Up and at it early; I did my walkies by the Fiera which was hosting a show on modern furnishings and underwear – think I’ll skip it. After an adequate breakfast and my inability to hook onto the free wifi at the hotel, I set out with a defined plan.
But once again, the quirky times of closing days (2nd and 4th Mondays) tripped me up.
Instead of the Bargello show of the restored Donatello’s David, I had to be content with Marino Marini’s stuff in a magnificent space (sadly wasted) at the Museum bearing his name.
Recall that my own state’s Governor, later VP, Spiro T. Agnew, famously said “seen one, seen ‘em all,” about slums/ghettos; well it applies to Marini’s horses, men, etc; not to pun - but this guy was a one-trick-pony. Next stop: Santa Croce.
Largely because of Adam Begley’s superb Nov 30, 2008 NYT article, that said “…..Perhaps the best way to enjoy the capital of Tuscany is to swap your guidebook for a copy of ‘A Room with a View,’” I bought an updated edition and carefully read Chapter 2: “In Santa Croce with No Baedeker” (NB: which my mother had.) “How like a barn!” ”And how very cold!” Couldn’t have said it better E.M. A dear friend had told me that a while back, he had approached San Miniato al Monte from just the right angle and been captivated; well at 10 AM I tried and was confronted with a grey sky and sun into my eyes/camera, leaving me disraptured.
I was not about to hike up; I recall going up when I was 21 but by 2-stroke,
of which there are too many today, and thought I’d save my knees. So onward down the right bank of the Arno, past the Uffizi and Palazzo Vecchio,
Ponte Vecchio
and fancy/schmancy stores to Santa Maria de Carmine, where I lit a candle I’d promised one of my old friends to, in her favorite church here.
For a non-Catholic, the choice of where to light it posed some issues, so I picked the candle-stand in front of the statue of the guy Dono Vasco Meini, because he looked like Jerome Groopman, the sort of expert whose help she needs.
After a pause-café (a nice French expression) I entered the Trattoria Camillo where I’d dined very well six months ago. I started to order the very same things but shifted to fried veal brains instead of chicken, which was probably a mistake, since they needed a jolt of something that August’s chicken did not. The fried green tomatoes (previously marinated in vinegar) and zucchini blossoms (in February mind you; shame on you for breaking the Slow Food pact) were quite good with a bit of salt. The bill with wine, water, grappa and coffee (but no dessert) was 41 E.
On the way back to my hotel (which for future reference was the Domus Florentiae (right near Maria Novella)
and had a most spacious room for Expedia’s el cheapo) I felt like Saul on the Road to Damascus, blinded by the first sun in two weeks after days of snow, sleet, ice, rain and grey. I thus saw the Arno and Ponte Vecchio in sunlight and the column with the statue of Justice standing against a fully clear blue sky.
Dinner was at a place recommended to me by a guy (who lives part-time in Rome) that I’ve eaten with maybe 20 times and with whom I think I always agree. And it was horrid. The “Decima Musa” has been open just two years and was 20% full, almost all with our friends who have the Power of Yen (how do I get their guidebook?) I had the tempura of gambas, whose batter was not burned but had a burned-taste. It came with an accompanying salad whose dressing was tart and after one taste, unapproachable. For my main I had a risotto – OK, admittedly, I wasn’t in Risotto-land – but with seafood that was expensive, it should have been great. Nope! Rice so undercooked it wasn’t al dente but al raw-way. Seafood one had to pick out of the mound of uncooked rice, like one did with a Coney Island grabber claw. Wine OK (with pix of lady on it like Yulia, the PM of Ukraine), water OK; but are wine and water why we come? Bill = 36 Euros (Boy - am I glad Colette doesn’t read my blog).
Recent Comments