Well, I’m back.

After eight glorious days in Florence, I’ve returned to my home and my desk. And while the weather here is beautiful enough to cushion the blow, I’m still feeling a vague longing for a view of the Duomo out my window.

And of course, the food.

I don’t think you can go to Italy without raving about the food. Even a simple panini from a back-street cafe tastes better than anything here. On our walks, we enjoyed all the hits: fresh melon with prosciutto, oil-packed tuna with arugula, countless cups of espresso with a thick crema on top, and of course, a near-daily dose of gelato. (My favorite? Blood orange and pistachio.)

I could recount every detail of each day, taking us through the city from east to west, into churches and atop mountains, to walled cities, goat farms, to wine and olive oil vineyards. But I’ll save that for the friends and family who’ll have to suffer through my 600-picture sideshow. Instead, I’ll start here with my three favorite restaurants from the trip.

Buca del’Orafo (Volta dei Girolami 28r, Florence)

We arrived in Florence in the middle of the afternoon, To fight the jetlag, we took only a short while to clean off the flight grime before heading straight out of our hotel and off to dinner. The walk to this tiny basement trattoria made me thankful my Florence-based cousin was guiding us around; without a guiding hand, I would have walked past the place entirely.

The dining room could fit maybe 30, with clean whitewashed walls and warm dark wood. A bitsy bar graced one corner, and white linens covered our long table. The intimacy of the space was heightened by the intimacy of the kitchen. The waitress asked that, since there were only two cooks in the back, we not all order different things. Also, we were warned that anything with squash blossoms in it might take a bit longer, as they hadn’t arrived yet.

A few moments later, a man popped through the front door and headed back to the kitchen. He had his motorcycle helmet in one hand and two flats of squash blossoms in the other. OK, we could order now.

My experience and understanding of Tuscan food was limited before this trip. I knew though that it was more meat-heavy than other Italian cuisines. It wasn’t until seeing the menu and noticing that the Florentine steak was sold by the kilogram, that I finally understood how much so.

We ordered a round of first courses: house made ravioli, creamy mushroom risotto, and other pastas. Everything tasted freshly made, but the standout was a dish of thin pasta with fresh green peas. The pasta was deliciously eggy, and the peas had been cooked in broth and pureed as well as added fresh. With every bite, spring exploded in our mouths.

Then, the meat. A steak, larger than my face, was presented with much aplomb at the table. Browned on the outside, and nearly rare inside, it was an intimidating dish to start in on. But oh so worth it. Perfectly grilled and seasoned—so tender and juicy inside.

Dessert was no less extraordinary, or more complex. Perfect baby strawberries draped in cream. A clean panna cotta with just the right amount of jiggle. A sweet apple cake laced with cinnamon. Perfect fuel for our weave and waddle back along the cobblestone streets to the hotel.

Trattoria 4 Leoni (Piazza della Passera - Via dei Vellutini 1/r)

After spending a day running around train stations and walking the streets of the walled city of Lucca, we arrived back in Florence starving. We wound our way across the Ponte Vecchio and down what appeared to be an alley to a small square and the Trattoria 4 Leoni.

This place came as a recommendation, as did a specific pasta dish. The ficochetti alle perre con salsa di taleggio e asparagi consisted of pockets of pasta, folded into little dumplings and stuffed with mascarpone, parmesan and pears. They were accompanied by bright bits of asparagus and covered with a sauce of taleggio.

It was love at first bite. I ate until I was full, and then kept going, just to have the sweetness of the pear and slight tang of cheese keep melting on my tongue. The pears were cooked to softness in the dumplings, and the greenness of the asparagus shone through the richness to freshen every bite. I don’t remember anything else anyone had that night, so focused was I on my dish. I can taste it still, and my lips tingle with the silky feel of cream.

Fortunately, one of the menus I picked up contains the recipe. I’ll be experimenting with my own version!

Ristorante Le Fonticine (Via Nazionale 79r)

Le Fonticine had been recommended by one of the women who worked in our hotel. She recalled it fondly from dinners with her late husband and told us that the first time she went, the table had a huge vase of gladiolas in the center, which seemed to be there just to welcome her.

How could we resist?

I started with a plate of Tuscan chicken liver pate to which I had become addicted over the trip—rich and salty, on perfectly grilled pieces of unsalted Tuscan bread which were drizzled with olive oil. Then I had the night’s special, pasta with fresh anchovies.

I was grabbing bites as the plate got passed around the table, with my family reluctant always to pass it back. It was reminiscent of my own weeknight pasta, but far more interesting. The fresh anchovies were rich and fishy, and dressed with just the thinnest veil of oil and ground red pepper flakes that made all the flavors sing. I washed down the last strands with my glass of Chianti Classico, and savored the complex fruitiness as I sighed in both satisfaction and sadness - this was our last meal in Florence, and now it was time to go home.

If you made it this far and still want to hear more, you’re in luck - I’ll be posting soon about our time at the Castello di Verrazzano Vineyards (yes, same family behind the bridge), and also a particularly special trip to visit some olive oil makers and new friends.

Posted by claire in craving, personal, other people's food | | Subscribe to this feed