Sleek, polished, and well‑kept, Washington fully deserves top marks as the capital of the States. The buildings in our neighborhood flaunt grand entrances, three‑story Christmas trees (real ones!), massive columns and capitals, arches, and original post‑colonial brickwork. Yet on the evening of December 25th the streets are half‑deserted, fully lit, and patrolled by the WPD. To tell you the truth, it all gives me the uncanny vibe of a day after… Christmas, sure, but still faintly dimmed, vaguely post‑war. So I blast the karaoke version of Washington into my ears, and I sing it and play it along the streets of Washington (because yes, I can).

🎯 Target to hit: a convenience store with fresh parsley and garlic (and above all, one that actually knows what they are!).

The White House wouldn’t even be that far—a nice walk, really. Too bad my legs don’t take orders very well.

The rest of my body is also in semi‑mutiny, so wisely I head back home. They say Trump eats children…

Us? No, better—the bottarga. Because I never travel without a piece tucked in my bag, plus a pack of spaghetti. Add a clove of garlic, a splash of good olive oil (yes, I try to pack that too), and I’m instantly at home—ready for lunch or dinner anywhere in the world.