Books, Cooks and Purple in Florence
A recent trip to Florence showcased Italians' creativity in the kitchen and in the cinema -- all while I wore purple to celebrate life.
In mid-January, I decided that a purple, velvet pantsuit displayed in a Roman storefront needed to move in to my closet. Once I spotted it in the DressCode76 boutique in Rome’s Monti area and slipped it on, I felt emboldened by a magenta magnificence that transformed my middle-aged body into a hybrid of Purple Rain Prince and Princess Diana.
It reminded me of a purple, velvet, sheath cocktail dress that a college roommate of mine kept in her closet which she would occasionally lend to friends. The Purple, as we grew to call it then, was a guaranteed good time. If you chose to wear it out at night (it magically looked fabulous on everyone), it lit up your life.
That wintery, Friday morning in Rome, I was meeting a friend for lunch who had recently lost her 55-year-old husband. The Friday before, I had attended the funeral of a 49-year-old colleague who had also died suddenly. And, at some point during the intervening week, a 41-year-old friend of the family had also passed away. I walked through that particular week in a dazed state, entering clothing boutiques but not remembering how I ended up in them, drawn to soft fabrics and vibrant colors for comfort.
As I shuffled around town, I reflected on middle-aging, losing friends and family, living overseas, moving too fast, and slowing down. When I found myself in front of The Roman Purple, the pop of color splashed over my gloomy mood. I understood how Jim Henson, the creator of The Muppets, had insisted that bright colors be worn to his funeral. I resented that I’d recently worn too much black to too many funerals for people too young. Providential signs and January sales urged me to buy the fabulous pantsuit and resurrect The Purple of my youth.
This past weekend, I traveled with The Purple to Florence. My husband and I snuck away for two nights to take a break from life in Rome. We started out at our favorite restaurant in Florence, Trattoria Cammillo, where I donned my new blazer which kindly allowed space for a pecorino brulee’ in aceto balsamico, un’insalata di carciofi, and tagliatelle al ragu’. My husband moaned over the deliciousness of his Tuscan ribollita and torta di pera. Miles away from the scrutiny of a personal trainer and a nutritionist, we shamelessly ordered succulent fried chips as our second course. They disappeared as quickly as our half-liter of red wine. Cammillo’s owner, the lovely and mischievous Chiara, graced us with her presence and a couple of her naughty Italian barzellette that she performs for select audiences — in addition to spoiling us with her homemade frittelle di farina di castagne meant for dipping in a mouth-watering mousse of ricotta e rhum. Her pop of red lipstick matched mine (before it faded away with my meal), and I felt regal in purple amidst the buzz of one of Florence’s favorite trattorie among locals. My husband’s phone didn’t ring once during dinner, and it turned into the sort of peaceful Saturday night date we hadn’t had in a while.
The next morning, we went to visit a bookstore within a movie theater. Or maybe it’s actually a movie theater within a bookstore. In November 2023, the Cinema Odeon cleared out its ground-floor seats, and replaced them with islands of bookshelves for novels, memoirs, art books, travel guides, and Florentine letterhead knick-knacks.
The top floor consists of 200 seats upholstered in yellow velvet where viewers can comfortably watch movies. The cinelibriteca (my word, not real Italian) shuts the doors every day at 8:30pm to book-browsers, and gears up for its cinephiles. At 9pm, the screen itself edges closer to the public, the Dolby stereo is amped up, and a movie appears within the frame of a Vaudeville-esque stage. Some locals complain that the historic theater now shows only one movie per night, and they miss the multiple matinees and earlier evening screenings. Others see it as a novel cultural hub where moviegoers and bookworms unite, and the cinema experience is unique.
The bookish elevator reminds me of the time capsule in The Phantom Tollbooth, a children’s fantasy adventure novel I loved as a child about a little boy transported to the Kingdom of Wisdom, a story riddled with puns, idioms, and wordplay.
During the day, there’s no admission ticket to enter the building, browse books, and settle in to watch the movie upstairs with its sound kept within its eaves. An annexed coffeeshop serves delicious beverages in mismatched, Victorian porcelain sets. Wifi also throbs strong, proven by the numerous students crowded in study groups upstairs under the side wings of the theater. Open daily, the Cinema GiuntiOdeon is worth a detour for those who think they’ve seen everything in Florence, and might crave an interdisciplinary escape from the touristy crowds.
From there, we ventured to Taste, an annual food fair of many of Italy’s best niche food products where over 600 small Italian companies showcased the fruits of their labor.
I’m always convinced that my husband has “landed” in a foreign posting once he has found his food people (Please note that I did NOT write “foodies,” which, I have understood from gastronomes in the field, is cringe-worthy and out. Some say it was actually never in).
In the various countries where we have lived, these particular food-loving friends introduce us to the customs of their country and to their local specialties. In so doing, we no longer feel like guests at the table but family. Our taste buds evolve as we taste new friendships around the world. For us, food is the soft diplomacy that unites countries.
Therefore, we headed to Taste not only to savor the specialties on display but also to greet old friends, the Italians behind the magic. We stay in touch with these gifted Italians as we promote their goods abroad. So, for my husband, in particular, who never forgets a meal he ate, it was a sort of homecoming.
You name it, and you’ll find the best of Italy’s artisanal gastronomy at this fair: olive oil, coffee, biscotti, chocolate, dried fruit, toasted nuts, salumi, organic fruit juices, boutique wine, rice, pasta, and it goes on and on and on.
The fair is a feast for the eyes alone for the exquisite packaging and design of the products. Some of the aceto balsamico looked like perfume bottles.
The Garda Eggs may have resembled dyed Easter eggs full of chocolate but, instead, they are perfect little orbs of organic yolks produced by exotic chickens (expat chickens from New Hampshire and Plymouth Rock are part of the posse!).
After two hours shuffling around the fair, my husband could have carried on even longer in passionate conversations emphasized with congratulatory gesticulations about the intricacies of cooking pasta, cultivating grains, curing meats, and bottling tomatoes. I had to take a breather in the cookbook section, finding comfort in words while he waxed on about ingredients.
Eventually, I slipped back into The Purple and we headed to celebrate the 25th-anniversary of Gustiamo, one of the best places to order Italian food online in America, founded by the inspiring, simpaticissima and indefatigable Beatrice Ughi. Out of a warehouse in Manhattan’s Bronx, Ughi stocks some of Italy’s finest specialties and ships them all over the United States. She has an eye and tongue for the simplest and best tastes of Italy produced by small productions worthy of big publicity.
The party to celebrate her talents, and those of her adoring and adorable team, was held in Florence’s Pampaloni silver factory, where I fell in love with one of their signature necklaces and their custom-made Due Sicilie silverware.
Some of Ughi’s producers, who had spent the weekend show-casing at Taste, set up shop around the silvery factory and offered their delectable treats to the guests. It’s hard to say what made me drool most: Tuccio’s tonno? King of Pesto Roberto Panizza’s Genovese sauce? Or Pasquale Imperato’s tomatoes from the slopes of Vesuvius? Or the pasta of Sergio Cinque’s Faella or Filippo Drago’s Molini del ponte?
A highlight was also running into Chef Viola Buitoni, a dear friend from San Francisco, whose cookbook you need to buy. The Purple ricocheted off her smile.
With color in my cheeks and a few centimeters added to my tummy, I left Florence restored. The Purple, friends, food, books and cooks was all it took.
Testo is next for me in Florence, another creative and clever fair created by Agostino Poletto (the mastermind behind Taste and Pitti Uomo) dedicated to books, with over 100 Italian publishing houses represented. I’m hoping it will inspire me to book it (my mantra): to carry on writing my book, and, perhaps, even find a publishing house for it. I’m halfway through writing my book and still on track to finish it by June!
Wear the purple, eat what’s delicious. That’s the lesson of all those funerals. In Paris, I once bought a red velvet suit. Maybe our velvets will encounter each other one day. Xx
I can attest that the New Purple found the body it was meant to be on. Thank you for this lovely piece, for the mention, and for yours and Lorenzo’s softly diplomatic work. It was pivotal in the writing of my book.