Had our first Florentine breakfast today in the hotel. This hotel's buffet breakfast was miles above the one in Rome. Not that we had any problems with the other breakfast, but wow, did we have a lot of choices here. Two kinds of cereal, milk, two kinds of yogurt, pastries, croissants, fruit, cheeses, meats, bruschetta, juices, you name it. I opted for a little cereal, a croissant and piece of coffee-type cake and some bruschetta. Weird combo, but I dug it.
We then headed to our meeting spot on the Arno River to hook up with our tour guide Nathalie. We had no idea what to expect, but we were hoping she would be fun. She showed up looking very European, speaking very good English, but with an accent I couldn't quite place. She taught us the customary greeting ritual of kissing the cheeks, always starting left cheek to left cheek first, and showed us to her rental car, a yellow Fiat. She said she normally had a bigger SUV type car for the tours, but her neighbor had run into it, and it was in the shop. Crazy Italian drivers. So, she would be driving the much smaller Fiat for the day. It really wasn't a bad size, not much smaller than my Lancer, but she seemed very concerned that we wouldn't like it, due to our big American/SUV-driving ways.
Nathalie turned out to be a hoot and pretty much didn't stop talking the entire day. It didn't bother us at all because she was very entertaining, but unfortunately I can't remember all of what she had to say. She did tell us that she was Swedish/Italian, hence the accent I couldn't place. Her parents were Italian, but after she was born they moved to Sveeden (as she pronounced it 400 times), and since then, she returned to Italy. So, she speaks at least 3 languages. Hey, I speak 3 languages too, if by "speak" it you mean that I throw out random phrases now and again.
On the drive, Nathalie explained the Italian man situation to us. You see, Italian men are great to date. Fantastic in fact. However, they are not exactly marriage material until they're getting up there in years. Italy is all about family, and the men continue to live with their mamas well into their 4th and even 5th decades. It's considered customary. And Italian mamas are very judgmental, controlling and all around cantankerous toward the women. But, they do the dishes, the laundry and the cooking, so what man in his right mind would leave such a sweet set up? Any single girl has to prove her worth in her tomato sauce! :)
But, she did clear up a few things about the Costa situation. His forwardness, (even though he's not technically Italian), is a gesture of flattery. And it should be taken that way, rather than being creeped out. Uh, okay. It was still a bit over the top!
Also, Italians don't divorce. It's financial and social suicide. Because of the family vibe, it's severely frowned upon, which is probably why it's so bloody expensive. Nathalie said that's why a lot of Italians get a reputation for having affairs. They have to. They can't get divorced. So, they live in the same house as their spouse, but they don't actually "live" with them.
I'm rethinking this whole living in Italy thing. I don't think I can handle a 30+ year old man living with his mother, nor affairs just happing willy nilly. Don't worry, I wasn't seriously thinking of moving over there anyways.
Back to the tour. We first crossed the river and headed up in the "Beverly Hills" of Florence, where all the schmany people live, to a popular make-out, I mean look-out, spot. You could see all of Florence from here, and despite the morning fog, it was gorgeous.
Ancient ruins of a wall built by the Medici family. The Medici's were pretty important people in Florence, back in the day.
If only it were sunny out!
Hopped back in the car to head to our first winery of the tour. Nathalie was actually a good driver and didn't scare the bejeezus out of us. She was actually quite timid at some points. I was a bit surprised. She did warn us at one point that we would be getting on the highway, but only for 5 minutes. This highway? Not a highway. At least not a highway like we think of it. It just felt like a normal 4-lane street in St. Louis. Tuscany is much more relaxed than the states, or even Rome. I kinda dig it.
I will admit now that I might be a bit fuzzy on some of the details of the day, including names of places we went, etc. I drank a lot of wine and I was on allergy medicine. But, none of you will know the difference anyway. :)
We passed through the small town of Greve, which I believe is where Nathalie herself lives, to head to a Tuscan castle, Castello di Vicchiomaggio, used as a hotel and for weddings and the like. We didn't do any tastings here, but we did get to see some of the beautiful countryside Tuscany has to offer. We happened to arrive in Italy not long before the flowers would start to bloom, so unfortunately, we didn't get to see too much color.
We next headed to our tasting within the same area with a lovely view of the Tuscan countryside. Oh hey, off in the distance, there is a certain piece of land that looks vaguely familiar. (Okay, not really, but go with me here.) Yes, this S-shaped curve of land. Yeah, that's in the background of the Mona Lisa. Da Vinci happened to paint the famous portrait in this very area, and the hillside we were looking right at, was also in the painting. Holy crap. That's awesome.
But no, I didn't actually get a picture of it. It would be the one photo I didn't take.
The doors at our first stop. Original doors, aged I don't even know how many years, rubbed with olive oil once a year to preserve them.
I should mention that this is the Chianti Wine tour. If you don't drink wine, Chianti is the region we were currently in, and also the name of the grape used to make the wine. It's also a red wine. Now, if you've read my blogs before, you will know that I'm not a fan of red wine. Kinda tastes like an old sock sometimes. But, I figured I was in the heart of wine country, it wouldn't hurt to try them!
We started with a Chianti Classico, I think, and I finished like a champ. I didn't hate it, but I didn't love it. Our next was a super Tuscan, and I thought it was a bit better. I can't tell you why it was better though. Maybe I just loved the name. The third, wait, was there a third drink? Good grief, I can't remember. I think we tried 3 different reds, but they all lumped together and starting tasting exactly the same. I do know that we tried a sweet wine that is best drank with some almond cookies dipped in it. I kinda wanted to gag when I tasted it. It was really sweet, but not in the way I usually like my sweet wines. It was almost too sugary. I don't know, but I did not like it. I drank it anyways because I didn't want to be rude. I think Brenda liked it, but Nikki couldn't finish hers.
Our wine lady was French, and a bit hard to understand at times. I'm not a wine person, so some of the stuff she was telling me was going in one ear and out the other. I really did try to pay attention though. A lot of good it's done me now.
The French lady kindly told me that I was holding my glass incorrectly. I should only hold it by the stem or the base of the glass because my hand temperature can compromise the wine. Dammit, I hold wine like I hold a beer. And when I tried holding by the stem I felt silly and like I was going to drop the bloody glass. I felt like a bull in a china shop.
We ended up pitching in to get a bottle of the Super Tuscan to take with us for lunch. Nikki and Brenda both bought some wine to bring home with them, but I wasn't blown away enough to do so.
We headed out to our next tasting and kinda started to fear for our lives.
I should explain.
For the past hour or so, Nathalie had been telling us about Roberta, pronounced Rrrrrrroberta! (Roll your r's, this seemed to be very important.) And Roberta was known to everyone as the Wine Nazi, a crotchety old woman that seemed to either have a multiple personality disorder or was bipolar, based on Nathalie's description. It was important not to cross Roberta, in any way, shape or form.
In Italy, you couldn't really fire anyone without reasonable cause, and even though she had alienated herself from everyone at the winery she worked at, they technically couldn't fire her for being ornery. So, instead, they gave her her own shack on the main road away from the main winery. And there, she couldn't bother, harm or maim anyone.
Good grief, we're going to taste wine from this lady?
Fortunately, Nathalie was good enough friends with her that she assured us we would be fine. We had to make sure we praised the good looks of the dude on the wine bottle and chug our tastings very quickly. She didn't like dawdlers. Noted.
By now, we were straight up terrified this lady was going to beat us to a pulp with a broken wine bottle if we looked at her cross-eyed. We walked in and she seemed cordial enough to Nathalie and they conversed briefly in Italian while Roberta prepped our glasses. We took our first swig and polished off the entire tasting in record time. Roberta seemed pleased enough and satisfied that we weren't dumb ingrates and poured our next one.
Roberta was finicky that day and did not want her picture taken. However, Nathalie was sneaky and got her in the shot anyways without her knowing. Good thing she didn't find out. She might have eaten my camera.
I can't remember how many wines we tasted here either, but we raved over each one so we wouldn't be found in a ditch 4 days later.
Faux landscape, in case you couldn't tell by the shadows and terrible lighting changes. Roberta thought it was a great place for a photo, so you bet your ass we took a photo in front of it.
Now, Roberta's winery, Castello di Verrazzano, doesn't just make wine. They also produce olive oil and balsamic vinegar. So, we would be tasting both. Nathalie informed us that Tuscans are very picky about their olive oil, and will only use olives at the peak of picking. They toss out any olives with even the tiniest of black spots, and press the olives for oil the same day they are picked. Talk about fresh.
I've never done an olive oil tasting before, and I had no idea you throw it back like a shot. Really? Olive oil shooters? That's crazy. Roberta poured a small round glass with a small amount of evoo for all of us to try, and Brenda and Nikki made me go first. Thanks guys. Roberta told me to stick my nose in and smell it before I got a taste. Whatever you say crazy lady. I took a sip and passed it on and it was actually good. Better than some of the olive oils I've gotten at the grocery stores.
She called that one the "Fiat" and pulled out another to try she fondly called the "Ferrari". I don't really know the difference in what makes one better than the other, but the Ferrari was slightly better. I ended up buying a small bottle of that to bring home with me. I also didn't want to leave empty handed, because I wasn't sure how well she'd take it.
We next tried some balsamic vinegar, aged for at least 12 years. Just so you know, the longer it's been aged, the better the balsamic vinegar, but you should definitely only get the kind that has been aged no shorter than the 12 years. You know, I honestly don't think I ever knew that bv was made from grapes. I just didn't ever really think about it. This stuff is very concentrated, so you don't need much to taste. In fact, she gave us all very tiny spoons with just a few drops each.
Wow, it was good. I mean really good. It went down so smooth and was unlike any balsamic vinegar I've ever tasted. Roberta said it was good on meats, but also fruits and ice creams. Say what? I have used this stuff in chicken recipes before and had it on steak, but I have never once considered using it on ice cream. That's going a bit too far Wine Nazi. Too far.
We did consider buying a bottle each, until she told us the price. Nearly 50 Euro. That's almost $70 for a tiny little bottle. Sorry Italy, not worth it to me. I don't use it that often!
We made it out of there with all of our appendages intact, and we all breathed a sigh of relief. I can see how it would seem she's pretty crazy, because some of the things she said were a bit weird, but I believe Nathalie was pulling our leg a bit on just how crazy she really was.
Next, we hopped back in the car to head to the village of Panzano where we would get to meet the famous crazy butcher. But, I'll get to him in a little bit. The tiny town square was bustling with inactivity and relaxation. There weren't many people around since it was getting pretty close to the lunch hour. Nathalie took us into one butcher shop to show us an authentic Italian mecalleria experience. Authentic indeed.
It was here that we tried a variety of salamis and cheeses. I've never been a big fan of salami, but I have to say the one with fennel inside was really effing good. I will probably never try salami again because none can compare to the one I had.
Also famous in Tuscany? Their terrible bread. If you go to Florence or the surrounding area of Tuscany and want some nice moist delicious bread, you will be sadly mistaken. It does not exist. Nathalie informed us that eons ago Florence and Pisa had a pretty bad ass war raging between them. Pisa had all of the salt and they decided to tax the living hell out of it when they sold it to Florence. Florence decided they could make do without salt from those damn Pisans?, Pisaites?, Pisanese? whatever, and said to hell with them. So, they started making saltless bread that tasted like shit. Obviously, there is no such war going on anymore, but the Florentines are a stubborn lot and decided they could still make do without salt in their bread. It's just a continual eff you to their neighbor to the north. Screw your pride, add some flavor to the damn bread!
Oh, and uh, you know how most people used to salt their meat to preserve and cure it? Well, since Tuscany didn't have any salt, they used to pee on it instead. Yep, straight up urinated. Right on the meat.
Rethinking that steak right about now, aren't you?
Speaking of steak, this is the famous Bistecca all Fiorentina, or the Florentine steak. It comes exclusively from the white cow and is considered to be one of the best steaks. She said it is best eaten mostly rare, but since it's not a bloody meat, it's not creepy. Considering it's expensive as hell, I'll probably pass for now.
Nathalie gave us some time to shop around the stores before we headed to our next stop, Dario's butcher shop, Antica Macelleria Cecchini. The crazy butcher. Dario is quite the famous butcher, supplying meat to celebs like Elton John, and being bff with Mario Batali and Jamie Oliver. He was also featured on Anthony Bourdain's show, No Reservations. So, yeah, this guy is good.
The reason he's now called the crazy butcher is because he buried part of a cow outside his shop. During the mad cow epidemic that swept the world, he became really depressed and decided to bury part of the cow outside his shop, get a priest to bless it, and add a new rose to the shrine every day, all in an effort to ward off the mad cow demons. He also likes to shave the hide and give the animal a bit of a spa treatment before he works with it. I wouldn't say he's crazy necessarily, maybe just eccentric.
And in Nikki's tipsiness, she said she would do that for us. Shave the meat.
Um.
Ok. I don't want dive into that one.
The memorial.
We walked into the shop and it wasn't that overly large, but it was full of charm and personality. Dario had painted it in stripes of red and white to symbolize the red of the meat and the white of the fat. He's very dedicated to his craft, this Dario guy. Nathalie of course knows him and immediately introduced us all to him. He was incredibly friendly and very hospitable. One of his apprentices, Lorenzo, immediately poured us all a glass of wine, Chianti Classico of course, and urged us to sample the meats and cheeses sitting around. More salamis, more pecorino, you name it.
The shop.
And of course Tuscan bread! But, then we encountered something interesting to put on the bread. Dario called it Chianti butter. Hmmm, sounds interesting. It looked a bit paler than the butter I'm used to, but it looked sprinkled with spices and herbs. I spread some on my bread, and I was immediately hit with the salty flavor of animal fat. But, damn, it was good. What the hell is this stuff? It's like crack.
So yeah, Chianti butter is just lardo, or animal fat, mixed with his Chianti perfume, a mix of herbs and spices.
I just slathered bread with straight up spreadable fat. And it was good.
He was adorable.
Another tour group came inside at this point and it turned into Dance Party USA, only the Italian version. Our cups were dry, but Lorenzo was there to pour more wine. And then more wine, and then more wine. We never had a dry glass. Another assistant, Raphael, started carving some pork that was sitting next to the meat counter. He's been working with Dario for 9 years and has only recently been allowed to use the knife to carve. Dario is the only other one who uses the carving knife.
Don't touch the knife! But, wow, that pork was sooooo good. They had a mustard and a pepper jelly sauce to dip the pork into as well. My mouth is watering just thinking about how good this was.
So, the wine is flowing, the conversation is a humming, the music is rocking, and we are all dancing along. It was great. I loved every minute of it, and wish that more shops were like this here. The sense of community and harmony were so evident with these people. Nothing mattered but this moment of enjoying time together. I need more of that in my life.
Fun times!
More fun times!!
Dario gettin' jiggy wit it!
We decided it was probably about time to head upstairs to the restaurant for our lunch. Nathalie had mentioned that when McDonald's first came to Rome, Dario and many others rejected the thought of fast food and developed the Slow Food Movement. It's the idea that meals should not be rushed and should be enjoyed with good friends and good wine. So, he developed his own version of the Big Mac, calling it the MacDario meal. He was sued by McDonald's, so now it's just called the Dario. :)
Slow Food Movement!
Click on the photo to read his philosophy, but the meal consisted of a 1/2 pound burger in a crisp crumb crust (no bun here!), garlic and sage roasted potatoes (screw french fries!), vegetables and sliced onions (I could do without the onions), signatures sauces, Tuscan bread (for dipping in the olive oil) AND water (with or without bubbles).
They had another lunch option, but I don't even remember what it was. I just wanted to try the burger. We sat down at a large communal table filled with other people we had never met. It was just one large table with chairs on both sides, meant for people to get to know one another. We popped open our bottle of wine, and Dante filled little cups with some Chianti perfume and a drizzle of olive oil for us to dip fresh vegetables in.
This guy was great. He not only tossed a spoonful of the perfume stuff from across the table directly into our tiny cups, but he poured the olive oil from a high distance with no misses. All part of the experience folks. The perfume/evoo combo was heavenly. And so were the fresh vegetables. I don't think a carrot has ever tasted so damn good.
Wine? Check. Bread? Check. Evoo? Check.
Out came our burgers not too long after and it didn't look like any burger you would get at McDonald's, that's for sure!
I grabbed my knife and fork and tore into it. And it squirted me. I'm not joking. This thing was so full of juice and flavor, it literally almost squirted my eye out. There were lots of sauces available, including the same pepper jelly and mustard from downstairs, along with a Chianti ketchup. I loved the jelly so much, I slathered it onto my burger and took my first bite.
The heavens opened up. Angels sang. And I nearly wept. How can such a simple thing like a burger taste so magical? I have never in my life tasted ground cow that tasted so damn good. Even the cattle we raised back home that I always compare beef to did not compare to this burger. It was juicy, but not bloody, not greasy, and cooked to perfection.
I kind of left the onions in their place, but gobbled up the potatoes and veggies. This is by far the best burger I have ever had in my life. I don't eat Big Macs, can't really stand them to be honest, but if I did like them, I would probably never eat one again in my life. In fact, I may never be able to have any burger again, this has ruined all other burgers for me.
Okay, that's going a bit far. I don't think I'll go to that extreme.
The rest of the lunch progressed with more laughter, more wine and just a damn good time had by all. This is how all meals should go. After lunch, they brought us a pound cake type thing that was made with olive oil instead of butter to go with espressos, if we so desired. I'm not a coffee person, and neither is Brenda, but she tried one anyways. I tasted a sip of hers, but I'm glad I didn't get one. I wouldn't have been able to finish it.
It was about time to head out, but not before we used the bathroom. It was in a secret chamber directly behind Brenda. What looked like a painting on the wall actually housed the secret door to the bathroom. Clever man, that Dario. We headed back downstairs, full, but not stuffed, and more than a little tipsy. The music had died down some and the butcher shop was relatively empty, so we took a few minutes to get pictures with our new famous butcher. Do you think I'm as popular as Elton John and Dario will send me some meat? It could happen.
Even the bathroom is in red and white stripes. Notice the flush buttons on the wall.
Lorenzo and Dario. They were both good huggers. I think I still had their grip marks on my waist for 20 minutes. Dario said we all had good meat. I think I will use that from now on. Instead of saying, "no, I haven't worked out in 3 months", I will say "I have good meat!"
Sadly, we had to leave Dario and his hospitality, but not before I bought a small jar of the Chianti perfume and the pepper jelly. I can't wait to make my own veggie dipping sauce with the evoo I bought earlier!
So, we were pretty damn giggly at this point, but we still had one winery left on our tour, Montagliari. We walked in and Nathalie took us to the back where they ferment the wine in large barrels. She explained about the small opening at the bottom of the barrels where actual men have to shimmy inside to clean the barrels. Let me tell you that my 6-year old niece would have difficulty climbing through that little hole, let alone a grown-ass man.
Apparently, there are small Sicilian men who are specially trained how to twist and manipulate their bodies so they can fit into that tiny hole. There aren't many men in the world who can do it. Women are excluded because they have a couple of protrusions on their chest that tend to hinder the wiggling process. Man or woman, sounds like a crappy job to me.
She took us to the wine cellar next where they store their extra wine reserves. Most of it is too old to be drinkable, but it's kept for collectors. I don't understand the concept of collecting a bottle of wine you can never drink. Especially when you pay a lot for it.
We headed into the tasting area next and I couldn't tell you if we tasted 1 or 100 wines at that point. (It's amazing that I remember a lot of the details of the day, but not how many wines we tasted...) I do remember the Grappa though. Ohhhh, the Grappa. It was the last thing we tasted, and it was a mixture of rubbing alcohol and pure gasoline. Who drinks this crap?! And why? It was so awful, that I think I might have nightmares about it.
While the guy was pouring our drinks, he and Nathalie conversed in Italian, before he excused himself for a bit. Nathalie told us that they hadn't seen each other in awhile, and he had asked her "How long since you've had sex?"
What?
Italians are very friendly and very straightforward. This is a pretty common topic and not usually thought of with awkwardness. Wow. I don't think any of my friends that I haven't seen in months would really appreciate that being the first question I ask them when I see them.
Our tastings were over, so we bid the Chianti countryside arrivederci and piled back into the car. My allergies had been a hot mess all day, and that, along with the wine, I was starting to get a bit of a headache. Nathalie drove us back home, taking a more scenic route than the one we came in on. And on this scenic route, she proceeded to tell us we'd be looking for hookers.
Say what? Can this day get any weirder?
She said that some unfortunate women from Senegal, or some other African country, came to Italy and turned into prostitutes. Whether that was their original plan or not, I don't know. They would sit in plastic chairs along this road and wait for men to pull up alongside them. They would negotiate their fee and then head down into the concealed brush to conduct their business. Nathalie seemed determined to find one or at least a deserted car.
Success!! Not only did we see an empty chair on the road, but we also saw a few suspicious looking abandoned cars just randomly dotted along the roadside. I would have never thought anything of it, but Nathalie seemed pretty tickled and pleased with herself.
She also informed us that a "blowie" could cost around 10 Euro. I don't know why she knows this.
I can't believe I came all the way to Italy to go on the hunt for Senegalese prostitutes. My life is complete now.
But, all in all, this day was magical. And not because of the wine. Okay, maybe a little bit because of the wine. The people that we met and the lives that they lead were fascinating, and a pleasure to be a part of, even for just a day. We parted ways with Nathalie, but not before exchanging e-mail addresses and promises of becoming facebook buddies. She knew her stuff and was an absolute delight. She's going to get one hell of a review on Trip Advisor!
After an afternoon cat nap to shake off the foggy stupor we were in, we headed to dinner by just looking for a restaurant close to our hotel. The winner was Polle D'Oro. I ordered the ravioli rose, ravioli filled with spinach and cheese in a creamy tomato sauce. I really think I'm going to miss this food when I leave, despite the ridiculous amount of carbs they contain.
The rest of the evening was pretty tame and quiet, and I found that I had some trouble sleeping due to my long nap. Oh well, lots of art to see tomorrow.
Oh wait, how could I forget some more of Nathalie's words of wisdom. She told us two slang words for a man's nether regions. One is pesce, which is technically the word for fish. So, if a man asked us if we liked meat or fish, we were to adamantly declare meat. That's so funny, because it's the complete opposite in the US. The other term is fava, as in fava beans. I'll never be able to hear that term ever again and not giggle to myself.
Oh, and urine was also used to lighten dark hair. I think I'll stick to boxed hair dye, thankyouverymuch.
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