La Giostra, the carousel.

the best things in the world happen early in the morning. {but really, think about it...}

the only thing calling for my departure after 3 hours spent with my dinner at the tiny, haunting lair of La Giostra was the now-almost-nothing candle stick on my wooden table with mismatched tablecloths, and the tin holder brimming with its hot wax.

it was the secret of Via de Benci, with no sign to speak of. my head could touch the facade of the tiny doorway that we had guessed would open to the ristorante. greetings with a sparkling bianco, old photos of Chef Tonarelli and the Boss (the Bruce Springsteen Boss), community wooden coat racks, and thousands of strands of christmas lights. snow on the ceiling.

La Giostra's building has lived for 400 years, housing an old merry-go-round from a piazzale (no wonder it is magic), until years ago with the Hapsburg Lorena Princes. they were bound to the recipes of their heritage, as their grandmother showed them what she called "the big magic" in food. they coined their own tastes and named la Giostra, paying homage to the quaint ruggedness of its history...

"the sciences are not like Minvera, that came out of Jupiter all armed, they are daughters of time."

food should reflect the feelings posessed by the instant. yet history's most perfected combinations at the same time. just like how everything is most ripe, prime. nothing should be tipica.

Ubaldo Tonarelli is to his chef-hat and tinsel-white hair as his son The Prince is to thousands of worldtravelled peuter bracelets and bone necklaces around him. they bring one plate at a time from the steamy kitchen. freshness that tricks you into thinking you are eating something still cooking in the oven. like making a birthday present for your mama and finally giving it, beaming more pride for your talent than the Jayhawks. Ravioli di Pecorino Toscano e pere Williams. smells enough to satisfy hunger, of pinching butter, watermelon and chives. Sheets of cream-thick early-morning crafted pasta like cashmere blankets holding the pearbutterpecorino babies.

i have never known what spending time on taste is like.

Grazie mile, Prince. ---"Preencessa, Prego Mile... my love..."

florentines of all kinds. hippies from it's Haight and Madame Butterflys with their louvers and fur. all in subdued merriment defined only by a Brunello. merriment you could only imagine to be soon followed by piano playing, wine and lots of loveandsex to be had all around.

"One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well." -virginia woolfe

i find it almost impossible to penetrate authenticity with a camera lens. but i will try next time i am at la giostra, i will get a photo of the prince and his bones and bracelets, pear and pecorino. until then, found snapshots of the lovers lights.