Italians often employ dark humor in their colloquialisms, which can bring you up a little short when a sweet little rosy cheeked nonna in Spoleto refers to her malfatti as “Strozzapreti”… Priest Stranglers! But employing dark humor and saying the opposite of what you really mean is very Italian. So, if an old man holds your chin in his hands with tears welling up in his eyes and says: “Poverina, face brutta,” which translates to "poor girl your face is ugly".... don’t worry. What he's really saying is “you are beautiful.”

Over and over he repeats the process until there is a giant mound of pasta in front of him. We all think it’s too much, but don’t dare say it aloud, he’d been working so hard. He pushes back from the counter, job one is done. Job two? The sugo.

His sugo of choice is Amatriciana, one of the simplest preparations of red sauce incorporating only 5 ingredients plus a little salt and pepper and later some Pecorino grated on top, yet at the hand of this well taught young man it becomes an exquisite symphony of flavor.

He renders Guanciale, a pork jowl bacon that is seasoned and cured with red pepper flake and herbs for weeks before it is ready. When it’s crisp he adds in diced sweet onion, slices of garlic and a healthy pinch of red pepper flake. Next he adds the San Marzano tomatoes, Italy’s best and sweetest, and allows the mixture to simmer for 20-25 minutes. The smells are filling up the apartments and our group is starving. We start to eye the mound of pasta, wondering now if it will be enough after all. My nose keeps inhaling big deep breaths of the pork scented, garlic infused tomato sauce. My stomach is having a full-on conversation with the world, growling in demand of immediate service.

By now, 2 1/2 hours into watching the maestro, from flour-well to pasta, from can of tomatoes to Sugo of the Gods... the 6 of us have consumed 5 bottles of wine. We’re good though, there are two bottles left to get us through dinner. We sit, in anticipation of greatness. And greatness is delivered. Our boisterous banter subsides in an instant, and nothing but the sound of fork hitting plate and utterances of “Oh man” and “this is amazing” can be heard...interspersed with a bit of pleasurable moaning, “bow chicka wow wow” style. 

At first our plates seem never-ending, until they are... and then we refill them greedily and repeat. Every toothsome bite is a triumph of craftsmanship. 

“Malfatti??” They couldn’t have been more perfect.

Heading up into the West Maui Mountains, we careen and twist around curves that open to one magnificent vista after another. Winding, winding, winding, up and up and up, the mountain pass narrows to one lane. To the left, there are steep cliffs dropping hundreds of feet to the ocean below. To the right, lush palms, tropical foliage and flowers everywhere. And just ahead, marking the midway point of our tenuous half-day journey, a burst of lime green... Julia’s Banana Bread Shack... home of the “World’s Best Banana Bread,” and an icon written up in virtually every travel guide about Maui.

We spill out from our ride and beeline for the stand to find a sweet-faced wahine (woman) behind the counter who is not the famous Julia, but her less famous cousin Jan. Jovial and inviting, she offers samples the revered bread and some of her homemade liliko’i (passion fruit) butter. We buy 2 loaves, the last of her day’s baking, and jump back into the jeep to head up the final steep pass before the long wind-down the other side of the mountain. As we're pulling away, our mouths already stuffed full of the deliciously rich and nutty bread, we give a half-hearted nod of pity toward a couple just arriving to this bread Mecca who are about to find out that they’re not going to get any of the good stuff today.

Thankfully, Julia is apparently okay with giving out her coveted recipe. Check out Bon Appétit's feature: http://www.bonappetit.com/recipe/julias-best-banana-bread