Under The Tuscan Sunset

Indeed, it was time to eat again. My mom and I woke from our naps and headed back out to check out the taxi stand in Piazza Republic to make sure we knew where we were going. The sun was still as strong as Hercules so we didn't last too long after our scoping misson. After another brief rest, we got dressed and headed back to the square, ready to feed ourselves yet again.




All dressed for dinner. More food!


The ride up the hillside was spectacular.

"Aren't you glad we didn't walk?" I asked only to realize that we had just passed Piazzale Michelangelo - where we famously hiked a few days ago. But, of course, where we were going was much further up the hillside and the taxi continued over cobblestone highways and a winding one lane - two way traffic road with stone walls on either side. We reached our destination - a small trattoria with a small Italian shop in front that opened up to a wide dining area. The view of the surrounding hillsides was breathtaking and we were shown to our middle table in the still uncrowded room.

I decided to order white wine, since my mom has found a vino that she likes. Of course, it was a whole bottle this time around, so it didn't matter that she had an entire glass. We began with mozzerella and tomatoes. Chunks of cheese that were firm yet melted in your mouth with the balsamic and olive oil dripping over the slices. Unfortunatly, the restaurant was out of tortellini so we both had ravioli stuffed with spinach in a cream sauce. Homemade and huge, the folded pasta was delicate and light. Everything American pasta is not. This led to fried chicken, Florentine style and flattened chicken for me. My mom's dish consisted of small pieces of tender foul, lightly breaded and fried to a perfect golden crisp. Looking at my chicken, I wondered how long the chef had to pound it to make it flatter than a Los Angeles starlet before her breast augmentation. It was crispy on the edges, moist and fell off the bone at the touch of the fork. All the while, I consumed the entire bottle of wine (save one glass).

As we talked about life, childhood, marriage and relationships, two Americans took up residence next to us. This night, however, we did not engage them. The couple were obviously going to get married and the girl was without a doubt, very proud of her engagement ring. She wanted a reaction on her jewelry and for sure noticed the size of the rocks on my mother's hand. Never let it be said that I don't get my bitchiness from out of the blue, for Rosemarie put her hand to her face all through dinner, ensuring that the fading sunlight shimmered off the diamonds. They eclipsed the one little rock on the silver band of the plain jane next to me. Eventually, the nameless girl gave up the fight and we ordered dessert.

Of course, espresso for me and Cafe American for my mother, though I had to get some milk as still the coffee was too strong for her. And, although the Tiramisu was amazing, it paled in comparison to La Posta's. And as if gelato all day long wasn't enough, I had to have the chocolate, hazelnut and vanilla ice cream drizzled in chocolate sauce. After all, we're not going to be eating until tomorrow.

Our waiter ordered us a taxi and we sped back down the hillside to the center of Florence. There's nothing more I despise than loose change, so I left the cab driver the rest - much to his objection. Is tipping that uncommon here? It seems so.

We walked back to our B&B, not feeling in the least bit full, which is the most bizarre feeling after stuffing ourselves all night. Tomorrow, a new adventure with an old friend. Our train departs for Rome at 8:10 am.