[title type="h5"]Wednesday, April 23, 2014.
Tuscany. Overambitiously, As Usual.
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Eight in the morning till eight at night, the Eurodam is at the dock in Livorno, one of the biggest Italian ports and the naval gateway to Tuscany. It's a good-size town in its own right, and has some food connections. Many classic Italian seafood dishes have the surname "Livornese." Two good liqueurs--Galliano and Tuaca--come from Livorno.
My free association with Livorno is the difficulty of escaping and returning to the dock area. Last time we were here, we rented a car, and even though the maze leading to the ship almost made us miss it, we had so much fun roaring around that we did it again. This time, we were assisted by a British woman's voice on a GPS system that made getting around incomparably easier--even in the port labyrinth.
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Guess the location![/caption]First stop: Pisa, in deference to MA's three sisters, who unlike us are here for the first time. I felt a first-timer's frisson of amazement myself. You walk into the central piazza and suddenly, there it is--one of the world's most recognizable buildings. You can't help but grin.
One of the sisters climbed to the top while the rest of us repaired to the Baptistry to hear its acoustics. They are as unique audibly as the tower is visually.
Pisa seen, we head to nearby Lucca, a wonderful town surrounded completely by Renaissance-era walls. They are so thick that for a time cars drove atop them. Inside the walls, the buildings are all of a kind, with a web of streets penetrating into a interior full of shops, restaurants, and salumerias. It's the one place in Italy where I would like to spend a week or two--not marveling at the place, but just living there. The look is different, but the spirit reminds me of the French Quarter.
The girls decide not to lunch in Lucca, so it was back to the car and off to Florence. It is farther away than I remember. We arrived late in lunchtime, at which time Mary Ann could not help but allow me to fulfill an eating goal. Her sisters said how much they appreciated my doing all the driving and money-carrying, and how MA doesn't appreciate me enough. This has the sound of a long-running program of sisters telling one another how to live, but I'll ride it while I can.
The city of Florence--Firenze in Italian--is a magnificent city, and contains far too many attractions to require much more time than one gets in a cruise day.
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ntipasto at Rosticceria La Spada, In Florence.[/caption]
I come with a well-defined goal. Florence has a dish with my name on it, as well as the city's own. A "fiorentina" is a two-and-a-half-pound steak cut more or less like an American porterhouse. It comes from the Chianina breed of cow, one of the oldest and without doubt the biggest in the world. The Italians used it mainly as a beast of burden until recent times, which explains its large size.
I have had few opportunities to order a florentina steak. It's so large that it requires another diner or two to share it with, and I never had a person so willing with me. But this time I invited the Eat Club to meet me at Rosticceria La Spada, a very old restaurant we dined in last time we were here. The fiorentina is its specialty. I was so certain that a few Eat Clubbers would show up that my mouth was watering. But although several tried to find the place, none did.
I not only know where La Spada is, but the location of a nearby parking garage. I ask the parking attendant about La Spada, to make sure I had my bearings. His eyes light up. "La Spada! That is very good. Not for tourists, you know!" I do know, and tell him about the steak I am after. His smile broadens. "Si, si, si! This is the true food of Firenze!" A garage guy, telling me this. He gives me a map, attached to which is a coupon good for ten percent off my meal at La Spada. (!) He points to the nearest street corner. "Destro. Then subito!" My Jesuit Latin serves me well again. Destro = right. Subito = suddenly.
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At last! Half a genuine fiorentina steak![/caption]
La Spada looks much nicer and feels much more spacious than I remember. Thank you for noticing, said the waitress. We just finished renovating. Must have been tricky: La Spada is in a very old building, so close to the center of Florence is it. It also has a new lunch menu, one that offers half a fiorentina, along with antipasto and dessert, for about €35. I sat down and went after it. The steak was everything I was hoping for, particularly in the juiciness department. That was surprising, because the thing was only about an inch thick, to account for the extra section of lean meat on the far side of the strip section. I am now fulfilled for today.
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Mushroom revioli at Rosticceria La Spada.[/caption]
Mary Ann's menu started with mushroom ravioli in a very rich sauce, followed by half a roast chicken. All very good. At the end of the meal came as Italian a finish as could be imagined: a glass of vin santo ("wine of the saints," a late-harvest, slightly sweet, high-alcohol wine digestivo) and cookies (like the ones at Angelo Brocato's.
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Vin santo and cookies, a classic end to cena alla Fiorentina.[/caption]
MA and I walked around the grand piazza for awhile, MA checking out hotels, shops, gelato and chocolates. I watched the clock. Trying to fit three major cities into one twelve-hour day is cutting it too close for me. Worse, the sisters are off on their own, have no idea where the garage is, and our cellphone texting service is nonfunctional.
The girls converge on the garage in the nick of time. Following Lola (the name we gave to the voice on the GPS), we managed to pull up alongside the Eurodam with only ten minutes or so to spare.
With that steak under my belt, I am not hungry at dinner. This is just as well. The most appetizing item on the menu in the main dining room is a lasagna with all the authenticity of Chef Boiardi. I begin to think I have found the bad side of Holland America.
[title type="h5"]Ristorante La Spada. Florence, Italy. Via della Spada 62. Via del Sole 35. (It has two entrances a block apart.)[/title]
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[title type="h5"]Thursday, April 24, 2014.
Girls In An Audi Check Out Monte Carlo. I Take The Bus.
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Another perfect day for cruising and touring. We are in Monaco, originator of the casino as we know it. In fact, the very word "casino" became synonymous with a gambling and entertainment facility in Monaco. The sisters decide (or Mary Ann orders) that no would-be father figure is needed for four beautiful women who like to get around and have fun, especially if they can score a convertible to cruise around Monte Carlo as their hair blows in the wind.
In other words, I am left behind.
And am I glad.
After a morning at the keyboard (everything at home seems to be working okay), I walk around the ship delivering a special newsletter for our Eat Club travelers. I get my exercise this way. It's feels like I am throwing my old paper route again.
Noonish, I step down onto Monaco's soil, and grab a seat on one of those jump-on, jump-off tour buses. Stop anywhere, stay as long as I want, catch the next bus on the route, keep it up as long as I please. Sounds good. A sign said this service is €21. The driver asks me for only €19. I say nothing, but look at the ticket. It's marked SENIOR. Hmph.
The city is getting ready for the Grand Prix, the original racing track that winds itself through town and attracts the wealthy. (What doesn't here?) Barriers to keep the cars from mixing with the crowds are already up.
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The palace of government on The Rock, the center of Monaco.[/caption]
I debark twice: at the Monaco History Museum and the arboretum (I'm interested in unusual trees). I listen to the program on earbuds. The bus comes to where I started, and I stay on board, making the rounds a second time. I see things I didn't notice the first time. A Bentley new-car dealership, for example. How many of those exist in the world? I only know one person in New Orleans who owns a Bentley. (Allen Toussaint, who looks as if he were born to drive such a car.)
When the girls return, they tell of a great day at the beach along the French Riviera. After unloading the rental car, they return to the ship, primp a little, then go back to Monte Carlo to check out the Casino. They're not gamblers, but they found the glamor and money in play to be fascinating. The ship doesn't pull up the gangway until eleven tonight, and they plan to use every second of that time.
On much lower a key is Tom's Martini Club. This one is in the Crow's Nest bar, way up front and high. An unexpected guitarist playing folk songs make it hard to talk. But his gig was up, and it was pleasant enough. I put out feelers for anyone who wanted to join me in Tamarind, one of the three specialty restaurants aboard the Eurodam. The theme is Pan-Asian, and reports I've heard from others in our group have been good.
Only one person joined me--an emergency room doctor, one of the half-dozen or so single women in our group. I gathered that she liked the food here about as much as I did. Which is to say that it's more interesting than good. Pot stickers, a soup flavored with lemon grass, a bit of sashimi (only two fish available: halibut and salmon), then Panang curry with chicken, the best dish of the meal. It was worth the extra twenty dollars, but mainly because it gave a break from the main dining room's fare.
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Panag curry with chicken, in Tamarind aboard the Eurodam.[/caption]
Mary Ann wasn't concerned that I had dinner with another woman. She knows I'm completely harmless. But she had seen some of the food at Tamarind, and wanted to dine there herself. Not enough, though, to get her back aboard the ship when it would remained at the pier in Monaco a few more hours. We'll go tomorrow, on the evening of the day at sea.
Written by Tom Fitzmorris May 13, 2014 12:01 in
