That the cabbie who drove us from Bologna Aeroporto to Bologna Centrale called Firenze a gioiello (and if you know how miserly Italians can be with their compliments for cities that are not their own, you will understand how precious a word like that is, from a Bolognese...). That he reflected with us on all the pretty churches, and asked, when we told him what part of Florence we live in, whether Brunelleschi's Santo Spirito was really as beautiful as he had heard? So then, he must see it? Yes, we said. He must.
That this cabbie, when he asked what we did, and when we said editing, writing, etc., told us that he's a writer too, a songwriter. He mentioned, in passing, how he'd written songs for Fornaciari, some others. I asked if he sang his own songs too. He said he did. As we were getting out of the car, I asked if we could find any of his songs online. He said, basta cercare Davide Lucchini, e così mi trovi. Così I did.
That the fantastic sommelier at Vinacoteca was Marcos. At Casa Gonzalez there was sweet Ameen, at Triciclo the muy suave Luis, and at Bodegas Trigo, the ever-patient Jose and Cristina.
That you can look at a painting you have not thought about—not even once—in the fourteen years since you last stood in this very room and stared up at it. But somehow you must have carried quietly, weightlessly all these years, the things you loved about it. Because now they rise up like instinct. And suddenly it seems possible, that the girl you used to be, she might maybe recognize this person you have become. Maybe.
That godello can be sharp-edged and wide-winged in the mouth, acidity skimming in perfect symmetry off the sides of the back of your tongue before disappearing cleanly into a feeling of more. Or it can be ever so slightly cremoso, like someone sandpapered all the edges off the word ‘cool.’
That garnacha blanca, and istan blanco, and mencia too—they are not so bad either. (And that we'll soon find out about treixadura...)
That the van der Weyden really is in Room 58.
That when you watch Breakfast at Tiffany's at the 1920s art-deco cinema in Las Letras, it’s Desayunos con Diamantes.
That pan tostado con tomate still tastes as good as it did fourteen years ago.
That the fruit tree of Patinir's hell is quite possibly, the loveliest fruit tree you know.
That it is just as much fun to say “alcachofas,” as it ever was.
[Santo Spirito, Firenze]
[mercoledì 04 aprile 2018 ore 13:28:28] [¶]