PETROGNANO, TUSCANY—Yesterday, I took my guests to a local friend’s sheep farm just down the road from our villa. It’s a working dairy farm where 500 head of sheep provide milk to make excellent pecorino cheese. This farm isn’t for show. It’s where three families live and work. The spicy fig jam they sell in their small shop comes from the tree by the front door, the olive oil from their own grove, and the gardens, chickens, and cured meats all come from the land around them. I tell my guests, “This is not EPCOT Italy.” No one built this to give Americans an idea of what a Tuscan farm should look like. This is it. It’s real. True zero kilometers life.
In my twenties, I remember speaking to an older couple at a table in one of my restaurants. They were headed to Orlando to visit Disney World for the first time. They were well-traveled and worldly, with what I’d later come to call “high exposure.” While describing Epcot to them I said, “When you’re in the France section, it’s just like being in France.” I cringe at that memory. It’s obviously nothing like being in France, but at the time, I had no frame of reference. I had never been to France.
High exposure is when someone has had the opportunity to travel, explore, and gather experiences that broaden their understanding of the world.
I grew up with low exposure. Vacations were rare, and when they did happen, they were simple and modest. Most of the time, we tagged along with other families to the beach. Though I do remember two. One when my mother drove my brother and me to Williamsburg, Virginia, which was like a pilgrimage for her. And a few years later, a trip to Florida before my brother went off to college, where the three of us drove to Cypress Gardens, Disney World, and Captiva Island—a journey that remains etched in my memory 50 years later. Those trips, though few, were precious glimpses into a wider world.
I lived rent-free in a one-room apartment above my grandmother’s garage until I was 30. My twenties were spent working hard, saving little, and focusing on building a career in the restaurant business. Travel felt like a luxury I couldn’t afford, and overseas travel seemed almost laughable. But looking back, I realize that exposure doesn’t have to mean grand, expensive trips or international flights. Even a simple road trip to another state, visiting a national park, or exploring a new city can offer valuable experiences and broaden one’s view. I know now what I didn’t know then—there are ways to explore without breaking the bank.
I wish I’d recognized that in my twenties. With a full tank of gas and a spirit of adventure, I could have traveled across the U.S., seeing the country through the lens of a young man hungry for knowledge and stories. There were opportunities to visit small towns, talk with locals, and gain the kind of exposure that doesn’t come from books alone. It doesn’t take much—just a willingness to look beyond what’s familiar and a bit of resourcefulness.
I never backpacked through Europe in my twenties, staying in hostels and eating street food, but I admire the ones who did. I have friends who took that path, and even now, 40 years later, they still talk about it.
It wasn’t until I was 50 that I gained real overseas exposure. By then, decades had been spent building my business, raising a family, and putting everything I had into my work. There are no regrets there; those years taught lessons in resilience, hard work, and the satisfaction of creating something worthwhile. But stepping onto foreign soil changed things. The sights, sounds, and flavors of other cultures sparked something in me that had been lying dormant. It felt like a new chapter, this realization that the world is far bigger than the familiar corner I had known.
In 2011, I made a decision that turned out to be one of the best of my life: I sold a piece of land and used the money to take my family on a six-month overseas adventure. It felt bold at the time, maybe even reckless, but trading a piece of dirt for the memories we made was a choice I’d make again without hesitation. It taught me that investing in experiences means more than holding on to things. The laughter, the time spent together, and the shared adventures made every dollar worth it.
I always thought of travel in the macro when I should have been thinking in the micro. High exposure isn’t about collecting passport stamps or impressing anyone. It’s about stepping outside the daily routine, having conversations that open one’s mind, and finding yourself in places that make you see things differently. Travel isn’t the only way to grow, and it’s not a badge of honor or status symbol. Sometimes, it’s about taking that first step—whether it’s a new town or a new experience—and letting it show you something you didn’t know was there.
It’s not how far you go; it’s the memories you create and what you bring back. I used to think meaningful travel meant flying halfway across the world. Those thoughts kept me from just packing a bag, getting in the car, and visiting a town a few states away.
In those years when I had no money, living above my grandmother’s garage, I could have ventured out more. Those were years spent working hard but missing the chance to learn more about the world outside my little bubble. I had free time, but I can’t remember how I spent it. I had a little extra money, but I couldn’t tell you where it went. I didn’t know then that even modest adventures could be transformative. The exposure I did have planted seeds of curiosity, but I could have done more with those early years.
To those who feel it’s too late or that they’ve missed their chance for high exposure: it’s never too late. If I’ve learned anything from starting my travels later in life and now spending nearly four months a year hosting groups of Americans in various European locales—mostly Italy—it’s that the world is patient. It waits, no matter one’s age or stage. There’s something special about welcoming someone in their seventies who’s never been to Europe. I can only see Michelangelo’s David for the first time once, but when I’m with a guest seeing it for the first time, I get to relive my own experience.
Whether you’re making your first trip out of state or finally boarding that plane overseas, know that it’s worth it. The joy of experiencing something new doesn’t dim with age; if anything, it shines even brighter.
Travel isn’t about luxury or status; it’s about learning, growing, and understanding that life is full of perspectives, stories, and experiences beyond our own. Back home, that newfound perspective seeps into conversations and relationships and enriches life right where you are. And when you’re exploring, look for what’s real. See the David and the high-profile sights, but don’t forget the simple things—the family farms, the off-the-beaten-path treasures, the local places. I’ve found that those are the moments that stay with you.
Onward.
Porcini Mushroom Soup
This is actually my version of a mushroom soup I ate in Lyon, France. But since I use porcinis I think of it as an Italian soup. Especially since there’s no heavy cream.
3 quarts Mushroom stock, heated
8 TB Unsalted butter, divided
¼ cup All-purpose flour
¼ lb. Dry porcini mushrooms (soaked and reserved from the mushroom stock recipe)
½ cup Shallots, minced
2 TB Brandy
2 TB Kosher salt, divided
½ TB Ground white pepper
1 TB Fresh thyme, chopped
2 TB Sherry vinegar
In a one gallon stock pot, melt 4 TB of the butter over medium heat. Once melted, add the flour and whisk constantly to combine thoroughly and prevent scorching, about 2 minutes. Slowly add the heated mushroom stock 1 cup at a time, combining thoroughly each time until all the stock has been added. Continue to heat this on medium-low, stirring occasionally, until it has reduced to 2 quarts.
Meanwhile, melt the remaining 4 TB of butter over medium heat. Add the shallot and stir until softened, about 2-3 minutes. Add the mushrooms, 1 TB salt, white pepper and thyme and continue cooking for 6 minutes. Deglaze with the brandy and continue stirring until brandy has cooked out completely, about 3-4 minutes.
Transfer this mixture to a food processor and pulse for 1-2 minutes. Return to the pot with the reduced stock and bring to a simmer for 10 minutes. Puree this mixture until smooth with a stick blender or in the food processor. Finish with remaining 1 TB salt and the sherry vinegar.
Yield: 1 gallon
(Robert St. John is a chef, restauranteur and published cookbook author who lives in Hattiesburg, Miss.)
