As we settle into fall, with crisp days and cooler nights, I want to cook comfort food: hearty soups, stews, pasta dishes. What I really want is to return to Italy and to experience again some of the incredible meals we ate there. Recalling a few of the more memorable might assuage my yearning for now.
Our travel agent recommended Bocca Negra in Firenze. We walked there from our hotel on our second night in Italy, and this is the first place where Cosmo started to connect to his roots. the meal was fine, but it was the drama that currounded our meal that made the evening memorable.
We ordered a bottle of wine and when the waiter brought it to the table and uncorked it, before he even raised the cork to his nose, he made a face and then stepped away from our table and set the bottle down on an empty table nearby. Then he sniffed the cork and made another face, then went to the bar and brought back a wine glass. Poured a small amount into the glass, swirled, sniffed, tasted and spit out the wine into the glass. He picked up the bottle, walked quite resolutely away from us, slammed the bottle down on the steps leading to the upper balcony area of the restaurant, turned to us and said apologetically, “It’s bad—vinegar-- I’ll get another bottle.” He returned and repeated the entire tasting sequence carried out at the same neighboring table, I suspect this was all done to spare us the effrontery of getting a whiff of this noxious brew. When the second bottle met his approval he stepped over to our table and poured into our glasses. The wine was delicious.
Satisfied that he had given us a quality product, he again left the room, but on his way out, he stopped to tell the story to another waiter, who promptly retrieved the bottle from the stairs and took a sniff, then looked our way with a sheepish glance and said, “good for salads, not to drink.”
Our waiter left, and returned with our antipasti and was followed by the maitre d’, who also lifted the bottle to his nose, poured himself a taste, repeated the same reaction of disgust, looked over at us and also apologized. The two waiters and the maitre d’ then engaged in a lengthy discussion complete with hand gestures, and it was clear that they were commiserating on the horror of this situation.
This scene was repeated at least twice more, whenever another restaurant employee came into the room: our waiter recounting the event, the other person smelling and/or tasting to see for himself, agreement as to the poor quality of the wine, animated discussion about what an outrage this was. Cosmo and I were the only ones in the place who never got close enough to that bottle to smell even the cork. But we thoroughly enjoyed the entertainment that the incident provided.
Another memorable meal was in a tiny trattoria in Lucca called Da Leo .We had lunch there at the recommendation of our guide. It was a bit off the main tourist drag, just a little out of the way, but well worth the short walk. We were the only tourists in the place, it was obvious that every other patron knew each other and the staff knew each of the other patrons. We felt completely welcome, however, and we enjoyed watching the scenarios playing out as these neighbors visited with each other. Two children ate at a corner table with their father and then got up and ran around the place, hugging the staff and greeting patrons.We think one of the waitresses was their mom. A dog wandered in from outside and sniffed around a bit, was largely ignored, then left. An older gentleman tended the bar which was more like a tabletop bridging a space connecting the two dining areas. The bar was covered with wine decanters and the gentleman was filling and rearranging the decanters.
Our guide recommended the farro soup.Farro is a grain and it’s a local crop. I can’t even describe how delicious and rich this simple soup tasted. Cosmo also ordered the meatballs and grilled vegetables plate. The vegetables were something like a tempura, and the meatballs clearly had been fried in olive oil. Two sheets of plain brown paper separated the entrée from the plate and gently absorbed the grease. I had escallops of beef which were bathed in some kind of heavenly sauce, lemony and rich and perfetto. We thought we were in heaven and I only wished I could have gone around the room and snapped a photo of everyone in the place. The faces, the expressions, the stories!
Finally for memories to sustain, there's Tre Scalini in Roma. We went there after our morning at the ruins of the palace of the Roman emperor Ottavio Augustus and the Colloseum. The reservations had been made for us earlier, but our guide (who is an Italian version of a combination of Teed and Diva) gave us the option of eating elsewhere. We were all too happy to follow her recommendation. She escorted us in, introduced us to the owner, made sure we were pleased with the place, and left us with huge kisses and a flourished exit. We dined outside under a canopy.
To start, we were presented with glasses of proseco, the Italian version of a light champagne. Our waiter was superbly adept and of course gracious.We started with a minestrone for Cosmo and a creamy tomato soup garnished with fresh basil for me. Next we shared several plates including lasagna that melted in our mouths, eggplant parmeggiano that practically made me cry, and a lemony chicken dish. We were easily talked into the house specialty for dessert, a wondrous pile of chocolate gelato surrounding a cherry and topped with a dollop of whipped cream. For this we did not share, we ordered due.
We left Tre Scalini convinced that if we never ate another meal we could die happy, and went out onto the Piazza Del Navona, on a glorious sunny day. Cosmo went to a tabacchiera to buy himself a cigar and I wandered around the square to check out the vendors. We found each other back on the plaza, in front of a street performer who was singing O Solo Mio for an enraptured crowd. We bought some watercolor prints as souvenirs from one of the many local artists whose works I had browsed.
It took us about an hour to walk back to our hotel, and this was a good thing as it was an opportunity to work off a few of the calories. Not until we were on the plane headed back home did I discover that Tre Scalini is listed in the book “1000 Places to See Before You Die.”
Our travel agent recommended Bocca Negra in Firenze. We walked there from our hotel on our second night in Italy, and this is the first place where Cosmo started to connect to his roots. the meal was fine, but it was the drama that currounded our meal that made the evening memorable.
We ordered a bottle of wine and when the waiter brought it to the table and uncorked it, before he even raised the cork to his nose, he made a face and then stepped away from our table and set the bottle down on an empty table nearby. Then he sniffed the cork and made another face, then went to the bar and brought back a wine glass. Poured a small amount into the glass, swirled, sniffed, tasted and spit out the wine into the glass. He picked up the bottle, walked quite resolutely away from us, slammed the bottle down on the steps leading to the upper balcony area of the restaurant, turned to us and said apologetically, “It’s bad—vinegar-- I’ll get another bottle.” He returned and repeated the entire tasting sequence carried out at the same neighboring table, I suspect this was all done to spare us the effrontery of getting a whiff of this noxious brew. When the second bottle met his approval he stepped over to our table and poured into our glasses. The wine was delicious.
Satisfied that he had given us a quality product, he again left the room, but on his way out, he stopped to tell the story to another waiter, who promptly retrieved the bottle from the stairs and took a sniff, then looked our way with a sheepish glance and said, “good for salads, not to drink.”
Our waiter left, and returned with our antipasti and was followed by the maitre d’, who also lifted the bottle to his nose, poured himself a taste, repeated the same reaction of disgust, looked over at us and also apologized. The two waiters and the maitre d’ then engaged in a lengthy discussion complete with hand gestures, and it was clear that they were commiserating on the horror of this situation.
This scene was repeated at least twice more, whenever another restaurant employee came into the room: our waiter recounting the event, the other person smelling and/or tasting to see for himself, agreement as to the poor quality of the wine, animated discussion about what an outrage this was. Cosmo and I were the only ones in the place who never got close enough to that bottle to smell even the cork. But we thoroughly enjoyed the entertainment that the incident provided.
Another memorable meal was in a tiny trattoria in Lucca called Da Leo .We had lunch there at the recommendation of our guide. It was a bit off the main tourist drag, just a little out of the way, but well worth the short walk. We were the only tourists in the place, it was obvious that every other patron knew each other and the staff knew each of the other patrons. We felt completely welcome, however, and we enjoyed watching the scenarios playing out as these neighbors visited with each other. Two children ate at a corner table with their father and then got up and ran around the place, hugging the staff and greeting patrons.We think one of the waitresses was their mom. A dog wandered in from outside and sniffed around a bit, was largely ignored, then left. An older gentleman tended the bar which was more like a tabletop bridging a space connecting the two dining areas. The bar was covered with wine decanters and the gentleman was filling and rearranging the decanters.
Our guide recommended the farro soup.Farro is a grain and it’s a local crop. I can’t even describe how delicious and rich this simple soup tasted. Cosmo also ordered the meatballs and grilled vegetables plate. The vegetables were something like a tempura, and the meatballs clearly had been fried in olive oil. Two sheets of plain brown paper separated the entrée from the plate and gently absorbed the grease. I had escallops of beef which were bathed in some kind of heavenly sauce, lemony and rich and perfetto. We thought we were in heaven and I only wished I could have gone around the room and snapped a photo of everyone in the place. The faces, the expressions, the stories!
Finally for memories to sustain, there's Tre Scalini in Roma. We went there after our morning at the ruins of the palace of the Roman emperor Ottavio Augustus and the Colloseum. The reservations had been made for us earlier, but our guide (who is an Italian version of a combination of Teed and Diva) gave us the option of eating elsewhere. We were all too happy to follow her recommendation. She escorted us in, introduced us to the owner, made sure we were pleased with the place, and left us with huge kisses and a flourished exit. We dined outside under a canopy.
To start, we were presented with glasses of proseco, the Italian version of a light champagne. Our waiter was superbly adept and of course gracious.We started with a minestrone for Cosmo and a creamy tomato soup garnished with fresh basil for me. Next we shared several plates including lasagna that melted in our mouths, eggplant parmeggiano that practically made me cry, and a lemony chicken dish. We were easily talked into the house specialty for dessert, a wondrous pile of chocolate gelato surrounding a cherry and topped with a dollop of whipped cream. For this we did not share, we ordered due.
We left Tre Scalini convinced that if we never ate another meal we could die happy, and went out onto the Piazza Del Navona, on a glorious sunny day. Cosmo went to a tabacchiera to buy himself a cigar and I wandered around the square to check out the vendors. We found each other back on the plaza, in front of a street performer who was singing O Solo Mio for an enraptured crowd. We bought some watercolor prints as souvenirs from one of the many local artists whose works I had browsed.
It took us about an hour to walk back to our hotel, and this was a good thing as it was an opportunity to work off a few of the calories. Not until we were on the plane headed back home did I discover that Tre Scalini is listed in the book “1000 Places to See Before You Die.”
(Photos from top: Opera on the Piazza Navone, Cosmo enjoys a cigar on the Piazza after lunch at Tre Scalini, Lunch at Da Leo, Espresso after dinner at Bocca Negro)
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