lunch at the Belcore

We strolled across the river, up and down the somewhat deserted streets (All Saints Day. Holiday. No traffic. Perfect for walkers.), did a few errands, and ended up at the Belcore for lunch. It was definitely worth coming back to. Lovely setting, impeccable service, delicious food and drink. The decor is crisp and tailored; white walls, wonderful terra cotta tile floor, blue and white linens and china. You are welcomed by a glass of something fizzy, perhaps Asti Spumante, and are served another glass of something port-y after lunch, along with two tiny almond biscotti. I thought the wine was Vin Santo - a luscious sweet wine we had on our last trip - but the waiter said no, told me what it was but I didn't understand what he said so it is a mystery. They also served a special appetiser, a tiny artichode quiche that was so rich and creamy I could have made a meal of 5 or 6 of them alone. As it was, I had tortelli with porcini and truffles and the Patient had penne in a fresh tomato sauce. Splendid all around. We toasted MAS for this recommendation - several times.

I have had my coffee, made in that physics-defying Italian coffee pot, my bread, a clementine of luscious sweetness and some of the most delicious yogurt ever (Swiss), and am ready for a Friday adventure. Today it is bright, sunny and cold. We will either take the bus up to Fiesole for lunch at Le Lance, take the double decker bus around Florence (although we may freeze upstairs) and then lunch at restaurant recommended by friend PD who studied here during her junior year of college and returns regularly, or visit a couple of churches we have passed by but not yet investigated. No matter what you decide to do, there are so many diversions along the way that you may never get to your intended destination but you will have had a fine time anyway. I love wandering down the dark narrow streets. There, right in the middle of the darkness will be the brightly lighted window of a shoe shop or a restaurant or a greengrocer. It's like finding a little jewel in the coal dust. And even in the darkest alleys there will be pots of struggling geraniums or, at this time of year, cyclemen hanging off wrought iron balconies, reaching for some light.

I can't believe that we have to pack up tomorrow for our much-too-soon departure. Much left undone, unseen, uneaten. Those things are for the next trip.