Food, tranquility, Florence

Early yesterday morning, I arrived back in Kurdistan and thus, real life. I’ve had an absolutely amazing summer vacation, in which food has been one of the main foci, and particularly so on my honeymoon. This blog, then, will quite simply be a tribute to good food, Florence, and enjoying one of the simplest of pleasures in life. Let’s face it, I ain’t getting back on that treadmill just yet.

Florentines have a marvellous way of relaxing with food. They eat all the time, everywhere, everything, and they enjoy it to the fullest. At the B&B Ariz and I slept in Florence, fresh croissants, biscuits, as well as port wine was at hand 24/7. Around the corner, at the gorgeous Caffe Sant’Ambrogio, you could buy a glass of wine for 4 Euro, and enjoy complimentary prosciutto, pasta, nuts, and mini pizzas free of charge. A few shops down from that; the best chocolate ice cream I’ve ever tasted in my life. And then the beautiful Cibreo, where I enjoyed both cod mousse and stuffed rabbit, both cooked to perfection. All this, in the area of just four blocks. It is amazing to put this much delicious food into your mouth. And even though it’s not conventionally “healthy” food, I do believe there is something thoroughly good for your soul in sitting down, enjoying a glass of wine, and eating a dish someone has clearly prepared with skill and not to mention, love. 

Florence is a beautiful city in all its aspects; the sights, the people, the history. What you can’t read in a book, though, is how good the minestrone at Oleandolo just off the Duomo tastes with a glass of ice cold, fresh prosecco. You can’t describe the subtle hint of bacon in a porcini mushroom risotto at Olio and Convium, a few blocks down from Ponte Vecchio. And you certainly have to go there, be there - smell it, taste it, feel it - in order to fully experience the genuine hospitality and kindness Florentines treat their guests with. And this, this amazing feeling the city provides you with at all times, is best enjoyed over a glass of wine and some cold cut salami and pancetta from the wonderful Italian pantry.

It is almost as if eating is a kind of breathing to Florentines. And a different one to anywhere else in the world. In Norway, we breathe quickly, while catching the bus or chasing through the woods on skis, thermos in backpack. In New York, they breathe hot air, and run across blinking pedestrian lights to reach work on time, sandwich in hand. And in Bangkok, there’s a different kind of breathing altogether, preferably over some street food in the steaming humidity. But in Florence, ah, in Florence, lunch may take half an hour, or three, and either way, your breath will become calm and steady, over the immensity of pure pleasure that can come from a simple espresso and tiramisu at noon.