How my first meal in Italy changed me forever. For real.
- Allora Andiamo
- May 3, 2020
- 7 min read
Updated: Jun 19, 2020
I went to Florence for the holidays - alone. It changed my life.
There is so much I want to share with you all about my experiences traveling to Europe alone in the past two years. And I will. But I want to give special attention to what happened to me during my first few hours in Italy, and how it changed me. I know, I know... this might seem like an overworked cliche: work-weary, middle-aged North American goes to Italy, eats, wears stretchy pants, finds herself...but most cliches are grounded in truth, and let me tell you this. My body moved from a state of tight-necked skepticism to an overwhelming state of yes! - all within my first 3 hours in Florence. All thanks to my first dining experience that was graciously offered by the patient and kind staff at my hotel.
My flight? Let's just say that the ending was the best part. This was my first time overseas in many years, and I didn't understand just how tight the personal space would be in an economy window seat on Swiss Air (more about seat/airline selection in a different post). I did not sleep at all, and my neighbour was not polite. My legs had been cramping from being crammed in the seat, and for most of the 10 hour flight from SFO to ZRH, I worried that I had made a terrible, expensive mistake. (I refer to it now as my 10-hour ride on a torture tube.)
When I arrived, I was all the things I normally am after any fight, amplified by a factor of 5: aching, anxious, bloated, exhausted, dehydrated, dirty - and hungry. I roared through the check in process and threw my bags in my room, cleaned up as best as I could, and sought food. I chose the Grand Hotel Minerva partially because of the reduced rate during the holiday season (which surprised me, honestly) and its location; it's wonderfully located in Piazza Santa Maria Novella and a stone's throw from the train station. As I was booking this last minute trip, part of that discount appeared to be connected to the fact that I was arriving at 7 PM on Christmas Eve.
I thought that was a great idea at the time, but what I didn't account for was how difficult it would be to find food when I arrived, tourist mecca or not. Thankfully, the hotel had a restaurant. So I went downstairs to see if they could feed me something -- anything that I could take quickly that would tide me over until morning so that I could collapse into bed and not be tormented by hunger pangs. I was searching for the typical West-to-East, post-flight food we Americans look for in our hotel barrooms after we get in a little late from the coast. It's quick, unremarkable food. Full of carbs. Meant to knock you out.
The front desk staff explained politely (in English) that the restaurant had been fully booked for the evening (of course it was - Christmas Eve!) but that they'd be happy to serve me in the open bar area of the lobby. I said to the waiter who came over that I needed something quick to eat, so that I could fall asleep quickly, because I have just arrived for my first visit to Italy all the way from California and have been awake for 21 hours. He nodded gravely.
He brought me a menu and I asked for his recommendation given my situation, and he suggested the risotto. "Fine," I said. I then asked for water. "Still or sparkling?" "Sparkling." He asked if I would like to enjoy a glass of wine while waiting for my meal. "Sure," I said. "Any house red is fine," I told him again that I needed this to be quick because I needed to sleep. He nodded gently, and went back to his station. I took a seat. Another server set my small coffee table with a thick paper placemat and napkin, and gold-colored flatware. I barely acknowledged it.
The lobby of the Grand Hotel Minerva is graciously appointed in an elegant, old-world color scheme, with velvet couches and chairs, ample fresh floral arrangements, and mirrored walls. However, there is also a very faint scent of sewer (it is an historic hotel), especially near the front door, which is where I was seated. That, paired with the lingering jet fuel I had at the back of my throat from having to deplane in Florence on the tarmac, was not helping with hunger/exhaustion-induced nausea that was floating into my awareness - along with a slight headache.
I was slumped in my luxurious club chair, impatiently swiping through all the social media posts of my friends who were cozy in their sewer-scent-free homes, bellies full with delights they sourced from their well-stocked fridges just a few footsteps away. Then I began being served.
First was the sparkling water. Sparkling water in Europe is different from the seltzers and club sodas of North America. Our fizz is more aggressive. Theirs is gentler and thus much easier to drink. The water is more flavored as well, and absolutely delicious cold. It immediately lifted me. Then he brought me a glass of Chianti Classico.
I wasn't prepared for how good this was. I looked again at the menu that he had left for me and saw that the most expensive wine by the glass was 10 euro. That didn't quite make sense to me given what I was tasting. When he passed by to ask me how I liked the wine, I smiled for the first time. I said, "This is absolutely delicious. Can you tell me a bit more about it?" He did. It was then I learned about the DOCG and DOC winegrower appellation system based on geographical zones, and the controls that are put in place to protect both growers and consumers. I was sampling a Classico from a DOCG area not too far from where I was sitting. I said, "Wow. This is better than any casual glass of California wine I've ever had back home." It was true. I thanked him, smiling. He returned my smile, visibly buoyed by my more relaxed demeanor.
I was about to text my wine connoisseur cousin back in Canada about what I had just tasted, when my waiter arrived with some other servers who were carrying some small plates. "Courtesy of the Chef," he said. "As a welcome to our hotel."
They expertly arranged them on my small table. My waiter explained that the chef had selected these items based on the season, and that, in Tuscany, people care a lot about seasonal eating. The breads had been handmade by their chefs, and all of the ingredients, including the eel, were sourced from the region surrounding Florence.
As you can see by the photo above, they were absolutely beautiful to behold, but the taste? That was again something I was not prepared for. The flavors where symphonic. They were earthy, real, and perfectly balanced. Yes, the concept and cooking techniques were French/fusion, but this wasn't conspicuous consumption cuisine. To me, the food tasted fresher, lighter, older, and deeper. (The food quality in Europe is far superior to that of the USA - I can taste it in everything from the street food, to the tap water - especially in Roma!)
This was food from the earth upon which I was standing. It was created by hands and hearts that had been cultivating and combining these flavors for centuries -- by people who understand the importance of nourishment - in situ.
With each small bite, I started to understand what Italy was about, and why my desire for a quick, American-style post-travel hotel-barroom meal was not only incompatible with where I was now, it simply didn't exist. There was no way to wolf down the food I was presented with. It deserved reverence. As I was eating, every part of my being improved. This meal was gently and joyfully erasing the damage done to my body from the ride on the torture tube, and validating my decision to take this trip.
This was no utilitarian fare. This was food meant to energize and invigorate.
This is the right way to experience food - and by, extension, life. I had been living like a typical American in America: work first, life second. American food is utilitarian, used to fill, forget, or impress: a means to justify our end - and a premature one at that!
By the time my waiter came back, I was a changed woman.
Physically, I felt fantastic. My spirit? Found. I thanked him and the rest of his colleagues for these gifts and apologized for being short with him before. I told him that these were some of the most incredible flavors I had ever tasted, and that I was looking very much to the risotto. I asked for another wine recommendation, white this time to go with the risotto, and a young woman came by with a fresh glass and a chilled bottle.
There are really no words for the Sauvignon Blanc/Semillon blend from Umbria, and how it paired with the pumpkin, nutmeg and chestnut risotto that came next. They were a perfect next phase of the celebration that this meal had become. I had become very chatty and friendly with all of the wait staff, and thanked them again (with a generous tip, this time.) The bill was astonishingly less than I expected. I finished with one more glass of the white before I headed back to my hotel room.
Except I wasn't tired anymore. I was invigorated. I was enamoured. I felt as if I had just fallen in love! It was nearly 11 PM. So I changed into a winter skirt and blouse, tidied up a bit, and walked through the streets of Florence to partake in part of the midnight mass that was happening at the Duomo. This was the scene that met me as I strolled through Florence for the first time.
After experiencing 40 minutes of the service (and the beautiful choral performances), I decided to head back to my hotel to get some rest. (Breakfast was at 8 AM and what delights would be awaiting me there?!) As I was walking back, midnight church bells from all around the city began to chime. I felt as if I were walking through a film set, joyfully accepting the best gift I had ever given myself, and truly grateful for the artisans who had worked to prepare the food that served as my initiation into this new way of seeing my life.
There's so much more to tell about my first visit to Florence. But I will never forget my first meal and what it taught me - a lesson that has remained true:
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