Can't go to Italy just now?  Experience a little of La Dolce Vita with this short travelogue on Florence followed by a recipe for making sunny, refreshing Limoncello....

Ah, Florence.  How I love it!  Have you been there?

Unlike bustling Rome or efficient Milan, Florence is a quiet mystery.  Her beauty is subtle.  She is private.  She rarely smiles at you, the foreigner.  Not that she’s unfriendly; she’s just possessive of what is hers and she’s reluctant to share it.   

David Leavitt describes it so accurately in Florence, A Delicate Case:  

“Do not confuse Florence with a welcoming city; it repulses the new arrival with
  a hard jab in the side, a frigid stare.”

But yet, I fell in love.  Just like my late and dear friend Charles, told me I would. 

My first impression that drizzly, December evening, was of gray; gray buildings, gray cobblestones, gray  light, gray coats passing by.  It was the passeggiata, that time of day, before dinner, when Florentines come out for their social stroll.  Even in the rain.  

My husband and I had checked into the hotel, and then hit the streets, anxious to feel the pulse of the city.  Taking first inventory, I think we really just walked in circles.  We were damp, weary and dreary, wondering how anyone could think we would love this place.  We retired; tired but hopeful that Charles would come through.

He did!  Florence did!  

The next morning, the sun was out and glistening on the sweet, pink marble of  the Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore, known simply as the Duomo, and famous for its octagonal cupola and campanile. There’s just something about the Duomo’s lightness amid all that gray.  Despite its size, that lightness welcomes you and lessens the hard jab.  

Gorgeous as it is, there are other things that call to you----------the Arno, Ponte Vecchio, the Uffizi, the Bargello, Galleria dell’ Accademia , Pitti Palace, Santa Croce, not to mention------------palazzos, piazzas, and------------------------lunch!

I mean, an Italian lunch.  You know or you’ve heard-----------

We ate at a little trattoria near the Duomo.  There, Mama did the cooking, Papa ran the front of the house and the son waited tables.  In true Leavitt fashion, they weren’t really all that friendly----------------
They did however, have great food.  

We’ve since been so many times that I honestly can’t remember what we ate.  I do, though, remember the end of the meal.  After espresso, the waiter set on the table, three bottles:  a grappa, a limoncello and a Vin Santo.  Ours for the taking!  I have since indulged in all three.