Hi, I’m Adamo Mancini, and if there’s one truth I’ve learned growing up between stone walls and olive groves, it’s this: time is an ingredient.
I was born in San Lorenzo, a small village in the heart of Sardinia. I’m 39 years old and still live in my grandfather’s house, surrounded by olive trees and mountain winds. The kitchen here isn’t about show or speed. It’s about patience. It’s about respect, for the land, for the people who eat, and for the generations who came before us.
My first lessons came from my grandmother. She didn’t speak much, but her hands knew everything. She taught me that good bread takes three days, that suckling pig should be cooked slowly over wood, and that wild herbs are gathered with gratitude, not greed. She didn’t just teach me how to cook. She taught me how to listen.
I never studied in a big culinary school. I learned by traveling. I spent time in Abruzzo, Greece, and Morocco, not for fame or trends, but to sit quietly in kitchens where time still mattered. Not everyone welcomed me, but those who did left me with something deeper than recipes.
I met Marcus in Rome, arguing with a fruit vendor about how to tell if a fig is ripe. I interrupted. He looked surprised. We started talking and didn’t really stop. When he told me about Flavor Trips, I didn’t need convincing. I had already tasted the idea.
Today, I bring Sardinia with me to every Wayfinder Table. Not as a story of nostalgia, but as a way of being. I work with long ferments, ancient sourdough, fire, salt, and time. I don’t try to impress. I try to connect.
If you come looking for bright lights or fast tricks, you may not find them. But if you’re searching for flavors that feel like home, even if it’s not your home, maybe we’ll understand each other.
My approach is simple. Cook slowly. Listen deeply. Let the flavor come when it’s ready.