My new spiritual home.

Poolside at Locanda al Colle, Tuscany

While I may be late in the day to wax lyrical on Tuscany, I simply can't help myself from a veggie loving culinary perspective. I ate what was undeniably one of the most delish meals of my life last night at a hidden mountain-top resto, Osteria il Vignaccio in Santa Lucia. Its view was almost too postcard cliché to be believed. Riccardo, my gorgeous new Italian friend, runs Locanda Al Colle that I'd really rather keep a secret for fear too many indulge in my atmospheric love affair with what is surely one of the most beautiful, small hotels ever. Riccardo's ex-fashion and boy, does it show in every detail from the Jasmin Diptique burning candles in the lounge lobby to just the right shade of olive for the deckchair wood. I really must persuade Riccardo to create a member's card for me so I can always get a room. Since we raved about the slice of Tuscan heaven to Laurent who runs uber chic Tablet Hotels, Locanda is fast being added to the stylish site.

I've been lucky enough to eat at some terribly smart places in my time but this food - one of Riccardo's many spot-on recommendations - was heart-breakingly good in its taste and simplicity, where every flavour took turns introducing itself to your taste buds. This was especially true of the Panzanella (translated as old bread salad but please don't let that put you off). Without fail, in restaurant reviews there's a caveat and appreciating the laws of traditional story-telling, one needs the flaw. I couldn't find one here. Each course was as perfect as it should be - no bells or whistles. Simple suckling pig for my HB; my carnivorous nemesis who felt obligated to chow down on the speciality dish, which he declared made my vegetarianism a straight-up travesty of justice.

Team Locanda al Colle - (l to r: Andrea, Riccardo, SCap, Andrea)

HB and I split a half-bottle of smooth yet lively Italian red; Morellino di Scansano. And yes, apologies to all my UK friends who assume the above is akin to worshipping at the alter of sobriety. In HB's defence, he was driving back the hotel, negotiating hair-pin mountain bends in a Fiat 500 with less poke than a moped. We've all had the fear of the Italian Polizia instilled in us from the movies, even the news, right? And that leaves me to come up with my excuse. It has something to do with obligatory Limoncello shots post-dining.