John McReynolds
The produce vendors at the San Ambrogio marketplace in Florence.
My neighborhood is called Santa Croce, which is in Florence, Italy. I call it my neighborhood because I am staying in an apartment for a few weeks in this charming city. When my artist wife, Brigitte, announced three years ago that she was going to study printmaking at a school in Florence, I was a little disappointed – not for her, but for me. Florence has never been my favorite slice of Italy, and I could think of half-a-dozen cities I’d rather hang out in such as Bologna, Naples, or Rome. Florence has such a crushing influx of tourists that it always feels, to me, like an amusement park and not a real city.
The first year my wife came here, I declined to join her because I just could not let go of my biased view of Florence: bad food, massive herds of tourists, and the constant hustle of street vendors selling their Tuscan souvenirs. They are still here, yet I realize now another world exists which is more agreeable and authentic.
Now I’m back for my second year and have found the perfect place to hang out and discover the “real Florence.” Our apartment overlooks the Piazza Lorenzo Ghiberti, which houses one of the best food markets in the city. Every morning I wake to the bustling sounds of the market. The market itself, called San Ambrogio, is a large metal building, which houses the butchers, bakers, and cheese and pasta shops. Outside, ringing the market, are the produce stands, some of which are directly from small farms outside of Florence. Even after just a few days’ stay, I am recognized and greeted with a friendly “boun giorno” as I make my daily rounds.
The weak dollar means that we’re not eating in restaurants every day, but who cares when you have a fabulous market to shop from and a kitchen to cook in? In Italy, the cooking begins in the market and it is finished at home. The best restaurants here are the ones that are the most like home cooking, or what they call “casalinga.”
Earlier in the week, I cooked lunch for 20 students and teachers at “Il Bisonte,” the famous printmaking school where my wife has been coming to work for the past three years. I went to the market having no idea what I was going to make. I started with the smallest stand in the far corner of the market. I bought zucchinis with the flowers still attached, fresh white shelling beans, small bunches of red onions tied together with raffia, perfectly small deep purple eggplants and little bunches of baby arugula. The next stand had fresh ripe peaches that would be simply sliced and marinated in red wine with a little sugar. At every stand I visited, I found something new I couldn’t resist and my bags got heavier. I started leaving my treasures at the stands for later pick up. At the last stand at the fringe of the market was a guy with wild mushrooms. He had huge porcinis and bright orange chanterelles. I got a few giant porcinis, then headed inside the market for some cheese, bread, hand-cut prosciutto, and local salami. I had three hours to prepare the lunch and figure out what the menu would be.
It was a mad dash to get everything done and then pack it up and carry everything through the crowded streets of Florence to Il Bisonte. When we arrived, the other students had prepared a long table in the courtyard of the school where every day, teachers and students sit together and share a meal. Brigitte and I assembled platters and bowls of food, which included plates of prosciutto, salami, and cheese, Panzanella, farro and green bean salad, white bean, porcini, and burrata salad, platters of roasted zucchini, eggplants and peppers, arugula salad, and the marinating peaches. Someone produced wine and bread and everyone sat down to eat. Glasses were raised and toasts were made and after lunch one of the students stood up and delivered a heartfelt aria from Pucinni’s Tosca. There were stories and laughter and then everyone helped clear the table and wash the dishes and headed back to work. This sense of community and conviviality from sharing a meal with friends and family is, for me, the reason I became a chef.
