Whenever we have been in town for a market day in Italy we’ve loved it. A line of vans, all with their own awnings stretched out, parked so close to one another you’re always walking in the shade. Excitement builds as you encounter each vendor, maybe one that sells produce, another only dried fruits, a cheese vendor, one that makes sandwiches or grilled goodies. There are the houseware vendors with more beautiful plates and tablecloths than you can bring home in your suitcase. There are kitchen gadgets that you never even knew you needed. Then you’ll come across the vendors selling clothes, selling really nice men’s shirts and ties, a few selling purses, maybe shoes or jewelry, and hair accessories. Everything is usually good quality, not top quality, but good.
Florence; it is a wonderful city full of beautiful buildings. There are museums and churches filled with timeless, dazzling art. The food is incredible both at the restaurants and what we can buy at the markets. The mosquitoes are ruthless!!!! First off, I must be the tastiest person in Florence (or at least in our apartment) because I am getting bit more than Vic. The local variety of mosquitoes is voracious; they inflict welts that are quite different from what I've been use to in Florida.
It’s a late Saturday afternoon in September and the streets of Florence are crowded with tourists. The temperature is beginning to rise and it’s just best to stay indoors.
A morning at the central market was busy and hectic; packed with many weekend shoppers, some only sightseers snapping pictures for their vacation albums or food blogs. There are little Italian nonnas teetering through the crowds, painfully slow, a couple Japanese gentlemen trying the best cheeses at each venders stall, a man with a huge camera snapping pictures of hanging prosciuttos, people with dogs greeting each other in the aisles, and tourists standing dazed and transfixed by the confusions of it all. On a past trip to Italy I found an aperativo called a Bicicletta in Desenzano del Garda that I liked. Well, maybe I wasn't totally enamored, while I found it refreshing I thought it was a little too bitter for my taste. So when I got home I altered the recipe a bit by using 1 part Sprite instead of a splash of club soda.
BYOB has a new meaning in Florence. Bring your own bottle and fill it up with wonderful wines for little money.
I was keeping my empties to bring to the recycle bin at the Mercato Centrale. I’m trying to be green…even in Italy. Before I was able to dispose of my depleted wine bottles I found DiVino!!! Just a few blocks from where we are staying is a teeny little storefront. You bring your empties and they fill them from 50 liter demijohns. Vic and I went to the Palazzo Vecchio today. We signed up for 3 tours. I guess 3 tours are unheard of there as they never knew what to do with our tickets since we needed them for the next tour.
Anyway, the first tour we went on was called Renaissance Fresco Painting where we thought we would walk about the Palazzo and learn how fresco painting was done. But no. We were caught totally off guard. We were brought into a classroom and given a very exciting and passionate explanation of how frescos are created. I made bruschetta today; toasted bread topped with a mix of chopped fresh tomatoes, garlic, basil and a little extra virgin olive oil. These were the freshest tomatoes I've ever had. I make this same thing all the time back home and it has NEVER tasted like this. The tomatoes were so sweet; Vic even asked if I put sugar in it.
Last night I asked Vic if he wanted gelato. He has been having at least one, if not two, a day and he hadn't had any that day. We ate a late breakfast and a large lunch so didn't have any that afternoon. By around 9:15pm when I asked he said, “Sure”. You can’t go around a corner without seeing a gelato place so we have plenty to choose from.
Leaving Torre Orsina Monday morning hit me harder than I thought it would. The week before when we left we knew we were coming back for the party so it was no big deal. This time we don’t know when we’ll return. That morning Virgilio had so much to say to us that I just could not understand. He is a man of few words and talked more to us that morning than the whole time we were there. Luigina sat in the kitchen, eyes brimming with tears, pleading for us to return soon. When we started to leave for the bus, Elda said, “Cinzia, dov’e’ vai?!?!” (Where are you going?). Without Daniela there to translate Elda and I had found our own way to understand each other.
At 7pm on Sunday, the guests, all family, started to arrive, 24 in all, to celebrate Virgilio's 99th birthday. We ate at three large tables put together in a big sweeping arc through the dining area with various chairs and benches to sit on.
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