Dinner at home in Firenze

Almost 24 hours later, I think I’m finally able to attempt to share the finest moments of my time in Florence. This was my fourth visit to Florence, if you count the single day I spent there taking in David and having a shitty meal in a place that even we knew, was a tourist trap, but we had hungry kids to feed and a train to catch back to our villa.

Since that first occasion, the last three times I’ve been in Tuscany and visited Florence, I’ve stayed in the Porta Romana area, just beyond the gate and up a bit of a hill.

That’s where Gabriel lives.

Gabriel was the host at the Airbnb I booked on my first solo trip to Florence in 2023. I’ve mentioned him around here before and, if you know me, you’re probably aware that he made a profound impact upon me.

As I said to Gabriel last night, knowing him has made my life richer.

From our first meeting, despite the slight trepidation I had developed from our communication on Airbnb*, I fell in love with Gabriel. Once I learned of his vocation, and saw his kitchen, I wanted only to know more about him. He is fascinating.

So, now when I’m in Italy, I go back to visit Gabriel. Last year, I carved out four nights to stay with him and we had a wonderful time talking, with me listening rapt as he told stories of his days owning a restaurant in Florence. He introduced me to a young American friend of his, a digital nomad, and she and I enjoyed an evening out, drinking wine under the stars in the piazza of Santo Spirito.

For this year’s trip, I devoted two nights to Firenze – and Gabriel and Samantha. Our first night Gabriel made the three of us dinner, tortellini in a light beef broth followed by roasted chicken and potatoes, both flavorful with rosemary, salt, pepper and, for the chicken, lemon. It was a simple meal accompanied by meaningful conversation and two bottles of wine. And laughter.

It was fabulous.

This sort of situation is what Airbnb was supposed to be, a sharing of home, culture and experiences. You know, before corporations and greedy capitalists took over the platform with their purchased properties that deny residents homes, while accommodating tourists who wouldn’t know the first thing about temporarily, and gracefully, cohabitating with locals.

On my second and final night in Florence, Gabriel offered to make pasta for our dinner. After a long day of wandering around (about 12 miles worth), I was happy to make one more quick trip out to the wine shop down the street and then hunker down at home with Gabriel. We sipped our respective wine and whiskey, talked and laughed as Gabriel made us a beautiful meal.

We ate in the chef’s kitchen with every possible need anticipated by a device, utensil or tool hanging, or displayed, within reach, on the table which had belonged to Gabriel’s mother.

It alone was worth the price of my train ticket from Rome.

When we part from someone we care for, there’s always the chance that it will be for the last time. When the person you’re leaving is 81 years-old…the odds of this increase. But, the plan is to rendezvous again, next year. I will hold onto this intention with a grip slightly less tight than the one with which I’ll retain the memories made during this special visit to my Firenze home.

*Because I found him a bit harsh, for lack of a better word. This was before we met and I learned he was a chef/retired restauranteur and things became more clear. He was simply direct without patience for wasted time or unnecessary nonsense.

We’re the same. ❤️