Food – Studio Josie

The Italian Dish I Miss Most

A few weeks ago, I caught a nasty cold that had me housebound for a few days. I’ll admit that I’m a bit of a baby when it comes to being sick, so despite it not being Covid, strep, or the flu, I was (and still am) 99% sure it was worse than any cold I’ve had in recent history.

Over the week of my contagion, I consumed lots of ramen and vegetable broth to soothe my throat and offer my blocked nose a bit of relief. These are classic cold comforts, but as I slurped each noodle, I couldn’t help but crave a different comfort food. One that I hadn’t had in months.

It was my friend and former housemate Sabi who introduced me to tortellini in brodo. During our first semester living in Rome, we cooked together almost every night, exchanging recipes and techniques from our respective countries. She’s Italian, so a lot of my knowledge of Italian food comes from her — including how to make a killer tiramisù. And yet, the dish I’m most thankful to have learned about is tortellini in brodo, or, in English, tortellini in broth.

Tortellini hail from Italy’s central food haven, Emilia-Romagna. The region, which sits just above Tuscany and just below Veneto, is known for some of the country’s best, most archetypal foods, including Prosciutto di Parma, Parmigiano Reggiano, and real-deal balsamic vinegar. Bologna, its capital city, is equally as renowned for its food (and its enchanting porticoes). Think ragù alla Bolognese, mortadella, and, yes, tortellini.

The most traditional tortellini bolognesi are filled with Prosciutto di Parma, Parmigiano Reggiano, pork, mortadella, eggs, and nutmeg. However, you’ll find a variety of fillings, such as spinach & ricotta, in both pastifici (pasta shops), and in the grocery store — which is where my love affair with tortellini in brodo began.

Sometime during my first fall in Rome, I was at the grocery store with Sabi and my other housemate, Martina. We were shopping for the week ahead and were at a standstill in the fresh pasta aisle, eyeing the new array of seasonal Giovanni Rana ravioli. From truffle-filled to basil-tinted, we frequently went for Rana’s ravioli, but that day, we decided to change it up and go with tortellini filled with prosciutto crudo.

Giovanni Rana offers two types: sfogliavelo, which are smaller tortellini made with a thinner dough, and sfogliagrezza, which are a bit bigger and have a tougher dough. We went with the tiny sfogliavelo. They take only a minute to cook, and in my opinion, are far superior.

Sabi immediately knew what we were going to do with them. We would plop a few little broth cubes into boiling water and cook the tortellini in it. Then, we’d serve the tortellini and the broth together, sort of like soup. Tortellini in broth; it couldn’t be simpler.

In brodo is the most traditional way to eat tortellini in Bologna. You can find them served in various cheese, cream, or tomato sauces, but if you’re visiting Bologna and want to try a traditional dish, broth is the way to go. Usually, it’s a simple homemade meat broth, but veggie broth is equally acceptable. Regardless, the tortellini are the star of the show; the broth should be flavorful, but it should never overpower the tortellini themselves.

Later that week, when we finally cooked the tortellini, we each spooned some into our bowls and topped it off with some good old Parmigiano. I let it cool for a minute or so before taking my first bite. And then, as I slurped a little tortellino off the spoon, using my teeth to shave off some of the Parmigiano that had congealed and stuck to the metal, I found my Italian comfort food.

From then on, every time I went to the grocery store, whether it was with my housemates or alone, I found myself grabbing a bag or a little single-serve case of tortellini from the shelf. It quickly became an essential, a food I could prepare during my busiest nights that would never let me down. It gave me much-needed energy during my two week-long battle with mono, and it always felt like a healthier alternative to ramen with a side of scrambled eggs, which was a college staple of mine. No matter how much I ate it, tortellini in brodo never got old.

Sometimes, I’d branch out and try a different variety besides Rana. Doc, my favorite grocery store, always carried a fancy, Bologna-based brand I would occasionally splurge on. Every time I bought them, I could taste the difference in quality, and so, after a year of tortellini-eating, I knew I had to try the real stuff.

But finding tortellini in brodo in Bologna is much harder than you might think — at least it was for us.

In October of the following year, Sabi and I took a day trip to Bologna. It was a Sunday, and we took an early-morning train from Rome, arriving in the city around 10 a.m. We had nothing planned, besides climbing the Asinelli tower and finding a restaurant where I could eat tortellini in brodo and she could eat tagliatelle al ragù.

But it was a Sunday, and in Italy, everybody and their mother goes out for lunch on Sunday. So by the time all the trattorie opened up at noon, we found it pretty much impossible to find one that had an empty table.

We frantically searched on Google Maps to find somewhere, anywhere, that looked decent and had the two dishes we were looking for. Each time we found one, though, we arrived to find that there was no space. “Mi dispiace, ragazze!” over and over. We were stressed, but it’s impossible to be too stressed in a city as beautiful as Bologna; as we speed-walked past each pumpkin-colored building, we basked in its charm, our stomachs growing louder by the minute.

Around 2:30, when many of the restaurants were closing up shop, we found a trattoria that was open a little later than most. I didn’t even take note of the name or where, exactly, it was. All that mattered was that they had a table for us. I was too excited to try my beloved comfort food in the city of its origin.

And it was perfect.

Recent Eats: Prague

The food in Prague gets better each time I visit. I haven’t even scratched the surface in terms of the city’s best places to eat, but I’m slowly chipping away at my massive list — especially these days, as I’ll be here for the remainder of June.

Exhibit A is Artic Bakehouse, an Icelandic bakery with five locations throughout the city.

They specialize in breads, particularly sourdough, and Nordic-style pastries. I’ve yet to have something bad at Artic. Even their sandwiches, which range from a pesto grilled cheese to a spicy, jalapeno-infused tuna salad — both on sourdough — are incredible.

Brooke and I are slowly eating our way through the bakery and usually devour whatever we’ve ordered before I have any time to take a photo (i.e. their incredibly buttery peanut butter cookie). But here are two. Note that they are both half-eaten.

And their monkey muffin, which is basically just monkey bread in some paper wrapping.

Next, last Saturday, I took a trip to Prague’s weekly farmers market. I’d been once or twice before, and it’s a really special market. They’ve got everything from fresh produce to meats, cheeses, oysters and champagne, fresh baked goods, and traditional Czech dishes — all served on little to-go trays to enjoy under the sun (or clouds) beside the Vltava River. There are always a few artisans selling their handmade items, and there’s a great musician named Tony Rose who serenades the whole thing with his country-twinged acoustic sound.

It’s impossible for me to decide what to eat at places like this, where there are so many options, so I made myself get the first thing that intrigued me. That day, it was these: obložené chlebíčky, Czech open-faced sandwiches.

They were invented in the early 20th century in Prague, during the First Czechoslovak Republic, by a man named Jan Paukert, a deli owner. Painter Jan Skramlík, who was painting Paukert’s wine cellar, asked him to make something bigger than a canapé, something of “two or three bites,” rather than one– and the rest is history. He began to sell them in his deli and they were a success. Today, chlebíčky are found all around the Czech Republic in delis and cafes.

They are traditionally made with veka, Czech white bread, and are topped with a wide range of ingredients from mayonnaise to ham to potato salads and beetroot spread. They’re sort of like the Czech version of Scandinavian smørrebrød, or Italian bruschetta: a small burst of flavor, always sure to satisfy.

I spotted a stand at the farmer’s market that had a variety of them. I’ve been wanting to try these for a long time, so I pulled out a hundred crowns (equivalent to $4.39 / 4.05 EUR) and ordered two.

The purple one is, of course, a beetroot spread with horseradish. It was topped with some micro greens and a baby pickled onion. The horseradish provided just the kick I needed to start my farmer’s market crawl. The green one is a parsley remoulade topped with shaved carrots and some pumpkin seeds and greens. I liked this one the most and would love to try to recreate that delicious, peppery remoulade.

While I ate my chlebíčky, I stood beside a stand that was frying vdolky — sweet, doughy cakes — in a big vat of oil. The smell was tempting enough; for a moment, I felt like I was at a fair back in the States, ready to indulge in all the fried food my body could handle.

The same stand also had a variety of different štrúdl, but I went for a vdolek. They’re like little fried dough balls, and they aren’t filled with anything, like you may expect. Instead, they’re topped with some sort of jam and some sort of cheese or cream; the one I had was topped with tvaroh, or quark cheese.

Fresh vdolky topped with blueberry jam & quark cheese.

Vdolek with strawberry jam and quark cheese.

I got one of the last strawberry ones, because I was tempted by the fresh strawberry on top (the strawberries here right now are really good). I was by myself and was a bit worried that it’d be too rich and I wouldn’t be able to finish it — but looking back, this fear was just my persistent preparation to feel like absolute s!&% following any sweet (thanks, America).

I devoured it, and I almost ordered a second. Because they’re yeast-raised, they are so, so light. They aren’t overly sweet, either. It was the perfect dessert to follow my savory chlebíčky.

Brooke is preparing for exams and her thesis defense, so I’ve been accompanying her to an array of cafes every day. Prague has so many of them that it’s often hard to pick which one to go to. But we both have our favorites.

mamacoffee is one, particularly their location in New Town.

I love their coffee (and they serve it in the cutest cups), but I was feeling ginger tea on this visit. I tried their pastry with tempeh and carrot and potato, and it was lovely and reminiscent of Thanksgiving.

Cafedu is another favorite and the best one for getting work done since they are, technically, a study-cafe. We were on an iced dirty chai kick for a while, and their blueberry crumble cake is literally what dreams are made of…on my last day here, I’m going to beg their staff for the recipe because it’s actually ridiculous how good it is.

KRO Kitchen is a recent discovery. In Vinohrady, their cafe has a big window that opens up when the weather’s nice. The view into the street is simple but lovely, occupied by the occasional red tram that passes by, and garnished by a bit of greenery.

Their coffee’s okay, but their pastries are unmatched. We tried this strawberry cream pastry, which reminded me of the strawberry cream brioche at my beloved Marigold, back in Rome.

Perhaps the best for last is Version. They don’t have the best food, but I can’t get enough of their coffee. I have to force myself to savor it and not chug it because it’s that good. Plus, the vibe in there is always perfect for studying.

Another honorable mention is Dos Mundos. It’s a coffee roaster that supplies many of the local coffee shops, but I finally checked out one of their cafes up in Prague 7 a few days ago, and it was a cute little spot.

Don’t worry, now; I eat more than just sweets. (Though I mostly eat sweets.)

I eat burgers and fries, too!

For real, though, we went out for dinner at Dish, a super popular burger place in Vinohrady, and I tried their veggie burger. We got watermelon spritzes and garlic fries, too.

I’m always delighted when places make veggie burgers with care and don’t just throw a Beyond Burger on the grill and call it a day. This one was made with sweet potatoes and chickpeas – how cool! It was great, and the cucumber sour cream spread was super fresh-tasting.

I was doing some research on Prague 7 the other day, and I came across Dim Sum Spot. Immediately, I began to crave dumplings and knew I had to go after my breakfast at Dos Mundos. They had a really interesting selection of vegetarian ones to choose from.

I ordered two types: one was tofu with chili oil and peanuts (a little too spicy for me, but still delicious), and the other was potato with fried onion and parsley (10/10!!). They also had an extensive tea list, and I ordered some jasmine tea.

And last but not least, we went out for a few Czech appetizers and beers at Mlsnej Kocour. We split a side of horseradish pancakes and a selection of mini Czech sausages — both of which tasted great with our Kozel.

That’s all for today. I’m feeling really lucky that I’m able to stay in Prague for the next few weeks and that I’ve been able to enjoy some of the best food it has to offer now that I have some free time to explore. It’s really an incredible city, and I hope you can visit someday.

If you want to see more of what I’ve been eating / what I’ve been up to, check out my food page on Instagram for more. And if you’re heading to Prague anytime soon, check out my Prague food guide, which I am constantly adding to!

Happy Saturday, and happy June, and happy pride!

A fig crostata

A recount of my experience making a crostata con confettura di fichi from Giallo Zafferano, written in September 2023.

Peeling an overripe fig is like peeling an orange that’s given up on life. The second you think you’ve removed all of its dark purple skin, the thing deflates like a damn balloon, exploding in slow motion into your fingers, releasing its small seeds underneath your nails, and leaving your hands sticky and slimy. Figs were never meant to be peeled, I think, as another one combusts before me. But alas, for a crostata filled with fig jam, one must peel figs.

My first introduction to fresh figs, or fichi in Italian, was here in Rome. During my first few months in Italy, I simply couldn’t escape them — much like the incessant heat. They caught my eye at every farmers’ market I visited because I’d never seen them before. In America, the closest I’d ever gotten to a fig was via Fig Newton, those soft biscuits filled with a fig paste, wrapped in crinkly yellow packaging. They were often served as a healthy snack to me as a kid, over an Oreo or a Chips Ahoy cookie. But I never resented them; sometimes, I even preferred them. I found them so sweet and buttery, and I’d eat them like I’d eat Kit Kat bars: peeling off the top layer first with my front teeth, leaving the skeletal remains for last.

I never considered what a real, fresh fig tasted like until I noticed them that first September, during their peak, while on a walk with my half-Sicilian roommate. We passed by a fruit stand on our street, and there they were, sitting in a plastic box. She compared them to the ones she used to have back in Sicily, letting me know that these weren’t as impressive. But still, she insisted that we buy them so that I could give them a try — and we did.

It’s been two years now since I tasted my first fig, and upon my end-of-summer return to Rome, I’ve been, once again, unable to avoid them. On a morning visit to the market in Piazza San Cosimato, I couldn’t resist buying a box of them at my favorite stand, along with a rainbow of other various produce items. I chose the green ones this time; they aren’t different in shape or texture, and, while still plenty sweet, I find their sweetness to be more subtle and earthy than dark figs.

I had plans to bake with this particular box, but, three days after buying it, I found myself figless. I’d eaten them all: in yogurt, with a little bit of honey, or on their own. I’d grab one from the fridge each time I entered the kitchen, tear it open with my thumbs, and devour the pink, seedy sweetness within. There’s nothing like a cold, fresh fig to soothe a sweet tooth. A Fig Newton simply can’t compare. But perhaps, I thought, a fig-filled crostata could.

The crostata is the Italian version of a pie. The main difference in flavor is the crust: the crostata is made with shortcrust pastry, or pasta frolla, which is made with double the amount of flour than butter and takes two egg yolks, which give it its signature yellowish tint. The result is something crumblier and more biscuit-like than a pie crust, a texture that effortlessly complements a jammy filling, and one quite reminiscent of the Newton.

Since I’d run out of figs, I ran to my neighborhood’s fruit stand to buy a second box of them before baking my crostata: this time, I decided on dark ones. I peeled 600 grams of figs — a task which I will never do again, if I can help it — and I placed the gut-like substance into a pot on the stove with a cup of water. It quickly came to a boil. I added the juice of a lemon for acidity, 300 grams of sugar to thicken, and a teaspoon of vanilla, because Giallo Zafferano said so. I watched it simmer on the stove as my face grew damp with sweat. I remembered why I don’t bake during the summer.

I dug my meat thermometer out of the cabinet and took the jam’s temperature. My hand felt as if it was beginning to melt as I held it over the stove and watched the numbers slowly rise. 98, 99, 100. Eventually, it hit 104 degrees, so I removed it from the heat, pouring it into a ceramic bowl to cool.

I gathered ingredients to make the dough, a task I always prefer to do by hand but always regret later on. I measured out 250 grams of 00 flour and added a pinch of salt, quickly mixing the two together, and then came the butter. The key to a good pastry dough is icy cold butter, and while mine had been sitting in the fridge for hours, all hope was lost the second that I took it out. As I cut it into 125 grams worth of cubes, my hands began to melt it. The table slowly grew darker as the buttery mess seeped into it.

I continued to massage the butter into the mix of flour and salt for a few minutes, and eventually, it resembled sand, but it was not yet uniform. I whisked clumpy powdered sugar into the dough and created a well to add the egg yolks, and slowly but surely, it started to feel like a dough. I transported it from bowl to table, kneaded it for a few minutes, and shaped it into a rectangle before covering it in plastic and placing it in the fridge to cool.

Thirty minutes later, I pulled the dough out from the fridge. It felt firm from outside the plastic, but once I removed it, a slight layer of melted butter immediately coated my hands. Flouring the table, I ignored the inevitable fate of a dough that simply wouldn’t stay together.

After two attempts and a visit to the freezer, I gave up. Instead of rolling out the dough, I placed it into the tart pan and smoothed it out myself. I used the heel of my hand to remove any irregular thickness along the edges, feeling the dough get wetter with each touch. There was no hope in a top layer, I thought, and I was right: each time I cut a long strip of dough with the leftovers to create the rustic lattice look, it would crack, break, give up — just like the peeled figs.

I decided to go with an open-faced fig crostata, or rather, I was essentially forced to go with an open-faced fig crostata. I placed the tart pan in the oven, finished my dishes, and sat at the kitchen table with a stiff back in a puddle of sweat while I waited for it to bake. Once the crust showed signs of browning, I removed it from the oven and placed it on the counter. I left the kitchen immediately and took a cold shower, retiring to my bedroom for the night and refusing to enter the kitchen again.

In the morning, upon returning, I admired its look as it sat on the counter next to a slowly-approaching beam of light. It looked more like a pie than a crostata, but it almost resembled the inner anatomy of a fig itself. The shortcrust pastry, almost like the fig’s outer pith layer, was round and slightly asymmetrical in parts. And the fig jam, almost like the flesh of the pink, pollinated center, was filled with seeds, trapped amidst a membrane of sugar.

I tasted it. Floral, with hints of lemon and butter. I wished there was a top layer of crust, but I couldn’t complain. The dough may not thrive in heat, but figs certainly do.

A day in Florence

But first, a song for you, because Florence, Italy isn’t the only Florence I love.

Last time I visited Florence, I left knowing I’d come back. There’s something about this city — its easy accessibility from Rome; its not-too-overwhelming size; its location in relation to the rest of Tuscany; and, obviously, its food — that keeps me thinking about it and wanting to return.

Yesterday, I did, along with my friend Lauren. We spent the day in beautiful Firenze, and I was able to see parts of the city I hadn’t seen last year.

I think I’ll always have a special place in my heart for Florence because it was the first solo trip I ever took. And whenever I think about doing another solo trip (which is quite often), it’s the place that always comes to mind and that always makes me eager to travel again.

We left Roma Termini around 8:30 a.m and arrived at Santa Maria Novella station at around 10:00 a.m. Lauren had never been to Florence, so I made a pretty detailed itinerary to ensure that we’d hit all the must-see spots I was familiar with, while also seeing some places I hadn’t been able to check out last year.

Our first stop was Caffè Gilli, the oldest cafe in Florence which I visited last time and loved. It’s definitely not the cheapest breakfast spot, but it is so special, and the service is wonderful. I feel like I’m watching a choreographed dance as waiters juggle trays of gorgeous pastries, or baristas effortlessly froth milk for cappuccini.

Here’s what we got: for Lauren, un cornetto al cioccolato & una ciocolatta calda, and for me, un bombolone (the pastry I eat pretty much every day for breakfast that I will miss so dearly this summer) & un cappuccino.

After breakfast, we headed out to see some of the must-see sights in the historical center of Florence.

In my bedroom in Rome, I am constantly looking out the window down at the street. I watch people walk as they head to work or to school or to the bar, and it’s rare that anyone actually looks up. So I try and look up as much as I can, when I remember, and it’s always fun to spot fellow people-watchers.

We walked towards Piazza del Duomo and it became immediately clear that tourist season has begun. I wish I counted how many tour groups we saw throughout the day; it had to be at least 10.

This entire piazza is unreal. The tickets to enter the main structures are a little pricey, but next time I visit I need to tour all three of the masterpieces: the cupola, the duomo, and the bell tower.

After admiring the piazza, we made our way towards another one: Piazza della Signoria, which is home to a bunch of statues and Palazzo Vecchio.

This one is the one that always holds a spot in the back of my mind: Rape of the Sabines by Giambologna.

I’ve got a thing for taking photos of empty or half-finished drinks people leave on the sidewalks very often here in Italy. Here’s a recently-finished spritz.

And here’s a pretty much perfect row of vespas.

I’ll admit, whenever I travel, I always do more research about the food than the actual historical aspects. Before returning to Florence this time, I did even more research about Tuscan and Florentine cuisine. I had some pretty incredible food experiences here last year, so I wanted to make sure I could say the same this time.

I had already tried one of the famous Florentine street foods, the lampredotto panino, which is made with meat from the fourth stomach of the cow. I loved it, and I knew that I had to find another great panino this time.

I found two places that were highly-rated amongst Italians and ended up going with this place, I Fratellini. You know when you just know the restaurant you chose was the right one? Yeah, I knew that this was the right one the very second I stopped in front of it. The line out the door said enough, but the small, hole-in-the-wall vibe was the selling point.

Customers are encouraged to grab a paper menu while they wait in line so no time is lost once they get to the register. I eyed the extensive menu filled with panini (all of them priced at four euro): prosciutto, mozzarella, tonno, finocchiona, porchetta, mortadella… I felt more indecisive than I’ve ever felt in my entire life.

I alternated between three panini for about five minutes, and then decided to go with the very first one on the menu, since they said it was one of their specialties. It was a panino of prosciutto crudo, crema di formaggio, & rucola (prosciutto, soft cheese, and arugula).

I ordered it at the small storefront, where one man was taking orders and running the register, and another was preparing drinks. There must have been a kitchen somewhere in the back where some extremely hardworking people were cranking out panini by the minute.

The second I took a bite, I knew that there is no bad panino at this place: anything I ordered was bound to be delicious.

The bread was tough but not too much that it was hard to bite into. The prosciutto was slightly stringy and perfectly salty, and the cheese — oh, my god. It was like a cream cheese, but it had the texture of chèvre, and it was like heaven. I wish you could taste it. And I wish I could eat it every single day.

From there, Lauren and I split up for a little while. She wanted to see the Statue of David, which I saw last time, so I got to roam around a bit on my own. I wanted to check out the Mercato Centrale, so I walked about 15 minutes to get there.

It’s basically two floors of foodie heaven. The top floor felt like an extremely elevated mall food court. It was crazy busy, so I decided not to get anything there. If I lived in Florence, though, I know exactly where I’d be doing my shopping.

Next, I stopped by Bar Vivoli for some much-needed gelato.

I was considering trying a new gelateria to break from routine since this is the one I’d visited last year. However, Vivoli makes some of the very best gelato I’ve ever tasted, so naturally, I had to come back. I had to get the same flavors, too: pera e caramella & fragola. Perhaps this will be a Florence tradition for me: it’s just too damn good not to visit every time.

The pear/caramel combo is insane, and while Fatamorgana here in Rome is hard to beat, Vivoli’s pear is slightly sweeter, which I love. There are bits of caramel flakes that create the most complex texture with the slightly-grainy pear. I can’t get enough of this flavor, so I do not regret playing it safe.

It’s also the most charming little gelateria ever. I love the neon cursive font.

This church, Chiesa del Santi Simone e Giuda, is right across from Vivoli. Lauren met back up with me, and we decided to step in and check it out. We had the whole place to ourselves, so we took advantage and rested a few minutes inside. I cannot believe that I can just walk into places that date back to the 1100s here — and that they still look this beautiful.

This elaborate wood ceiling stopped me in my tracks. It also happens to feature my favorite color.

After exploring the church and resting for a bit, we began to walk towards the river. We walked through the Uffizi Gallery’s piazza where tons of artists had their pieces for sale outside.

I wasn’t too eager to see Ponte Vecchio again, but it felt necessary to show it to Lauren. It’s one of the busiest and most touristy places in all of the city, but its history is quite cool.

I do think it’s more fun to look at it from afar, though; after all, you can’t see the bridge and all its beauty while on the bridge.

We walked over the Arno and began a longer stroll towards Piazzale Michelangelo. I’d wanted to check this out last time but decided against it, and honestly, I’m glad I waited! It was more fun with another person, cause walking a million stairs and steep hills isn’t so fun to do alone (mostly because there’s no one to complain with).

The weather was so perfect, so even though this was a pretty intense uphill climb, it was just nice to be in the sun. And, of course, the view let me know that it was 100% worth it…

Like, come on! Florence is a painting and a poem and a fairytale all squished into one city.

Here’s another with a horizontal view. I spotted a church a little further up the piazzale, and we decided that (somehow) we could bear to do some more climbing.

This is what I had spotted and what we checked out for a little while: Abbazia di San Miniato al Monte. The inside boasted some gorgeous frescoes, but I am so impressed by the facade. Its green and white marble is very reminiscent of the structures in the Piazza del Duomo.

And here’s me, smiling at literally no one.

(Also, I’m no fashion blogger, but I must say: this skirt is one of my favorite things I’ve ever thrifted. I found it a few years ago at Salvation Army for only three dollars.)

After taking photos and resting inside the abbey, we walked down all the hills and stairs and paid one euro to use the public bathroom. I wanted to show Lauren Piazza Santo Spirito since it was one of my favorite places I’d visited last time. We walked quite a bit and had aperitivo there. I didn’t take any photos, but we ate some of my beloved pappa al pomodoro alongside some drinks before walking back over the river for dinner.

I made a reservation at Trattoria Marione Al Trebbio for 7:00 p.m., which is quite early for Italian standards. They had just re-opened for dinner, so we were one of the first to sit down. I was very proud of this restaurant selection, which I found last-minute but had a good feeling about.

As we ate, a huge group of Americans, likely on a food tour, sat at a long table behind us. Their accents sounded very Bostonian, which was so funny to listen to. One woman, who was extremely loud and Lois Griffin-esque, said, as the table clinked wine glasses, “When in Rome… or, when in Florence!” to which the entire table responded with a cacophony of laughs and howls. It was quite funny, and I felt, just for a second, like I was back in the states.

I ordered la ribollita, which is a classic Tuscan bread soup, similar to the texture of pappa al pomodoro. I don’t even know how to describe it, other than the fact that it is the most flavorful mix of vegetables and beans and bread. I’ve been dying to try it, and wow was it good. It’s always the least photogenic dishes that taste the best. But seriously — I am so excited to learn how to make it and to eat it again someday.

Also, as seen, a glass of Chianti, because even though it’s not my favorite… you can’t go to Tuscany and not drink Chianti!

Following dinner, which didn’t take nearly as long as I thought, we strolled a little more around the historical center and then eventually made our way back to the train station. I bought some chocolate at Venchi, the only storefront that was still open inside Santa Maria Novella, and we waited for about an hour for our train to arrive at 9:43.

I read on the train so that I wouldn’t fall asleep. A man next to me observed some sheet music on his laptop and played air piano with his fingers. And after an hour and a half, we were back in Rome.

I am really happy with how the day turned out. My itinerary was pretty much followed to a T! We saw everything we wanted to see, and I ate everything I wanted to eat. We walked around 30,000 steps in total, but it was totally worth it. I feel so lucky to be able to take day trips to such incredible places.

Ti amo tanto, Firenze… a presto. ❤

Bread :: a photo diary

Hey, guys! So last week, I shared my 10 things to do this fall list. I am so excited to tell you that this weekend, I completed TWO of those things! Yay! I’ll be sharing the second one tomorrow. 🙂

On Saturday, (or Sunday… I can’t remember!) my mom and I made BREAD! It was my first time making bread with yeast. I think it turned out really well, and it was way easier than I expected. We just used the King Arthur flour recipe for white bread. 🙂

Here are some photos: