Il Ritrovo
A recommendation from the other board whose name may not be spoken.
Simply put, Il Ritrovo is the kind of restaurant everyone wants to find in Florence. Located in the heart of the city (4 via di Pucci, which is two blocks directly north of the Duomo), but undiscovered by tourists. Marco and his wife run the restaurant themselves and serve up some of the best classic Florentine food in the city. I invited Marco (the most charming and accomodating host/chef I have ever had the pleasure of meeting) to join eGullet -- hopefully he will post something soon. Located two blocks from our hotel (the lovely Il Guelfo Bianco), we ate here three times.
Florence means beef, and more specifically, the divine chianina beef. For those who have not had the pleasure, chianina beef is the most succulent sweet beef in the world. Florentines serve up mammoth portions of this rare treat at a song -- and when it is at its best, chianina beef erases all memories of New York and Buenos Aires. True, the fine minerally taste of well-aged American beef is absent in aged chianina, but the unique sweetness of the beef more than compensates. It's like Mantle vs. Mays -- both perfect in their own ways.
Recounting three meals would be repetitive, so I will condense. Marco makes the best (and I mean THE BEST) tagliata di manzo in Florence. Each element stands out, yet melds perfectly in true Italian tradition. The beef, grilled perfectly rare, is so sweet and tender. The ruccola was extremely fresh and the pecorino -- well, I've never had pecorino this good before. This is my perfect meal. I could eat this every day of my life.
Parmigana di melanzane. First, there is Marco's pomodoro to consider. For those that have been to Rao's -- imagine Rao's sauce, but even sweeter and more tomato-flavored at the same time, lighter but more intense. The melenzane was sliced extremely thinly, the cheese was deelply flavored and worked in perfect harmony with the vegetable and the sauce. Best of breed -- worldwide.
Bistecca. Just the name gets me salavating. The heart pounds a bit harder. This is steak for real meat eaters. Huge and blood rare. Like the best Florentine restaurants, Marco prices his by the 100g (a remarkable 3.50 euros per). Let's put it another way, for some of the best beef in the world, perfectly prepared -- $16.70 per pound at current exchange rates. Unlike most restaurants in Florence, Marco serves a bone-in rib steak. Perhaps not as costly a cut of beef, but I personally love the cut. And, it has more beef on it per pound than a T-Bone, especially in Florence where the cuts are not trimmed as finely. Perfectly cooked, deeply flavored. A bistecca to remember for sure.
Wine. The usual suspects. A great Rosso di Montalcino for every day, and a very good Vino Nobile for the bistecca. Marco's freshly baked cantuccini were some of the best we had on our trip, and for our last meal, Marco poured a very fine vino santo from Antinori for us.
A few practical notes: Il Ritrovo is located in the basement of the Palazzo Pucci. There is only a small opening with steps descending to the front door, so it is easy to miss. Their menu is inside the opening and is the only suggestion that a restaurant lies within. At the bottom of the stairs, the door is generally locked -- ring the buzzer to your right to get in. The restaurant is rarely crowded, and reservations are not needed.
Sostanza
The main event.
Located down a narrow street, you would not think that this humble storefront (looks more like Katz's deli than a steakhouse) was the gateway to a carnivore's paradise. It is populated by Italians (exclusively on our visit) and everyone sits a communal tables. A real test for both my Italian language and diplomatic skills. As a rejoinder to Steve P.'s comment about Italian cuisine, I said in an earlier thread that haute cuisine is particularly French, and thus unfair to subject the sovereign cuisine of Italy to its mandate. Haute cuisine might be the best expression of the culinary arts, but the communal table at a real Italian trattoria is the perfect expression of the dining experience. There is a sense of community and a true spirit of hospitality that is unique to Italian restaurants. Let's call it "ospitalita alta".
The only dish worthy of discussion from our meal was, of course, the bistecca. Sostanza is a very long and narrow restaurant, with one isle leading from door to kitchen. I sat right next to the kitchen door, where I could witness the chef butcher each bistecca to order. I was entranced, and he noticed and we joked a bit before our meal began. When it came time to butcher ours (we specifically requested one steak, again at a remarkable 34 euros total), I kept moving his mark out. The final product was about 3 inches thick, post grilling. The beef was by far the best I had in Florence. The most deeply flavored and the most perfectly cooked. The seasoning was note perfect and the charred exterior approached and even passed Luger's (depending if you ask me or my wife). If you force me to choose one steakhouse in the world, I would still choose Luger's -- nothing I have had matches their beef for flavor or texture. But only by a hair. And Sostanza could correctly be summarized as "twice the beef and half the cost."
The Branacci Chapel used to be my favorite thing in Florence. No more.
Latini
Latini is an experience.
We made a 9:30 reservation through our hotel, but when we arrived, there were about 60 people pressed up to the door as if the Pope was having dinner with David Beckham and the Queen. I made it to the front bar and said I had a reservation. By the time I got out (barely in one piece), I realized that I (a) had spoken to the wrong guy, and the (b) ten minutes, please wait outside line was just that, a line. Following a group of well-dressed Italians, I grabbed my wife and our dining companions (a Russian art student and her 10 year old son) and braved the crowd once more. Summoning up my best Italian accent, I secured our table much to the displeasure of the marauding masses left outside.
Our Russian friend (who, btw, endured thirty years of Soviet rule) described the Latini staff as Stalinists. She was right. Again, everyone eats a communal tables, and while you may be seated at a table at which diners are still eating, no one gets served anything until the entire table is cleared again. Our wait was about 30 minutes, after which time they were either going to serve me or I was going to eat the tardy diner sitting next to me.
Then the going got good. Linens were replaced. Silver set out. Glasses appeared. Water poured. A huge bottle of red wine (house vineyards in Chianti) was placed before us (at least a magnum, with the straw covering) -- drink as much as you want, it's all included! Then some bread. And a waiter.
"Prosciutto?" Si. Four more than generous servings appeared at our table. "Is it still shabbat?" asked Benjamin, whose adolescent views on religion are quite advanced. No, said his mom, and he dug into the cured meat with gusto. Very good stuff.
"Crostini?" Si. Plates of crostini groaning with pate or tomato appeared. Much better than the soggy mess at Sostanza.
"Pasta?" Si. Four bowls of ravioli were set before us. Pretty grim, I would say. Skip that.
Time for the meat. Half chicken for Ben, a huge veal chop for his mother. And, of course, bistecca for us. The meat was not nearly as good as Sostanza (or Il Ritrovo), and a bit overcooked -- more medium rare than my preferred "bloody as hell." But it would be best of breed in London, so I wasn't complaining.
To be fair, we were pretty much stuffed at that point, but our captors refused the bring the bill. First, cantuccini and vin santo. Then a bottle of sparkling muscato. Then, the bill.
Now I have to say that up until the time we got the bill (from a mountain of a man, I might add), I was pretty peeved at the staff. We were pushing 12:30am at this point, and poor Benjamin really needed to get to bed. He barely ate anything post-antipasti. My wife was also very tired (although as that had resulted in me getting the lion's share of the steak, I was a bit conflicted). More to the point, our waiter had only spoken to us in English, which was particularly annoying since I was making the effort to speak Italian whenever possible. But when he brought over the "man who writes the bill", he leaned over and spoke to me in Italian (it appeared that he was speaking English for the benefit of my wife and our two Russian friends) -- "the boy didn't eat much, I'm only charging you for three."
So the bill arrived. 104 euros including taxes and service.
[More to come]
