I was carefully considering the menu chalked on a board outside a rather empty restaurant. Jami and Jude were looking around wondering why things weren't any busier than they were.
What's this? Oh. The owner of Paperorosso is motioning us inside. Well. Ok then.
She's quick as a bunny in the door and already talking with the man who motioned us inside. Jude has a few rather inconvenient (to her) food allergies. It's a Sin Against Nature that she'd been dealt this card. She doesn't deserve to be treated this way by Life. You see, Jude loves to eat, and she needs to ask if there were things on the menu she could eat.
We're in Italy. Which is a long way from our home in Paris. Which is even a longer way from where we were born and raised in the US. Language can be a little tricky with an American accent struggling with French trying to utter a couple words of Italian, but Jude dives right in to give it her best shot.
I don't even have the door closed yet and I hear (in the very very best Father Guido Sarducci voice) "Sorry. We won't serve you here. Not possible."
Alarmed that we've been found out as being Unworthy, or that something worse requiring Diplomatic Intervention has just taken place, I look up... and into the broadest Italian smile I've seen in, oh, maybe 10 minutes or so since we encountered the last happy Italian. Dario was simply joking around with my wife.
Everything Is Fine.
Letting my heart rate settle a bit, I was reminded that Italy is a broad expansive open armed kind of country. What might take the French a few visits to get around warming up to things, the Italians seem to have cast cultural caution and many forms of dignity and decorum aside.
Would you like a quick snort before your meal? No problem. Out comes the Campari. You don't even have to ask.
Would you like a bit of olive oil with that wonderful bread you were just handed? No problem. Out comes the TWO FREAK'N DAY OLD olive oil! The stuff is so fresh, you can't stand it. It's un freak'n believable. So good. So tasty. So heavenly that you'd feel the Pope Himself has blessed this incredible liquid.
How about an affordable wine? No problem. No, they don't feel anything that comes out of a box "real". How about a nice deep full bodies Super Tuscan RED? Now 'er talk'n. The Italians make GREAT wines to drink, not to sit around talking about which vintage is best and what maker went to which school so that you know you could be guaranteed quality that you will never in Your Lifetime ever be able to taste. In Italy, your tastebuds are, indeed, WORTHY. [slurp]
Would you like a little wild boar for lunch? No problem. Wild boar is a problem in Europe. Besides, it's tasty. As in fresh olive oil tasty. It's served in a plate the size of the state of Umbria. Tender? You bet. Just the right amount of wild flavor? Oh baby! Swimming in a sauce that only Angels of God could Themselves make? Words escape me.
Would you like a little Vin Santo to go along with your gelato? No problem. You get a choice. The tasty stuff? Or the FABULOUS stuff from Sicily? You know. The stuff that God cellar-ed, oh, a few years back, and brings out for only special occasions. Like right now. Like you really honestly swearing on a stack of His Own Veda, Upanishad, and Philokalia deserve this.
I should've known that Jude had broken an important cultural barrier and that we would all benefit by being served a meal FAR better than anything you've ever seen in ANY thousand year old fresco of the Last Dinner. Or was that a fresco of hungry Romans? I can't remember. Anyway, it was all over the top wonderful. The Slow Food Movement started, afterall, right there in Italy. Organic "artisanal" (gods! I hate that word) everything. And the restaurant is situated just across the street from our hotel. How on earth could we go wrong?
Dario spent a fair bit of time with us, chatting about this and that, and generally having a laugh filled wonderful experience. Cultural barriers were, how shall we say?, gone.
By the time we left (a couple hours later), the place was filled with happy hungry folks. We? It was a Our Last Dinner in Florence. For now, at least.
We'll be back. In this you can trust.
What's this? Oh. The owner of Paperorosso is motioning us inside. Well. Ok then.
She's quick as a bunny in the door and already talking with the man who motioned us inside. Jude has a few rather inconvenient (to her) food allergies. It's a Sin Against Nature that she'd been dealt this card. She doesn't deserve to be treated this way by Life. You see, Jude loves to eat, and she needs to ask if there were things on the menu she could eat.
... this light here... oh, the light...
We're in Italy. Which is a long way from our home in Paris. Which is even a longer way from where we were born and raised in the US. Language can be a little tricky with an American accent struggling with French trying to utter a couple words of Italian, but Jude dives right in to give it her best shot.
I don't even have the door closed yet and I hear (in the very very best Father Guido Sarducci voice) "Sorry. We won't serve you here. Not possible."
Alarmed that we've been found out as being Unworthy, or that something worse requiring Diplomatic Intervention has just taken place, I look up... and into the broadest Italian smile I've seen in, oh, maybe 10 minutes or so since we encountered the last happy Italian. Dario was simply joking around with my wife.
Everything Is Fine.
Letting my heart rate settle a bit, I was reminded that Italy is a broad expansive open armed kind of country. What might take the French a few visits to get around warming up to things, the Italians seem to have cast cultural caution and many forms of dignity and decorum aside.
Would you like a quick snort before your meal? No problem. Out comes the Campari. You don't even have to ask.
Flowers? Cherib delivered.
Would you like a bit of olive oil with that wonderful bread you were just handed? No problem. Out comes the TWO FREAK'N DAY OLD olive oil! The stuff is so fresh, you can't stand it. It's un freak'n believable. So good. So tasty. So heavenly that you'd feel the Pope Himself has blessed this incredible liquid.
How about an affordable wine? No problem. No, they don't feel anything that comes out of a box "real". How about a nice deep full bodies Super Tuscan RED? Now 'er talk'n. The Italians make GREAT wines to drink, not to sit around talking about which vintage is best and what maker went to which school so that you know you could be guaranteed quality that you will never in Your Lifetime ever be able to taste. In Italy, your tastebuds are, indeed, WORTHY. [slurp]
Would you like a little wild boar for lunch? No problem. Wild boar is a problem in Europe. Besides, it's tasty. As in fresh olive oil tasty. It's served in a plate the size of the state of Umbria. Tender? You bet. Just the right amount of wild flavor? Oh baby! Swimming in a sauce that only Angels of God could Themselves make? Words escape me.
Heavenly architecture...
Would you like a little Vin Santo to go along with your gelato? No problem. You get a choice. The tasty stuff? Or the FABULOUS stuff from Sicily? You know. The stuff that God cellar-ed, oh, a few years back, and brings out for only special occasions. Like right now. Like you really honestly swearing on a stack of His Own Veda, Upanishad, and Philokalia deserve this.
I should've known that Jude had broken an important cultural barrier and that we would all benefit by being served a meal FAR better than anything you've ever seen in ANY thousand year old fresco of the Last Dinner. Or was that a fresco of hungry Romans? I can't remember. Anyway, it was all over the top wonderful. The Slow Food Movement started, afterall, right there in Italy. Organic "artisanal" (gods! I hate that word) everything. And the restaurant is situated just across the street from our hotel. How on earth could we go wrong?
A saint on a stick!
Dario spent a fair bit of time with us, chatting about this and that, and generally having a laugh filled wonderful experience. Cultural barriers were, how shall we say?, gone.
By the time we left (a couple hours later), the place was filled with happy hungry folks. We? It was a Our Last Dinner in Florence. For now, at least.
We'll be back. In this you can trust.
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