Calabrian Turdilli or crustoli. A simple recipe without milk and without eggs. The flavors of my land, Calabria, are a map in constant evolution, and there is always a secret corner to explore. The Turdilli, for example, have only entered my life in recent years, but with the strength of a tradition that seemed to be waiting for them forever.

I didn’t encounter them in their stronghold, the Cosentino, but unexpectedly to the south, in Crotonese land.

It was mid-August, not the austere holiday season, yet they were offered with the typical generosity of these latitudes. A holiday that took me to the gates of the Sila, where the Ionian Sea welcomes the streams that have ended their race. A rugged and sunlit landscape, made of tenacious olive trees and eucalyptus, which in an instant overwhelms the head with scents. I was born in Calabria, but even after years, its identity surprises me with customs and foods I have never tried. And so, I continued my education in taste, granting myself a new acquaintance, a new learning. To the sacred dining with toasted bread and good olive oil, soppressata, and pecorino, I added other memories: the spicy sardella, the crispieddi—which for us mountaineers, hidden among beech and chestnut trees in the mountains, are the beloved zeppole

And then, finally, them: the Turdilli. They are an experience not to be missed, and the final choice is a real Calabrian dilemma. Should they be tried with the clear sweetness of orange honey, produced down by the sea, or with the fig honey that tastes of sun? But I, a mountain soul, thrive on the honey scented by chestnuts and the dark density of cooked must. So I did: I prepared the two versions. The difference, that final touch that decides the fate, is a personal debate consumed with every bite. Honey or must?

The doubt is the most authentic flavor of Calabria.