemon risotto? I sent it back almost entirely uneaten. The backserver who cleared the plate asked if I liked it and I replied that “it wasn’t for me,” and she nodded. That’s it. If you don’t like something in a two-star in France, or any restaurant worth its salt in DC, someone will acknowledge it, perhaps offer a replacement or take it off the check, some kind of response. But here, nothing. And the coup de gras, at least for the service experience: they brought me the wrong entrée. I ordered a dish featuring suckling pig but they announced the veal as they dropped our plates. At this point, it wasn’t worth arguing about. And the veal was actually delicious, cooked medium so it was juicy and flavorful. I may not have ordered it but I certainly wasn’t sending it back.

Convertible taxi!

Saturday lunch was poolside, casual with a nice bottle of (something white?). For dinner, we took a taxi  (a convertible taxi!) down the hill from Anacapri to the larger town of Capri. The taxi ride was great: we happened to be leaving right at sunset and the view of the sea over the sheer cliffs of the island was beautiful. The roads are narrow and winding, with several hairpin turns and at best a loose adherence to traffic regulations. While I enjoyed it, Ellen described the ride in the open-topped cab as “harrowing.” (Full disclosure: I’m the kind of person who loves roller coasters and would happy bungee jump or sky dive.) She took a ton of great pictures of the view though. We wandered around the town’s main piazza for a while, had a cocktail overlooking the water and then headed to Pizzeria da Georgio for dinner.

Drinks in Anacapri. 

We met our friend from class, a Londoner named Justine, at da Georgio. We had a table right next to the large open windows overlooking the water, and the lights of Napoli across the bay. I order the bresaola (air-cured beef sliced paper thin) for a first course. The salty bresaola with spicy arugula and shaved parmesan, dressed only with olive oil and balsamic, was great. Then I had a pizza with mozzarella di bufala. Life was good.

Capri is a fancy-pants, pretentious place. The views are beautiful, but everything else is annoying and difficult to deal with. And they apparently wear short pants.