A short photo-essay

Our apartment is a twenty minute walk from campus. Since I teach at 8:30, I've been making this walk just as the sky brightens and the streetlights go off.

The view to the right as I walk out our front door onto Borgo Allegri. I turn, however, left, and then another left at Piazza Ciompfi, where I am greeted with

Brunelleschi's dome at sunrise! I turn right onto Via dei Pepi

Notice the street lights are off now -- unfortunate in this stone canyon of a medieval street. I turn left onto Via dei Pilastri, which turns into Via deli Alfani, a wider, brighter and busier street. I stop to have my morning cappuccino here

I like this bar. It is friendly, and at this time in the morning, entirely Italian. From the counter, I can see into the closet kitchen and watch the woman making panini for the afternoon. At the next intersection, if I look right, I see

If I look left, I see

(I took these pictures on my way home in the afternoon -- thus the difference in lighting. Oddly, there was too much traffic in the morning for me to dawdle in the intersection, while at 12:30, as you can see, there are almost no cars.) Then a right onto Via Ricasoli, where I walk past the Acadamia, the museum that houses the David.

Barely recognizable without the lines, the carts selling David themed boxer shorts, and the poster sellers with their wares displayed on the street. Finally, I cross Piazza San Marco, and stroll past the Giardino della Gherardesca, designed by Michaelangelo.

Campus and my hungover still drunk eager students are waiting! (Actually, that last joke is entirely unfounded. I expected my students to be constantly inebriated, but so far, I have seen no signs. Instead, they seem remarkably engaged, sharp, and open minded. They are making me intensely happy. I wonder how long it will last?)

Siamo arrivati qui!

We have successfully landed in Florence! In fact, our trip here was as easy as that length of trip could be. All of our planes were on time or early, our bags arrived, the line through security in Zurich was short and there was no line at all for the entry into the EU. That's right: we walked directly up to a friendly young Swiss man who merely cautioned Jeremy not to overstay his tourist visa, and away we went. The food on Swiss Air was almost completely neutral, neither good nor bad, until that is the snack on the short trip from Zurich to Florence, where they served us "butter bretzel," a bagel sized soft pretzel, split in half and filled with a slab of cold butter.  Okay, so do the Swiss like butter even more than the French? Because, honestly, that was too much butter even for me, and I didn't think that was possible. However, the Swiss did not lose our bags, so no complaints from me. Our cab took us nearly to our apartment, where our smiling and thoughtful landlady was waiting for us with a bottle of wine and -- just in case we didn't want to head out to a restaurant after such a long trip -- the ingredients for a simple pasta meal. So much for my fear of starving when we arrived!

As thoughtful as the pantry stocking was, we decided to head out anyway. Our apartment is very close (half a block) to Santa Croce, and there are a number of good and/or well known restaurants nearby. We are essentially on top of Baldovino, which is featured in nearly every guide book but which we have not yet tried. Around the corner from us is Il Francescana, a small, very Italian place, and that is where we settled in. We had the antipasti toscani -- slices of salami, coppa, and proscuitto, plus one tomato and one chicken liver bruschetta. That last is incredibly common here, and I love it, but I realize not everyone does. It reminds me of being in the kitchen while my dad roasted a chicken. He would always pull out the liver, cook it up and mix it with butter and salt for a little "pate" treat. I remember being in school in maybe first grade, and the teacher went around the room asking us what our favorite food was. I took the question very seriously, and while I should have been noticing that all my peers were saying safe, socially acceptable things like potato chips and chocolate cake, I was earnestly trying to figure out what I like best. It was, I recall, a three way tie between chicken livers, fried trout roe, and beef tongue with horseradish sauce. None of these answers was designed to endear me to, well, anyone. Really, could you come up with three stranger favorite foods? I was like a foodie Luna Lovegood. It's a good thing that my peers grew into my taste in food. 

Anyway, the bruschetta was fine, although nothing special. The cured meats were fine, too. And by fine, in this case, I mean they were typical of the cured meats here, which is, in fact, nothing short of amazing. One taste of a coppa here, and you realize that American salami, as good as it can be, never quite trusts the meat to speak for itself. When you cure meat, the flavors deepen, and funkify, and -- oh, I don't know. Something magic happens to them, and I've never really tasted it anywhere but here. So good. We followed up our antipasti with some pasta. I had an herbed gnudi in sage and butter sauce. The gnudi weren't quite as melty in the middle as the ones I make at home, but the butter was redolent of dairy and cow and field, and the sage was the perfect, earthy accompaniment. Jeremy had a squash ravioli in a brilliant orange-yellow saffron sauce. Both were really just lovely: simple flavors, simply prepared, and exactly what we wanted. 

This morning (after waking up ridiculously early), we went shopping. We returned to our beloved Mercato San'Ambrogio, and found, to my utter astonishment, zucchini with flowers! How is that possible? Where are they grown? They must have been fresh and local, because of the flowers, right? But it's January! So for dinner tonight, we made our favorite Florentine simple meal: zucchini, sliced thick and browned on both sides in olive oil, seasoned with salt and pepper, and tossed with pici, a very thick, fresh pasta. Toss with lots more olive oil and lots of grated grana. That's it. Now, I know you are thinking that I cooked all the goodness out of that zucchini, and I would agree with most vegetables. In this case, an aggressive browning just brings out the sweetness that much more.  The pici is chewy and surprisingly flavorful, the zucchini is sweet, the oil is fruity and a touch bitter, and the cheese adds a great depth of flavor. To me, this is the essence of Italian cooking: simple, great ingredients, lots of really good olive oil. We were even able to find the olive oil we had last year in Perugia that we loved so much!  

Thanks for all of your good thoughts and wishes, and keep checking in. I'll try to post lots of pictures and recipes!