Ethan the Italian / The Florentine Feast
With a title like that, you know we're headed somewhere!
So, with my complexion, it does appear that I blend in Italy. I mean, really blend. Really, really, really blend. Blend to the point where I get asked directions from locals. Blend to the point where traveling Brits, pulling their heads out of their guidebooks, grab me by the hand, pull me down to their level and, with slow, painful pronunciation and babyish hand gestures, ask, "Do... you... speak... Eengleesh?" I've decided to take it as a compliment! And you should see the expression on people's faces when I respond to them in my Standard American dialect, "Yes, I do speak English. How can I help you?"
The other thing that being considered a local brings is the necessity to really get to know the place where you are. And this is a nice segue into Florence.
If Florence were available, we'd be married. I am madly in love with the city. Listening to the classical guitarists perform in the piazza with a piccolo cono in hand, all the while feeling the eyes of a plaster Zeus and Apollo staring down at you from their perches is approaching my idea of Renaissance heaven. And Florence is the perfect spot for the pedestrian, with picturesque walkways, a delightfully confusing street system and relatively even ground. However, this also makes it tourist heaven. And, in my case, too full of mini-Duomos and grow-your-own Davids for my liking. Thus, in the city for a few hours, I decided I needed to find that which had not been developed by tourists. Kathryn and Terry from Varenna lived in Florence for five years, so I knew there was more than the Uffizi (whose art, by the way, pulled me in for three exhilarating hours). And so, grabbing a 1.5L water bottle from a local convenience store, I headed off onto a tiny little street with no stores, no signs and, most importantly, no tourists.
After about three hours of wandering, I was decidedly lost. Visually stimulated and thrilled (and feeling very Italian for the number of times I was asked directions, and the number of times I was able to do so), but lost. And hungry. My watch read a big old 19:30, which also signaled that it was really time to eat. Yet, I had not passed one eating location in the last hour. A supermarket, yes, but they were closed by now. I stumbled down a back alley, hoping something, even a gelateria, would stand before me, offering even the slighest snack.
Before me stood what might be called the best, and still yet-to-be-discovered, backpacker restaurant in all of Florence. Even with my limited Italian, I could make out the name (Pane e Vino). I stepped up to the door, where the menu was posted. Entirely in Italian. Good, I thought. My eyes swung over to the prices. Better, I thought. I stuck my head in and notice that, while busy, there are a few "tables for one." "Great!" I shouted, as I leapt through the door and made my way to the host. She turns with a start and shows me to a table. I eagerly sit down and start decipering the menu. When my waitress comes, it turns out she speaks enough English to tell me she doesn't speak English, but explain one of the more confusing menu items (a steak sold by the gram and starting at 800 grams). I ordered my antipasti of bruschetta, a primi of gnocchi and a secundi of something that started with an s, was chicken-based and listed "porcini" as an ingredient. I added the house red wine and a small water. She thanked me, walked away, uncorked the local chianti (which usually goes for upwards of €12 a shot) and filled my carafe. Things were going well!
The restaurant itself had a very "back street" feel. Almost everybody there was Italian (the English-speaking group next to me were Brits visiting a Florentine friend, who had taken them there), the view was of a brick wall, the decor was tacky but homey and the music was an eclectic mix of American 80s hits and Italian remixes. As my food arrived, I realized that we had hit a gold mine! The gnocchi was fresh and tasty, in a homemade red sauce; the bruschetta had bright red tomatos on top, was seeping olive oil and had distinctive grill marks; and my mystery chicken dish was tender and succulent! I took in the ambiance as long as I could, eavesdropping on Italian when I could understand it and reveling in my back door discovery.
All this for under €15. No wonder they say the best things in life are free (or really cheap!)
So, with my complexion, it does appear that I blend in Italy. I mean, really blend. Really, really, really blend. Blend to the point where I get asked directions from locals. Blend to the point where traveling Brits, pulling their heads out of their guidebooks, grab me by the hand, pull me down to their level and, with slow, painful pronunciation and babyish hand gestures, ask, "Do... you... speak... Eengleesh?" I've decided to take it as a compliment! And you should see the expression on people's faces when I respond to them in my Standard American dialect, "Yes, I do speak English. How can I help you?"
The other thing that being considered a local brings is the necessity to really get to know the place where you are. And this is a nice segue into Florence.
If Florence were available, we'd be married. I am madly in love with the city. Listening to the classical guitarists perform in the piazza with a piccolo cono in hand, all the while feeling the eyes of a plaster Zeus and Apollo staring down at you from their perches is approaching my idea of Renaissance heaven. And Florence is the perfect spot for the pedestrian, with picturesque walkways, a delightfully confusing street system and relatively even ground. However, this also makes it tourist heaven. And, in my case, too full of mini-Duomos and grow-your-own Davids for my liking. Thus, in the city for a few hours, I decided I needed to find that which had not been developed by tourists. Kathryn and Terry from Varenna lived in Florence for five years, so I knew there was more than the Uffizi (whose art, by the way, pulled me in for three exhilarating hours). And so, grabbing a 1.5L water bottle from a local convenience store, I headed off onto a tiny little street with no stores, no signs and, most importantly, no tourists.
After about three hours of wandering, I was decidedly lost. Visually stimulated and thrilled (and feeling very Italian for the number of times I was asked directions, and the number of times I was able to do so), but lost. And hungry. My watch read a big old 19:30, which also signaled that it was really time to eat. Yet, I had not passed one eating location in the last hour. A supermarket, yes, but they were closed by now. I stumbled down a back alley, hoping something, even a gelateria, would stand before me, offering even the slighest snack.
Before me stood what might be called the best, and still yet-to-be-discovered, backpacker restaurant in all of Florence. Even with my limited Italian, I could make out the name (Pane e Vino). I stepped up to the door, where the menu was posted. Entirely in Italian. Good, I thought. My eyes swung over to the prices. Better, I thought. I stuck my head in and notice that, while busy, there are a few "tables for one." "Great!" I shouted, as I leapt through the door and made my way to the host. She turns with a start and shows me to a table. I eagerly sit down and start decipering the menu. When my waitress comes, it turns out she speaks enough English to tell me she doesn't speak English, but explain one of the more confusing menu items (a steak sold by the gram and starting at 800 grams). I ordered my antipasti of bruschetta, a primi of gnocchi and a secundi of something that started with an s, was chicken-based and listed "porcini" as an ingredient. I added the house red wine and a small water. She thanked me, walked away, uncorked the local chianti (which usually goes for upwards of €12 a shot) and filled my carafe. Things were going well!
The restaurant itself had a very "back street" feel. Almost everybody there was Italian (the English-speaking group next to me were Brits visiting a Florentine friend, who had taken them there), the view was of a brick wall, the decor was tacky but homey and the music was an eclectic mix of American 80s hits and Italian remixes. As my food arrived, I realized that we had hit a gold mine! The gnocchi was fresh and tasty, in a homemade red sauce; the bruschetta had bright red tomatos on top, was seeping olive oil and had distinctive grill marks; and my mystery chicken dish was tender and succulent! I took in the ambiance as long as I could, eavesdropping on Italian when I could understand it and reveling in my back door discovery.
All this for under €15. No wonder they say the best things in life are free (or really cheap!)
posted by Ethan at 11:52 AM
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