Post card from Italy
Caffè Fiorenza’s intricate sculpting of ice cream stops traffic on Via Calzaiuoli. Photo: Steven Richter
Do you remember those liberating old rules for staying slim? Calories don’t count if you eat standing up. It’s not fattening if you nibble from someone else’s plate. Cake crumbs and broken cookies? Calorie-free. Even today, wise as I am, I drift into that never-never land that discipline may relax as soon as I get on a plane. Calories don’t conjugate above 10,000 feet. Warmed mixed nuts… too much salt… oh yum. Seconds. Are you insane? Yes.
At home, breakfast is no-fat yogurt with branny kibbles and bits and maybe a tangerine. No problem. No complaint. Now we’re in Italy, tagging along on a gastronomical discovery tour with chef Cesare Casella, and All-Bran topped with fruit – fresh, canned and dried – is just the amuse bouche at our hotel’s breakfast buffet. Dense crusty wheat bread, to slice and toast, is a fine excuse for a chunk of pecorino, and a small wedge of apricot tart is suddenly irresistible. And what was that perfume-y alcohol in the wondrously moist chocolate torta at breakfast in our Parma hotel?
Yes, deep down inside, I am fully aware that bread is 80 calories an ounce, or is it 85? But all bets are off for now. We’re overseas. We’re working. Waistbands are elastic. I must confess I’ve never tasted hot chocolate in New York but now I’m determined to have the thick melted chocolate at Cafe Rivoire on the Piazza della Signora. Alas, Michelangelo’s David is invisible – modestly wrapped in his own plastic shower curtain for restoration. Not even his gorgeous feet peek out. But it’s Monday so the Rivoire is closed. I’ve been saved from myself.
A relentless parade of panini at ‘Ino turns out to be our best lunch in Firenze. This smart little shop can be hard to find on an odd side street but it’s not far from the Ponte Vecchio or the Piazza della Signora. The refrigerated showcase of sandwich makings dominates the small front room with its cream walls, blond wood, arched stone ceilings. We’re early and Cesare and his Salumeria Rosi chef Meridith Sutton are late. Steven and I perch on stools at a counter along the wall next to a handsome display of sauces from Le Calandre (the three star restaurant near Padua I discovered as a two star our first winter in Venice). ‘Ino’s owner Alessandro Frassica offers a glass of wine and sends over a small bowl of “bagigi,” curry-flavored crunchies by Le Calandre.
At last. Cesare steps out of a cab. He stops at the plant stand outside – with its massed infant basil tendrils. But he’s got to have a sprig for his pocket. If his iconic rosemary isn’t available, basil will do.
Chef Sutton snaps the photo. “What will we have?” Our host is eager to dazzle.
Soft fresh raw milk pecorino arrives. And foccacia panini squares filled with melted cheese and mostarda salsa, salami rosa – they use guanciale and a tender piece from the hip (‘Ino’s perfectionist owner shows us where on his own hip) with pecorino and saffron, old style mortadella with, yes, pecorino and truffle, porchetta di tonno (tuna). Oh, so good. There’s a pause. Just when it’s enough and then beyond, Frassica arrives with another platter. Real mortadella with pistachio-studded pecorino. And after that, melted pecorino with basil, pine nuts and capers from Pantelleria (i.e. Sicily’s best). A bite should be enough. But of course it isn’t. We are sitting in the back room on stools around a table made from a barrel surrounded by merchandise: cookies, chocolate and coffee, ridiculously priced. “It’s all in the packaging,” says Cesare, caressing biscotti dressed for the Oscars. He wants to know where Frassica gets his china and apron. Other customers have eaten modestly, sipped wine or coffee, come and gone. At 2, the local cognoscenti are still arriving, clustered around the panini listing on the wall, everything priced from 5 to 8 euros ($8 to $10.75), and made to order. A glass of wine comes with the 12 euro meat and cheese platter.
‘Ino. Via dei Georgofili 3r. 39 055 219208
About Gael Greene
Photo: Steven Richter
In her role as restaurant critic of New York Magazine (1968 to January 2002) Detroit-born Gael Greene helped change the way New Yorkers (and many Americans) think about food.
"Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Ice Cream But Were Too Fat To Ask," "The Mafia Guide to Dining Out." and " Nobody Knows the Truffles I've Seen" were early pieces. In more recent years her annual roundup of New York City's dining favorites, Ask Gael, was a gourmand's collectible for many years and she continues to write a weekly Ask Gael column for NYM. Earlier she worked at the New York Post.
As co-founder with James Beard and a continuing force behind Citymeals-on-Wheels as board chair, Ms. Greene has made a significant impact on the city of New York. Citymeals, the largest public/private partnership in the country, has raised $200 million in its twenty-six-year history to help feed the city's frail elderly shut-ins.
Ms. Greene's memoir, "Insatiable, Tales from a Life of Delicious Excess" was published April, 2006. Earlier non-fiction books include "Delicious Sex, A Gourmet Guide for Women and the Men Who Want to Love Them Better" and "BITE: A New York Restaurant Strategy." Her two novels Blue skies, No Candy" and "Doctor Love" were NY Times best sellers.
Gael Greene
Articles used with permission of Gael Greene, Copyright 2008. All rights reserved. Steven Richter's photographs may not be used without permission.
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Gael Greene
Gael Greene's New York City Restaurant Reviews and more....
The NYC Insiders Guide
for women who aren't kids
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