The Sun Sets Just Look More Beautiful Here

If the scale tells me I've gained ten pounds I will not be surprised. I feel as if I have not stopped eating since we stepped off the plane one week ago. But before the last caloric intake of the evening, my mother and I went for a stroll along the Ponte Vecchio at sunset. I didn't plan on it being that time, but I'll take credit for it just the same. The bridge across the River Arno was crowded with people jockeying for a postion to watch as the sun dipped below the horizon and sprayed its golden rays across the scenery. With the river glowing in the foreground, we watched the sun make its final appearance of the day. Except for the sun setting on the island of Santorini, I can't remember a more stunning view.

Walking to the other side of the river, I nixed a few of the restuarants as either too expensive or too touristy. On the way back, we found a perfect little place down a quiet side street.  I've found the best one are off the main streets and areas. Trust me on that. We were enticed in, not only by the menu, but also because it was air conditioned. You know we have been here a long time when the thrill of eating outside holds no appeal and the thought of a cool and crisp dining room outweighs all other decisions.

The place was perfect - uncrowded, great lighting and cool air the second we walked in the door. Our waitress was the ultimate Italian girl and the complete opposite of our quiet and reserved hostess from last night. This one would fit right in at any Tella gathering.

Since we've been here, neither one of us has had lasagna, so tonight, we ordered it as one of the first courses. It did not disappoint. What surprised me most was that there was no sauce - only mounds of melted cheese among the pasta. We should have stopped with the first course tonight, but we went on to order - you guessed it - a veal steak for me and chicken with peppers (pepperoni) for my mother.

In the midst of our queit dinner, a truckload of Turkish tourists descended upon the restaurant. There was activity everywhere, from people moving chairs, our perfect Italian hostess directing traffic to the upstairs dining room while trying to arrange tables on the main floor, to loud parents trying to control their unruly children. I made a joke about how quiet it once was and our server said something in Italian that I could tell meant she was not in the mood for any of them.

And as quick as they ate, the bank of travelers left. All at once they released their hold on us as though they were the Israelites being liberated from Egypt on the promise of the land of milk and honey. The restaurant became, once again - peaceful and quiet. Our waitress could not have been happier - and neither could we.

Now we had time to relish dessert: panna cotta - Italy's version of flan drizzled with carmael sauce. Sweet and similar to a pudding, only thicker, the dessert was the latest in our culinary conquests.

The meal had ended and we were disappointed that we could not tip. We loved how pleasant and accomodating the staff was and I somehow wanted to reward our waitress. I resisted, but mainly because I did not want to get an email from my friend Cinzia who would surely chastise me for leaving money behind. I would have taken our waitress home to meet my mother, but she had already done that.

We went out in the still busy streets, took a stroll around The Duomo and headed to bed.

My mother, for some unknown reason, will now not stop talking. It's as if she thinks someone is actually going to answer her.

"I'm hot," she said doing God knows what in our tiny room.

"That's because you are expelling hot air - be quiet and go to bed."

"If I don't talk, you'll tell people I never say anything."

"Oh, trust me," I said. "They know all about you, now go to sleep so I can concentrate."

Of course, she is up and doing her word search puzzles, which means any minute now, the book will fall to the side of the bed and she'll be asleep at last.