At the end of a Florentine day…
Aperitivo at Abiko
… is a Florentine night. Starting with an impromptu tour of Santo Spirito (means a small group of my fellow students and I had some trouble finding an aperitivo bar), the aperitivo we did go to, at the stylish, minimalist Abiko, and courtesy of G, more than made up for the 20 minutes of wandering around, in my case, in heels… A gamble, I remember thinking when I put on my boots, having thought so often in the past month that Florentines must have really strong ankles considering the state, charming though it often is, of the paved, flagged or cobblestoned streets. But it went without mishap except for a wobble or two, which had nothing to do with the mojitos and cosmopolitans which were the order of the night, or the just gorgeous red I’d like to have a bit more of very soon…
Rigoletto at Teatro Comunale
And the experience of the opera for me, apart from the chance it gave me to Florentine watch, and to enjoy one of the best things there is – a conductor going ballistic, and the orchestra with him – can be condensed into the heart-wrenching Rigoletto and Gilda arias, “Piangi, fanciulla, piangi” and “Si, vendetta”. But it is, after all, my very first Rigoletto, a few more will no doubt deepen and broaden my appreciation.
Saturday night in Florence
Beginning with the last giuggiole of the season, which taste a little like apples and fit snugly into the centre of your palm, there was the bustle of introductions and translations, of parcels of paper being unwrapped, and knives thudding on wood and the scent of parsley rising; there were clams steaming on the stove, and black mussel shells throwing out sparks of light under running water; then the gathering of candles and forks and cheese and plates and sheets of paper into a basket; the muted clinking of bottles and glasses on the stairs to the terrace; and exclamations over domes, moon and night in Italian and English, through the makeshift arrangements of tables and chairs and tablecloths, surveyed and rearranged several times over, the laying out of crystal glasses and plates, and candelight flickering on the silverware, and the fragrance of basil crushed underfoot, between your fingers.
Dinner started with homemade sushi from Paola, who studies Japanese at university; then large platters, of linguine alle vongole (clams), and cozze (mussels), one in a tomato based sauce, the other in olive oil and parsley, following one after the other, courtesy of Katerina, who is a painter. There was her partner, Aldo, a Calabrian who likes to sprinkle the seeds of red chillis on bread soaked in mussel juice, and who spends his days in Florence restoring centuries old paintings; as well as others unfortunately lost in translation… for the moment anyway. The explanation of the rules of a complex game, which naturally I didn’t get, soon led people to disappear one by one and return masked and cloaked, giving rise to more laughter as the night played itself slowly out, finally ending, after cheese and grappa, at 1 am, with the walk home, which always surprises you with things you just hadn’t noticed were there, as you make your way slowly, with the last of the full moon, along narrow, dimly lit streets, across nearly deserted piazzas, over the silence of the river.
A great evening with people among whom, despite the language barrier, I can’t help but feel unquestionably welcome: making for one memorable Saturday night in Florence.
