Sicily food and wine
You begin to understand Sicily’s eastern edge by paying attention to Etna. The volcano never really rests, and neither does the food culture that lives in its shadow. When locals say they worry only when Etna goes quiet, they’re talking about pressure—geological, cultural, and emotional. Travel here in late autumn and you feel that tension ease. The summer crowds thin, the air sharpens, and the island exhales. This is when Sicily’s food story feels most honest, especially as you move from Taormina down toward Catania.
Taormina After the Crowds Leave
In autumn, Taormina feels reclaimed. Cats sprawl across stone steps, smoke drifts from hillside homes, and the Ionian Sea hardens into a steel-blue sheet below the cliffs. Food here slows down. At the Four Seasons San Domenico Palace, once a Dominican monastery, meals are rooted in the land rather than spectacle. The gardens that once supplied medicinal herbs still perfume the terraces with rosemary, fennel, and citrus leaves.
By the infinity pool, seafood is treated with restraint; anchovies, shellfish, pristine fish served without distraction. Upstairs, the fine-dining kitchen turns Sicilian staples into something theatrical yet grounded, from dark, volcanic bread to pasta dishes that seem to crackle with heat. Wine pairings lean heavily on Etna’s slopes, where mineral tension replaces excess. Even luxury here feels measured, almost monastic, which suits Taormina better than its summer gloss.
A short climb behind the hotel brings you to Casa Cuseni, a reminder that Taormina’s pull has always been artistic. Writers and painters once came for the light, and it’s easy to see why: warmth and holiness feel intertwined, even when the season cools.
Dining Under Ancient Stone
Just along the ridge, the Grand Hotel Timeo looks out toward the Greek Theatre, its ancient steps quieter now, still holding the day’s warmth. Dining here becomes intimate rather than grand. Menus lean into Etna’s pantry, with beef tartare enriched with volcanic truffle, hazelnuts grounding the richness, and seafood dishes layered with smoke and sweetness.
Wine service here feels deliberate, almost narrative. Bottles move from Etna’s slopes to distant mountains, then return home with aged Marsala that tastes of time rather than sugar. Even small details matter: impossibly thin breadsticks, bluefin tuna toasties, and silk pyjamas waiting at turndown. It’s indulgence, yes, but never careless.
Etna wine region
From Cliff to Tide
Drop down to Mazzarò Bay and the mood shifts again. Villa Sant’Andrea sits close to the water, calmer in autumn, the bay emptied of boats. Built as a private retreat, it still feels personal. The kitchen works directly with the sea; amberjack brightened with herbs, the day’s catch is displayed before cooking, nothing hidden.
The wine list straddles land and water, featuring bottles shaped by volcanic soil alongside wines aged beneath the sea. After dinner, evenings stretch easily. Leisure feels unforced, shaped by tide and light rather than schedules. A cable car or shuttle carries you back to Taormina’s heights, tracing the coastline between restraint and ease.
A little further south, Capotaormina offers a different rhythm altogether. Carved into lava rock in the 1970s, it feels like a private island anchored to the headland. Paths weave through cacti and agave toward sun decks hovering above the sea. A tunnel cut through volcanic stone opens suddenly onto a private cove, the cool echo of rock giving way to open water. Meals here are simple and direct, tied to what’s pulled from the sea below, best enjoyed with the surf as a soundtrack.
Etna Without Polish
Drive inland and Etna sheds its romance. In Linguaglossa, vineyards climb through ash and pumice, and autumn strips the mountain bare. This is where Nerello Mascalese and Carricante thrive, drawing precision from unstable soil. Not every stop is perfect. Some grand palazzi feel distant from the life around them, offering beauty without warmth.
But nearby, Pietradolce tells a different story. This is less a winery than a commitment to place. Vines here predate phylloxera, growing among fruit trees in a patchwork that mirrors Etna’s biodiversity. The volcano dictates everything. Yields are low, and patience is essential. Wines speak quietly but clearly, shaped by ash, altitude, and restraint. Nothing feels performative; even the art in the cellar exists to serve the land rather than decorate it.
Catania, Rebuilt and Restless
Catania greets you with noise, color, and motion, softened in autumn but never calm. Built and rebuilt from lava after earthquakes, the city carries defiance in its bones. At Palace Catania, volcanic stone and marble meet in clean lines, echoing the city’s tension between order and chaos.
From the rooftop, baroque façades glow as markets churn below. A short walk takes you into alleyways thick with voices, citrus, and heat. Climb the dome at Badia di Sant’Agata and ring the bells yourself; the sound ricochets across rooftops to the harbor, a reminder that this city still announces itself loudly.
Why This Journey Stays With You
Moving from Taormina to Catania isn’t just a change of scenery; it’s a shift in appetite. You eat differently as the landscape changes, guided by ash, salt, and restraint rather than excess. Sicily’s eastern edge doesn’t soothe you; it leaves an impression. Long after you leave, it stirs beneath the surface, like Etna itself: destructive, renewing, and impossible to ignore.
