It rained Saturday, nothing new, but it was our first real rain in the Piazza. The groups of tourists are so much more interesting with their colorful umbrellas held overhead. I thought of taking their picture, but, like I said it was raining! Those colorful umbrellas become dangerous weapons when crowded into a tiny street; especially when one is trying to pass by, just like those lighted cigarettes. The umbrellas and lighted cigarettes combined with the ever present dog and horse droppings can make the streets of Florence quite dangerous.
We braved these rugged streets in search of food. Even though we are now in a great food neighborhood I can’t stay away from Mercato di Sant’Ambrogio. We tried other bread and looked at other mortadella, but, it is just not the same. Plus, I have my butcher boyfriend to consider. A few days ago we were waiting at his counter while he took care of someone else. He plunged his hands into the water that soaks the Baccalà then within seconds he was shaking both my hands telling Arnie that he wanted to steal me away. It took me a while to remember the verb “to steal.” I think I was just so focused on the fish hands. He kept asking Arnie if it was OK (stealing me) and Arnie just shrugged. Arnie continued to just shrug when I finally translated!
We usually try to avoid the market on Saturday but when you are out of mortadella, you are out of mortadella. So, in a light drizzle, we headed up via Macci, following a parade of 4’ tall grandmothers. Once there we would be in fierce completion with those same innocent looking women to get to the ticket number machines.
Our first stop was the bakery, where the line is the longest. You have to take a number and stay alert because the line moves fast. I have to watch the ticket counter closely because hearing numbers is still hard for me to grasp quickly. We got our “squished” bread (focaccia with olive oil and salt) and the addictive fried polenta squares to fortify us for the next 15 minutes of our adventure.
Next stop: pasta. We bought ravioli with ricotta and red radicchio filling. They also sell all manner of delicious home-made sauces. I asked what sauce she recommended and the woman told me just butter and grated pecorino or parmesan. The 4’tall woman waiting next to me agreed: only butter. Butter it was and it was great! Next, off to my boyfriend.
We always end up with more than we originally wanted. We really only went to the market for mortadella & bread. So, we came home with mortadella; prosciutto; fresh mozzarella; fresh pecorino; fresh triple cream cheese (enough for 10 people), and that was just from him.
We got home with just enough time to put in a load of laundry (that takes 2 hours) and have a brief walk before lunch.
AN ASIDE
Every day there are special characters that make us smile. At the market today there was an umbrella set up on a tripod. On the tripod was a small 4x5inch oil painting. Above the painting was a hand written sign on cardboard that read in Italian, “One euro to visit my gallery.” The “gallery” owner was a craggily old guy having a great time. I should have given him a euro but I try to stay my distance from the potentially crazy people.
Every day there are also complexities of the Italian society that amaze us and make us shake our head. One complex relationship seems to be between the residents and the Ambulanti and beggars.
Ambulanti are the, usually African older adolescents, who are, you might say, traveling salesmen. They appear to specialize in “copy” purses. There is a sub-set of Ambulanti who sell stuff out of their hand in markets and shops; stuff like Kleenex, umbrellas, etc. This sub-set seems to be well tolerated by the shop owners, if not embraced, at least acknowledged as a regular. There is no shooing or ignoring.
The “copy” purse salesmen display their goods on sheets, on the street or side-walk. The sheets are used to quickly tie up the goods in a ho-bo sack when a police person appears. These young men are not well tolerated by the residents; I guess because they block the way. But, it seems that they are rarely arrested. We will see them scurrying along at a goodly pace, followed by a few policemen who are strolling, making no attempt to catch them, just moving them along. We also see them standing in groups with their sacks of goods in a stand-off with a Police person standing feet away. One or the other eventually moves on. There are signs everywhere stating that people shouldn’t buy fake goods and every so often it is reported that a tourist is arrested and fined for buying a fake purse, but there is no mention of what happened to the person selling the purse.
Disabled beggars who station themselves outside of stores in their wheelchairs are very well tolerated and I often see the 4’ tall women dropping change into their cups.
It is the Gypsies, those that beg, usually lying face down on the sidewalk, who generate much disdain. These disenfranchised people held a rally today, as they have several times since we arrived, to protest their living conditions. According to the English language papers, they are living in camps to the east of the city in mud flats. Today we were in the Piazza, starting our pre-lunch walk, when the protestors arrived. There were as many police as protestors. The police stayed their distance but they looked pretty menacing to me. One of the vendors outside of our door explained that the Florentines are resentful of the Gypsies because they all have babies and women with babies go to the head of the line for the precious little low cost housing in the city. So, we are reminded that Florence is a city that is alive with real people and real social issues.
However, our Florence is pretty much just about food, so we moved on to lunch.
We read about Antica Mescita San Niccolo, via San Niccolo 60r, in 2 guide books. Both said they had excellent Tuscan food at really good prices and a lunch buffet for 10 euro; both were wrong about the buffet, not the food.
The restaurant is on the other side of the river in a neighborhood that was devastated by the 1966 flood. There are plaques on the streets indicating the high water mark from 1966. There is seating for 20 on the main floor, mostly stools and benches, and a large room downstairs. We didn’t go down but we know that it is large because a group of 31 French tourists marched down there. We know there were 31 because, according to the discussion between the tour guide and the owner, there was supposed to be fewer and something about, “…You could have sent me a fax…”
The kitchen looked to be the size of our Powder Room at home in Del Mar and the 3 chefs were all young Asian men. This is a common phenomenon that was reported recently in the Wall Street Journal. The top 2 winning chefs in a pasta competition in Rome were not Italian. We have seen this in many of the restaurants. The article stated that young Italians don’t want the hard jobs. That may be a bit harsh. Anyway, those boys could cook! We started with the bruschetta of black cabbage and Lardo.
For those not obsessed with food, Lardo is the white prosciutto, or, just plain pig fat. It is really, really good. Think thinly sliced bacon allowed to melt on hot Tuscan bread. The black cabbage tasted like it was cooked in the Lardo and we put the Lardo on top of the cabbage as well. Very, Very tasty. Arnie had the wild boar stew and it was the best of the trip. The other wild boar wasn’t cooked long enough to break down the gelatinous parts. This just fell apart and was delicious. I had the duck in orange sauce. It wasn’t fancy but very flavorful. The duck breast was left on the bone and hacked into 3 sections. The sauce was dark and rich, almost like a stew. Since we didn’t have a pasta course (what’s up with that, I don’t know) we had dessert. Actually, we saw the dessert being delivered and made the dessert decision before the entrée arrived. It was a wonderful apple torta; thin slices of apple in a buttery cake. We would have had grappa but we had laundry to finish.
We came home and finished the laundry then went out for our evening stroll. This took us past a wine bar where a friend works, so in we went. One can’t be rude, and one shouldn’t drink without eating, so we had the Pecorino cheese plate and 2 glasses of wine each.
Then it was time to come home and cook dinner. Actually, dinner was just salad (beautiful greens) tossed with a fabulous olive oil and aged balsamic vinegar, fresh mozzarella, and Spanish tuna.
And, that is a day in the life of living the dream.
Here's the link to more market day and lunch pictures:
http://www.flickr.com/gp/25519767@N06/C8zgL0
