As I pull open the curtains to reveal the sun emerging over the rolling Tuscan hills highlighting the vineyards and oak woods, my senses are alerted to the heady mix of smells drifting from the kitchen beneath me, things are already afoot. I hurriedly put on my apron and scurry down the winding pastel stone steps of Villa Arezzo, a beautifully renovated traditional farmhouse, and into the kitchen taking my place at my cooking station.
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I woke on Tuesday at 4am and could hardly breathe. I was sweating (and, post-menopausal that I am, I never sweat) and racked with worry. I grabbed my hair, put my head in my hands, and said out loud, ‘What am I doing? What was I thinking?’