Everyone carries a map of the places that shaped them.
Mine isn’t drawn with streets or neighborhoods.
It’s drawn with restaurants.
Some people can chart the milestones of their lives by the houses they’ve lived in or the jobs they’ve held. I remember mine by the tables where I sat, the dishes that became traditions, and the restaurants that quietly witnessed the biggest moments of my life. If someone asked me to draw a map of Rhode Island, it wouldn’t begin with the State House, Benefit Street, or the beaches of Narragansett. It would begin with a bowl of French onion soup, continue with a spinach pie, pause for coffee and pastry, wander through Federal Hill, and end with a piece of chocolate cake that I’ve been dreaming about for decades.
The funny thing about food is that it doesn’t simply satisfy hunger. It preserves time.
One bite can bring back a conversation you thought you’d forgotten. The aroma of garlic and tomatoes can transport you to a Friday night forty years ago, sitting with your father and your son as the child and grandfather bonded over a plate of pasta. A lemon square can remind you of friendships that literally changed the course of your life. A favorite restaurant can become every bit as important as the house you grew up in because, in many ways, it’s where our lives actually happened.
Long before I became a travel writer, I was simply someone who loved a great meal. Maybe that’s why I married a chef. Today, I’ve been fortunate enough to eat all over the world. My work has taken me aboard luxury cruise ships sailing through Alaska and the Mediterranean, to acclaimed restaurants in Napa Valley, intimate cafés in Europe, elegant resorts throughout the Caribbean, and hidden neighborhood gems that never make the guidebooks but should. I’ve enjoyed tasting menus crafted by award-winning chefs, sampled regional specialties on several continents, and built a career telling readers where to travel next and what they absolutely shouldn’t miss.
Those experiences have been extraordinary.
But here’s the question I found myself asking on the flight back to Rhode Island. After all those years, and after all those miles, what foods have I never stopped craving?
The answer surprised me only because it was so simple.
Not caviar.
Not foie gras.
Not a perfectly plated tasting menu.
What I’d been craving all along was a spinach pie from Caserta Pizzeria. The Boeuf à la Bourguignon at Pot au Feu. A lemon square or a slice of carrot cake from Pastiche. An afternoon spent eating my way through Federal Hill. And before heading back to Florida, one enormous slice of Chelo’s legendary chocolate cake.
Those dishes have stayed with me longer than any souvenir I’ve ever bought.
When I left Rhode Island over twenty years ago, I knew I’d miss my family. I knew I’d miss autumn, the coastline, and the familiar rhythm of life in the smallest state in the country. What I didn’t realize was that the thing I’d miss most would be its food. Not because Rhode Island has the fanciest restaurants. Not because every meal is perfect. But because nowhere else I’ve ever lived understands food quite the same way.
In Rhode Island, restaurants aren’t simply businesses. They’re institutions. Families gather at the same table generation after generation. Recipes are guarded like heirlooms. The waitress often knows your name before she hands you a menu. Every neighborhood has its favorite bakery, pizza shop, coffee spot, and Italian restaurant, and locals will happily spend hours debating which one is best, knowing there probably isn’t a wrong answer. The history of food runs so deep that major food universities are there.
The state’s culinary identity is woven together by generations of Italian, Portuguese, French, Irish, and Jewish families, each adding another layer to a food culture that’s remarkably rich for such a tiny place. Here, meals aren’t rushed. They’re celebrations. Conversations linger long after dessert arrives. And some restaurants become so deeply rooted in people’s lives that leaving the state never really means leaving them behind.
Returning recently, I realized I wasn’t checking restaurants off a list. I was reconnecting with old friends.
Pot au Feu marked the beginning of my love story with my husband. He had worked at a small tavern that now takes up part of the space at the restaurant. He took me on dates to Pot au Feu. We celebrated milestones there. It was one of our special places.
Caserta has been feeding a craving that never disappeared. My parents would take us there every weekend. We’d order a large pie and a few spinach pies. The extras would feed us after school for snacks. It was part of my family history and tradition. Even after I got married, I kept the tradition going, and I’d drive there every weekend for a pie and a few wimpy skippies and a spinach pie or two. I introduced my husband to them, and my son, at forty-three years old now, has the same feelings about it. It’s a tradition that’s been passed down through 3 generations now.
Pastiche brought back memories of dear friends, of Eileen who introduced me to my husband, of living together in a two-story carriage house, and of the beautiful desserts she once created for our own restaurant, 3 Steeple Street, before opening one of Providence’s most beloved pastry shops. Trinity Brewhouse reminded me of evenings when work was over, and conversations stretched into the night. New discoveries like Dave’s Coffee, bringing a new name to one of Rhode Island’s favorite drinks – coffee milk (along with coffee and food), Irregardless, with it’s line of people waiting for the most mouth-watering biscuit breakfast sandwiches, Track 15 Food Hall that offers cuisine from 7 vendors, locally brewed beers a selection that will make EVERYONE happy, and the Crime & Cuisine Tour where the history of Federal Hill and the mob come alive alongside the food proved that Providence’s food scene continues to evolve while honoring the traditions that made it famous.
And then there was Chelo’s, where one slice of chocolate cake reminded me that sometimes the simplest traditions are the ones we hold onto the longest.
This wasn’t a story about returning home. It was about following the flavors that have been calling me back for years. Because if my life has taught me anything, it’s this.
The places that shape us aren’t always found on a map. Sometimes they’re printed on a menu.
If you’ve never been to Rhode Island, go hungry. Don’t let its size fool you. Within just a few square miles you’ll find generations of family recipes, neighborhood institutions that have stood the test of time, chefs honoring old traditions while creating new ones, and some of the warmest hospitality you’ll ever experience. Wander Federal Hill, linger over coffee, order dessert even when you think you’re too full, and don’t be afraid to ask a local where they eat because everyone has a favorite (you just read mine). You’ll leave with a full stomach, but more importantly, you’ll understand why so many people who grew up there spend a lifetime craving the meals they left behind.
Rhode Island may be the smallest state in the country, but when it comes to unforgettable food and the memories made around the table, it has one of the biggest hearts.
