It wasOctober2001,twoweeksshyofmy
21stbirthday.I washeadedtoFlorencefrom
Providence,RhodeIsland,whereI wasdoingmy
bachelor’sdegreeinFineArt,tospenda semester
inanItalianprintmakingstudio.I hadjusta
suitcaseanda fewItalianlessonsbehindme.
I hadnoideawhereI wouldstaythenight,let
aloneliveforthenextfewmonths,buta cheap
bedina villarunbynunsdidthetrick,andI
scouredexpathangoutsforhandmadesigns
advertisingroomsforrentuntilI founda warm,
quirkyshare-apartmentnearSantaCroce.When
I firstwalkedinandsawthreesmilinggirlsfrom
Mexico,ChileandDenmarkcookinginthe
kitchentogether,I knewit wastheplaceforme.
It raineda lot– it wasautumnandNovember
is a historicallysignificantmonthforfloods–
buteventhecold,wetdayscouldn’tdampenmy
enthusiasmaboutabsolutelyeverythingaround
me.Yes,I wastherefortheartandthehistory,
butI foundjustaboutanyreasontofallinlove
withFlorence,andultimatelyit wasthelittle
thingsthatI foundsoexquisitelyirresistible.
Thereflectionsofpalazziindeeppuddlesof
unevenpavement.Cappuccinimadebya white-
moustachioed,bow-tiedbarista.Sticky-bottomed
cornettipumpedwithstill-warmpastrycream,
handedoverat thebackdoorofa bustling,
unmarkedbakeryintheweehoursofthe
morning.Thetwinkling,curlystreetlightsin
PiazzaSantaCroceat night-timeasI walked
home.DuringtheSundaymarket,theoldcouple
inPiazzaSantoSpiritothatveryslowlymake
necci,warmchestnutflourcrêpesrolledupwith
sheep’s-milkricottaandwrappedinpaper.Little
roundglassesofredwinethatwarmthecheeks
aftergettingcaughtinthepouringrain.Learning
howtoappreciateunsalted,staleTuscanbread.
I wasbesottedwithFlorenceafterthat
beautiful,wetautumn,soa fewyearslaterI came
backtoexperiencethecityinalltheotherseasons
andfoundevenmorewaystofallinlovewithit
alloveragain(andthistimearound,a handsome
Tuscan sommelier was involved; his presence
contributedtomyFlorentineloveaffair,and
I latermarriedhiminsidetheredtapestry-draped
roomofPalazzoVecchio).
A warm,steamingpaninoofboiled
lampredotto,abomasumtripe,drippingwith
salsaverdeandchilli,eatenonthestreetasa
mid-morningsnack.Boiledchestnutsdipped
inredwine.Fabulouselderlysignoredressedin
theirbestfloor-lengthfurcoatsforanafternoon
passeggiataunderthecity’sChristmaslights.
A missiontotrytheribollita,a wintrycavolo
nero,beanandstalebreadsoup,ineverytrattoria.
Discoveringwhitetrufflesona humblefriedegg.
Thechillofmid-Februarybrightenedupwith
sweet(usuallydeep-fried)thingsdustedinsugar.
Thesightoflong-stemmedpointedTuscan
artichokesspillingoutoftheircratesat themarket
andwatchingthehillsaroundFlorencecometo
lifewithspringcolours.Thecreamiestfreshricotta
ever.Broadbeanpodsina baskettopeelandeat
rawwithpecorinowhilewaitingonpasta.Easter
holidays,feasting,fireworks.Wisteriaperfuming
unexpectedplaces.
SeriouslygoodtomatoesandSaturnpeaches
thatmakesweltering,humidsummers,crowdsand
mosquitoesallworthit.Ripemelonlayeredwith
prosciuttoasanentiremeal,andalternatingthat
withpanzanellasaladformonths.Gelatomore
thanoncea day.Aperitivo.Longdayswith
late-nightstrollsalongtheriverandrooftopbars
tocooloff.Small,green,jammyTuscanfigsand
wildporcini(sometimeswitha fewundesirable
tenantsinthem).Succumbingtoschiacciata
all’uva,sweetfocacciamadewithwinegrapes,
seedsandall,at anyFlorentinebakeryin
September.Ruby-tintednewwineandthennew
oliveoil,justpressed,sludgyandimpossiblygreen,
ontoastedTuscanbreadwitha pinchofsalt(the
bestsnackeverinvented),signallingautumn.
I couldnotbeartoleaveandkeptfinding
excusestostaylongertodoit alloveragain.
Thatyearseemstohaveturnedinto 15 – and
I stillhavenottiredoffalling in love with
Florence every season.➤Aloveletterto...
FLORENCE
by Emiko Davies