Today is my last day being 34 years old. Like every year, I am reflecting on all of the ups and downs, the best places I’ve traveled to, the things and people I’ve lost, the things and people I’ve gained.
34 is a strange one. Some of my best memories and accomplishments happened this year. I’ve gone to Antarctica, I started developing myself as a TV personality, I visited my final Italian region, marking all 20. But I also lost my Daily News column aka my most consistent gig to date, and I almost lost my dog…twice. 34 has overall been really good, but in retrospect, it hasn’t come without its lows.
Let’s rewind.
My birthday is July 20. On July 19 last year, I posted my first “at home cooking” reel of me making the Dubai chocolate bar. Who would know that by this time this year, I would have had the chance to go to Dubai to try the real thing? (Spoiler alert: I didn’t like the real one, but it also might have spoiled in my bag!) Last year on this exact day, aka the day *before* my birthday, I made a limoncello spritz and video called a friend. That person is no longer my friend. My ex from 2015 who badly scorned me, whom I have not spoken to in about ten years, followed me on Instagram on this day last year at an odd hour in the night. I thought, surely, he must be drunk and he will totally unfollow me. But nope, that MFer still follows me today. Hello, hi, see how awesome your life could be if you didn’t f*ck up?
I digress.
It was a strange series of events regarding men specifically that led into my birthday. That’s a theme that seems to be consistent, but not defining.
Last year, I was burnt out from travel (some things don’t change!) and decided to spend my birthday upstate at my parents’ house so I could go swimming with my adorable niece. She’s also a cancer and loves to swim as much as I do, and I envisioned flipping our fins in a pool all day was the happiest way I could celebrate (with Prosecco, of course, as the true childfree auntie does). There’s a gelateria upstate, The Cremeria, and they make this passion fruit sorbetto that I would happily drown in. They rotate their flavors everyday, but I decided to DM them on July 19 and say, “Hey you should make passion fruit tomorrow for my birthday.” You can imagine my surprise when I woke up on July 20, they posted their flavors on their IG (as they do everyday) and passion fruit was there.
You can imagine my bigger surprise when my younger sister showed up to my parents’ house with a pint of my two favorite flavors from them: passion fruit sorbetto, and fondente gelato. I immediately ate a scoop of the fondente, and I scooped a big hunk of passion fruit into a cup and topped it with Prosecco, right before jumping in the pool with my niece. Happy f*cking birthday to me. I also cooked lumache pasta in a pistachio sauce (I burnt the first batch and wanted to cry, mainly because pistachio butter is very expensive) along with pasta alla gricia, family-style. My mom asked why I was cooking, aka “working,” on my birthday. I said, “I want to cook, and it’s my birthday” (as a frequent traveler who lives out of hotels, cooking is a luxury, and also, I love to cook!).
I don’t want to leave out the fact that my sister and I went to dinner the night before and talked about Joe Biden running for president, along with our concerns based on his age. If only we knew he would drop out a few days later and Kamala would run instead. Afterward, we went to a strange karaoke bar in our hometown, where the same man who used to serve us when we were … not 21, was still working. As a reminder, I turned 34 last year, meaning I’ve essentially known this bartender for half of my life. One shot of tequila, please, for old time’s sake. I sang “I bet you think about me” by Taylor Swift. I posted the video on my IG stories and in the back was a flag with a blue thin line on it. I wrote “Ignore the flag” and my uber republican cousin DMed me “Happy bday. What’s wrong with the flag?” I wrote “Thank you for the bday wishes!”
The meat of 34
My first trip as a 34 year old would be to Mexico City. When I landed late at night, I was recovering from a few too many wines en route to the airport (the curse with late night flights and a whole day to kill when you’re Kaitlyn Rosati), but was pleasantly surprised to see the pastry chef of the hotel made a cookie with my FACE ON IT. I was flabbergasted. It is, to this day, one of the nicest welcome gifts I’ve ever received. I should also mention en route to my hotel, I very badly tried to convince my taxi driver to get late night tacos with me. See guys, you just gotta be more dangerous than them — don’t think how many taxi drivers will try to kidnap YOU, but rather, how many taxi drivers you will try to kidnap to eat tacos with.
Mexico City was full of surprises. The biggest one being that I signed up for a Luche Libra match tour via AirBnb, and when I showed up for the tour, the other people on it were ALL NEW YORKERS IN THE FOOD INDUSTRY AND I KNEW EVERY SINGLE ONE. What a f*cking coincidence that still blows my mind. It was such a fun night at a time I was frankly anxious and feeling a little alone and lost.
The travels continued
After Mexico City I would take my first cruise to Alaska, and immediately after, I would take my second cruise through northern Norway. After Norway, I’d spend ample time in Emilia Romagna, specifically in Modena and Bologna, to investigate tortellini… for my job. Because, yes, somehow, investigating tortellini has become my job. I was writing an historical piece on the origins of tortellini. I became obsessed with learning everything about tortellini, and wrote a story for the BBC to prove it. I spent the better part of two years studying tortellini (yes..really), and 34 is the age I could finally wrap that chapter up. That chapter would open up a whole new can of worms, like building a semi-large Italian fanbase on Instagram and hearing my name in some Italian press.
From Emilia Romagna, I’d revisit Napoli to attend the 50 Top Pizza Awards. From Napoli, I’d trek all the way up to Piemonte, my first time in the region, on my dad’s birthday. I facetimed him from the train station in Torino en route to truffle hunt with dogs. That’s when I realized how close I was to visiting every single Italian region, and officially set the goal to do so. So…I looked on a map, went to Italy’s least visited region, Valle d’Aosta, AND Friuli Venezia Giulia to get closer to my accomplishment.
I’d also finally visit a new country at the age of 34, in the form of a day trip to Slovakia. Afterward, I’d head to Estonia, Lithuania, and Latvia, where I fell in love with Riga in just one short day. But the real adventure was around the corner.
Antarctica
By far, the most exciting moment of my entire 34th year was finally visting Antarctica. This has been a dream of mine since I was a child, and it’s an even wilder dream that this came true BECAUSE OF WORK. I never envisioned I would not only get a “free” trip to Antarctica, but that I would get paid to go. It’s something I still have to wrap my head around. And I couldn’t have gone with a better company: National Geographic-Lindblad Expeditions. Right when my tortellini obsession wrapped itself up, a new one began: the history of women in Antarctica. Right around the corner from the BBC would be landing my first story in National Geographic about just that topic. That story still isn’t published yet, and the timeline seems to be similar to the tortellini one (as in…it might just take forever to ever go live). But my time in Antarctica reminded me how much my metallic pink heart craves adventure, but even more so, the stories that lie underneath.
January
January has always been a sad month. The holidays are over, it’s horribly cold, and I associate January with goodbye. I left NYC in January 2019 to pretty much fully create the life I have for myself now with a one-way ticket to Tahiti. My 34th January was cold. So cold that even Bowie, my dog, wouldn’t go outside, understandably so. I took a “sleepcation” in Saratoga Springs, and while there, I had some weird epiphanies, maybe from the CBD gummies. Late January, I was in NYC for a week, totally lost in the company of people I don’t see a lot. It was the first time I took a social media “hiatus” (unintentionally, but I didn’t post for an entire week which is long for me) because I was so in the moment of being in freezing New York. In just a few short days, I sang with my band at The Red Lion, I went on the news, I attended IMM (a big conference for travel media), and I went to a sh*t ton of networking events.
I came home and I immediately got sick with the flu. I had a horrible fever and was dousing myself in NyQuil for days on end in an attempt to sleep it off. Maybe it was the cough meds, but during that time, I also decided to cut a friendship loose when I recognized red flags. This led to a spiral of questioning my every life decision, and between being sick, being freezing, and being sad, led to my greatest depression of 34.
Idaho, Sardinia, and Girl Power
I wound up going to Idaho during the midst of all of that ^^ for a skiing trip. For full context, I am not a skier, but I needed to peel myself out of bed and get the T Swift songs off of repeat. So I agreed to join a last minute ski trip in exchange for promoting a hotel. I am SO happy I did that. On that trip, I met two wonderful women who reminded me how f*cking awesome and resilient women are. We are all still friends to this day. We had a lot of chats about everything and anything under the sun, and while I did attempt to ski, I can’t say I’ll do it again.
After Idaho, I flew to my happy place: Italy. Like always, I cancelled my flight and decided to stay a while. Feeling like a basket case, I took a long walk from my friend Max’s villa in Florence to Mercato Centrale. While there, I went on Threads and wrote:
I closed my phone, got a spritz and some pasta, and texted my friend John that I feel crazy. An hour or so later, I opened up threads to see my “thread” was blowing up with folks in Umbria. “Come,” they said. One woman said, “I own a wine bar here, first drink is on me.” Since I had no idea where I’d be sleeping the following night, from the market in Florence, I booked a hotel and a train to Perugia.
Umbria saved my life. I stayed in my room til 3pm most days just sulking. I talked to my therapist. She said you’re grieving. Grieving what? Shit I never even had? The levels of depressed I felt were frankly scary and reminded me those old scars still live within me. Mental health is so fickle. In January, I had one of the best weeks of my life being in New York, so present, fulfilling my career dreams by going on TV, and being around people I love. In February, I was in Umbria, feeling like there was no way to claw myself out of a dark hole I managed to fall into.
She told me to buy some mint gum. Winter Evergreen. Wake up everyday, chew the gum, and get out of bed and look at something and take it in. So I did. I felt stupid AF. But I did it because I needed any type of guidance. I still have the pack of gum. I don’t think I’ll ever throw it out.
As for the thread with the woman who owned a wine bar, I did meet her. And she has my same birthday. I went to her bar, set up shop, and began writing. That’s when Travel + Leisure started following me on Instagram. I was wildly confused; I’ve never written for them and had no connection with them. They then DMed me to tell me my account had been recommended to them to start doing social media work for them. Long story short, we made it official, and I now make social media content for T + L.
After nearly a week in Umbria, realizing the grey skies and cold weather weren’t helping, I decided to fly to Sardinia. Sardinia would be my 19th Italian region. I always envisioned saving it for my last, but I badly needed Vitamin D, and Sardinia was about 74 degrees and sunny, verses the 47 degrees and wind I was facing everyday. So, with just as much little thought, I ended up in Sardinia.
I say Umbria saved my life, because it brought me back to having a blood flow. but Sardinia reminded me what it feels like to actually live. I LOVE Sardinia, and I dream of the day I can finally return. Cagliari is my kind of city. Gritty, warm, rough around the edges but still so, so, so f*cking cool. Like if the Lower East Side was an entire city. So much life, so much character, so much history. I can’t say enough nice things about it. Cagliari is one of my favorite cities not only in Italy, but in the world. I walked one morning to get gelato for breakfast at I Fenu Gelateria, because I can, and Olivia Rodrigo’s “Stranger” came on.
‘Cause I was half myself without you
Now I feel so complete
And I can’t even remember what made me lose all that sleep
I danced down the street, realizing I had a long way to go, but I was healing. Another fight that wouldn’t be the losing battle. Something on the up again. Not quite there, but lightyears away from rotting in bed in Perugia and Upstate New York. Yet another revival by my dear friend, Italy.
Still, I would eventually have to return home. But this time for good reason: I had to get dinner with Lady Gaga’s dad.
Pinch me moments … with Lady Gaga’s dad
It would take a lot for me to leave Italy when I knew it was doing its magic on my health, but anything Gaga/New York-related would do the trick. I got an email that I could go to Joanne Trattoria to attend the “Mayhem” listening party, finally a new album from our QUEEN Lady Gaga. I booked a stay at Arlo SoHo, put on my most glittery getup and my new Italian leather jacket, painted my eyes with as much glitter that could possibly be caked on, and drank Prosecco while I cranked her new album. Then, I headed to the Upper West Side, and was told, “You’ll be dining with Joe tonight.”
Joe is Lady Gaga’s dad. This was news to me. I knew I was going to his restaurant; I didn’t know I was sitting at the table with him.
Like any New York dad, having dinner with Gaga’s dad was like having dinner with my damn dad. I knew how to work the magic with this man, and we immediately vibed. His family was from Sicily, he said, and the lemons were the size of his hand.
I eased into conversation to ask what his favorite songs were of his daughter, and laughed when he said “The song about the burka” (Aura from ARTPOP, I told him). He said, “I think Stefanie’s pictures are still behind the bar at The Bitter End.” “They are,” I quickly confirmed.
Two days later, we would jump on a phone call, because he gave me his number. I still … can’t quite believe it, but I had a good hour conversation with Lady Gaga’s dad from the back of an Uber in New York, reminding me that as much as I love Italy, I fucking run New York, baby. My driver started to go through a tunnel, and the call immediately dropped. It was the longest tunnel of my life, and I was panicking. Finally, on the other end, I called him back.
“You must’ve gone through a tunnel,” was the first thing he said. New Yorkers just get it.
African Island hopping and final Italian region
More travels would continue throughout Madagascar, a dream trip of mine. This one almost slipped through the cracks; I was supposed to work with one particular company who was funding the trip, and as soon as I got the green light from them, I made arrangements to also visit the Seychelles and Mauritius. Since the three islands are so close to each other, I’ve always thought it would make the most sense to do all three in one go. So, I had set plans in the Seychelles and Mauritius, and then…my Madagascar plans fell through, meaning I no longer had a flight out to that part of the world. The first thing I did was look up flights, only to realize I wasn’t interested in dropping 2k for 40 hours of flying with three layovers.
But this is where Idaho comes back to play. On my trip, I met a rep from Intrepid Travel. I started to search other companies that could possibly host me in Madagascar during a similar timeframe, and I came across the Interpid site to see they had a trip on the same exact dates as my cancelled one. I emailed my contact and asked if they wanted to work with me.
… They said yes.
It was truly all meant to be, because I had SUCH A GOOD TIME while road tripping Madagascar. I met amazing people, I saw incredible wildlife, I had experiences that I still can’t find the words for.
Afterward, I headed to the Seychelles. I hate to say that the Seychelles were overall disappointing. The caveat is, they do have the best beaches I’ve ever seen in my life, and Northolme by Hilton is one of my favorite hotels I’ve ever stayed at. But sometimes you just don’t vibe with certain destinations, and that’s okay. I was, dare I say… bored.
Then there was Mauritius. My first day there, I noticed I had no appetite whatsoever. By day two, I was vomiting and sh*tting my brains ot, and when I started vomiting and sh*tting blood, I became concerned. I took some antibiotics I had on deck with me, but nothing was helping. So I finally caved and went to the doctor to learn I had a parasite, Giardia. I likely got it from Passion Fruit in the Seychelles, but I’ll never fully be sure. Anyway, I still forced myself to go out on a boat tour and see some of the island, but I lost about 20 lb in the meantime.
All roads would, as always, lead me back to Italy. I got flown to the Dolomites to work with some companies out there before heading down to Molise, my final Italian region. I spent time in Termoli, a small beach town, but had the worst b&b host known to man. I wrote a bad review and he threatened to sue me for defamation (despite everything being factually correct, with screenshots to show how he wouldn’t leave me alone long after I left). I deleted the Google review to save myself the stress of navigating the Italian legal system, because I’ll be damned if one crazed man will ruin my favorite place on the planet.
Bowie
The biggest hurdle of 34 has been Bowie. Last October, he fell to become incredibly ill with IMHA (a severe form of anemia). I suddenly became acutely aware of how horrible it will be when the day comes to lose Bowie. I’ve had him since he was eight weeks old. I’ve seen him through all of his ups and downs, and lord knows he has seen me through mine. On the October night I was sure he was going to die, I was at a motel down the street from Cornell University and decided to go outside for some fresh air. I looked up and saw the northern lights.
Just a few days ago from writing this post (July 2025), I would be back in that same position. Bowie has congestive heart failure. Every night for the past few weeks, he has been coughing horribly, and a few nights ago, it sounded like he was gurgling and wheezing, and I was waiting to watch him suffocate to death. Enough was enough. My mom brought him to the ER and they put him in an oxygen tank. I prepared myself yet again for goodbyes.
The vet asked what we wanted to do. She said it would be perfectly reasonable to euthanize him, but the dog CLEARLY does not want to die. He is still grabbing a ball to play, even with a nearly purple tongue. He is still licking my face (even with his disgustingly stinky rotten breath, which I don’t care for even a second because he’s a pure angel baby). He is still eating his treats. But at the same time, every night, we inch closer and closer to witnessing him choke to death. The vet said, if we decided to not leave him at the ER, we would need a plan to euthanize him ASAP. If we wanted to give him a night in the oxygen tank, they could try to pinpoint the exact issue, and they could find a treatment plan moving forward, with the caveat that regardless, he doesn’t have long since his heart is failing and that simply can’t be fixed.
Of course, we chose the oxygen tank, and to no one’s surprise, Bowie pulled through. Is he doing amazing? I can’t say he is. But he is not suffocating anymore, and if all goes well, he, at the very least, has a few weeks left, maybe a few months. I imagine 35 will be a tough one on that front, but knowing my Bowie, I could be writing something similar at 36, 37, 38.
Daily News
I always said the two things that left me tethered to NYC (as opposed to finally pulling the plug and moving to Italy, something 34 led me to finally actively work on), is my weekly dining column with the New York Daily News (I’ve been writing about restaurants for the Daily News every week for the past 2 and a half years), and Bowie. How ironic that I nearly lost both of those things within a week. … Well, I actually DID lose one of those things.
I was on my second to last day in Puglia just a few weeks ago. To commemorate visiting all 20 regions in Italy, I decided to get a tattoo of a tortellini on a whim (if you’ve read this far, you know why). When I say on a whim, I mean, I walked into a tattoo shop without an appointment, said in Italian that I want a tattoo, managed to communicate that I want a tortellini, and within 20 minutes, a man was jabbing me with a needle.
My adrenaline was CRAZY high. Partially because of the tattoo, but also partially because of the fact that, only in Italy, would they offer you an espresso before getting a tattoo (and I simply had to say yes). I was walking around Monopoli, having a shameless selfie shoot, buzzing with caffeine and my fresh ink, when my editor from the Daily News texted me asking if she could call me.
I instantly knew.
I knew this column was coming to an end for a long while, but I had no idea when. I always said it was a blessing and a curse. It was a consistent paycheck, I got to meet SO MANY COOL PEOPLE through covering NYC restaurants, I got to pretty much eat for free in NYC, and it helped develop my name as an expert in the NYC food scene. However, like I said, it kept me tied to New York. It made me the “Daily News” girl when I very much want to be the Kaitlyn Rosati.
I turned onto Via Purgatoria, (appropriately translating to “purgatory”) to call my editor. The call would not go through. I had to text her to ask her to call me. Her name came up on my screen immediately. I looked up to see the name of the street I was on and said, “Remember where you are when you get fired”
The phone call is blurry. I heard “unfortunate news,” “column will be paused indefinitely,” and something about budget cuts. I got emotional but kept it together. “I knew this was coming,” “And it’s okay,” “It’s been the honor of my career,” “I don’t say this enough,” “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
Two more stories ran, and that was the end of the era of my Daily News column.
And now…?
Well, what’s in store for 35? Ya know… your guess is as good as mine. I’m headed to New York City, partially for work (I’m now writing hotel reviews for Time Out), but more so for pleasure. I’ve decided to text some close friends at the last minute and ask if they want to meet me in Brooklyn for my birthday at one of my favorite watering holes that naturally also has one of my favorite burgers in NYC. I think a pint of beer, a shot of tequila, a smashburger, and some good company in a glittery dress is the only way to celebrate my next run around the sun. Because in my experience? Those simple things have never failed me, and after 35 years on earth, I can’t imagine they ever will.