During most of the year, I’m an advocate of breakfast at home. I can toast my home-baked sourdough bread until slightly charred on the edges, wait until it’s just barely warm, then top it with what I fancy the most that day: almond butter and jam, scrambled eggs, smoked salmon, cucumbers. Along with my toast, I take a steaming cup of tea in winter, or a sip of espresso during the summer. It’s my breakfast, my rules, my time. So for me, breakfast at a café immediately feels like a holiday. Even more so if, from my table perched on the sidewalk, I can watch the port life of a Mediterranean town unfurl in front of my eyes. Since I met my husband, Tommaso, eight years ago, we’ve spent a few days every summer visiting his maternal family in Porto Cesareo, a coastal town in Salento, Puglia, on the heel …