Pavarotti at his peak. The Mediterranean Sea shimmers a deep indigo in color photographs lining the walls. Greco-Roman ruins bake in the sun at the foot of Mount Etna. Festooned with souvenir tea towels and fishing lures, Palermo exists to celebrate the atmosphere of Sicily.
Faience pottery climbs to the ceiling, and a white flotilla of tables fills the small dining room.
Ambience aside, Katya, Lucy and I were at this longtime Palo Alto landmark to satisfy a craving for flavors authentically Italian. Little rosemary-perfumed rolls, shaped into fragrant ovals, topped a basket of wonderful Italian bread. I've always loved this corner seat with its view of the entire room and the mesmerizing flames of the rotisserie at the back. Ducks and chickens spun juicily on spits while we recovered from rush-hour traffic with the pleasant Tuscan wine. But the back of the menu offered specialties of the house.