Florence wrapped

Two months, 8 weeks, 59 days. My time in Florence.

On the last day of October I got a one-way ticket to Parma, bringing to a close my time in Florence, concluding the internship period and this bubble of a year.

For two months I cycled the uneven, cobbled roads of Florence, mastered the Florentine accent (“una hoha hola”), sampled local pastries (Budino di riso, scacciata con l'uva), and made new friends, including the Barrista that always remembered how I like my coffee (in vetro).

It was a pleasant surprise to find that Florence was more then an over -exposed, crowded, expensive, tourist trap minefield.

This is a rundown of my favorite Florence

Budino di riso- its rice pudding in shortcut pastry. Once it is baked, a caramelized crust forms on top. Only found locally.

Gelato- with a large variety of gelato mounds sculpted, decorated and generally violated, it is also possible to have fine gelato. The Peanut flavour will be remembered as a highlight.

Oven detox- not having an oven is not the end of the world (temporarily speaking). I haven’t baked in two months and counting. Must. Bake. Soon.

Mercato San Ambrogio- the market ritual of getting up in the morning, jumping on the bike and heading to the market. On the way passing by the tripe man, always busy making the breakfast Lampredotto panini for hungry Florentine men. Nothing like boiled stomach lining to kick start the day…

Café- the reason that coffee is good here is because it is made with love and respect for the bean. Having your own particular preference is met with a respectful nod, as if to say “ I see where you’re going with this”… On the days that coffee alone was not enough, a sticky brioche wrapped in a napkin would be handed to me, from hand to hand. A shared intimacy over pastry. Dipped in the coffee, one brioche perfectly absorbs a cup of macchiato. No more, no less.

My pet- I shared my room with a mosquito. At first there were lots, but then it cooled down, leaving one stubborn insect. Unable to take its life directly, I took a more passive approach, trying to starve it to death. I was bitten. It refused to perish.

Holes in walls- for 3.50 euros I would often buy a focaccia from various panini makers that occupy urban nooks and crannies, filled with anything and everything. In general, Florentines like small, cozy, ‘good old days’ type places. And prices. And veggies. And I for one, agree.

In, out, upside down

Living as a student in a small village for the most part of the year meant mostly eating at home, with friends. Restaurants proved few, mediocre and pricy, while the pleasures of cooking with fellow food fanatics was pleasant, budget friendly and most importantly, educational. Now that I am in Florence I, along with leading buyers, all head down to the near by St Ambrogio market, where the latest autumn season has just arrived. Last season’s Italian prune plums, fresh beans and zucchini are exiting, making room for the first persimmons, pomegranates, and pumpkins. There is no escaping the end of summer, and counting the mosquito bites I am parading its not coming quick enough. Buying in the market is one thing, but Florence has more to offer. Kate’s weekend in Florence was, as is every weekend, dedicated to food., both cooking as well as researching the local offer of dining establishments.

There was an Oktoberfest alternative festival in one piazza selling beers, sausages, sauerkraut, knodels, pretzels, doughnuts and Sacher torte (not German, but there you go), porchetta sandwich in a hole in a wall, gelato, granita, wine bar and café, but two particular places made a lasting impression.

They had a system.

Allow me to explain.

It seems the food scene in Florence has distinctive characteristics that one can only assume are a direct response to its inhabitants’ customs, habits and preferences. The local favorite, Il Pizzaiuolo, looks from the outside like any other pizzeria. Apart for the patient hoverers outside, one would never guess it is absolutely crucial to make reservations here for any chance of a taste let alone a seat. I had learned this the hard way.

The pizza dough is worth it. We’re talking a mouthful of freshly baked yeasty dough around the edges with a thin centre that has a slightly charred bottom resembling a flat bread that is soft and soggy(as opposed to dry and crispy) from the spicy salami, mozzarella, black olives and basil juices that adorn it. This is enough to distract the most concentrated of minds, however, one look around reveals a crowded, noisy room that minutes ago was all but quiet and empty. Being one of the most popular local venues, a system had to be devised to ensure structure and order, Italian style; the place opens up at 19.30 taking 3 rounds of reservation only, at the time of opening, 21.00 and 22.30. There is no time for hanging around, so if you finished your pizza its dessert or the bill. Its pretty simple and the beauty of this system is that it is indigenous to this restaurant.

The system at Il Vegetariano proved to be the real challenge. Set in a residential street, this restaurant is a pre-planned destination as opposed to a place you stumble upon. Suppose you found the place, once you enter through the undistinguished threshold you will find yourself in a small room with 5 tables. And that’s it. No bar, no kitchen and no staff to be seen. Another door way across the room leads the way through a corridor to the back of the restaurant, which is in fact, the front of the restaurant. The entrance is the back. Hang tight, this is about to get even more complicated in an attempt to simplify things. The menu is up on the wall, and underneath it is a desk with a bearded man that takes the orders. The customers write down their orders on one of the several notepads laying, that are then chosen, in no particular order. The bearded man then copies the order to an order from, that is, if he can decipher the incoherent handwriting. The bill is added and the meal is paid for. It is now time to turn around, reach for a tray and stand in another line. The two pieces of paper- the notepad order and the copied are handed to a woman behind a counter, and she prepares the food.

Ok, so we’ve stood in line, ordered, paid and picked up the food. Now the only thing left is to find a place to sit. This is a fascinating system. In an attempt to eliminate the concept of waiting on tables, this venue pulled out all the stops. It is not a buffet or a self-service canteen, but a restaurant, and a popular one at that; a home made, nonna run veggie establishment packed floor to ceiling, with people waiting spilling to the street, and the majority of diners are men who choose not to have a Bistecca Fiorentina or a tripe stew on a Saturday night. This is what eating out is. Education.