Many say that in life there are only 2 certainties: death and taxes. It is in Florence that I can offer 1 more: Ciro & Sons ristorante have crafted the world's best pizza, and it lacked gluten.
They even won an award for it.
We made a reservation for 9pm and toured the city in preparation. Every tower reminiscent of pepperoni. Every church eerily similar to an artichoke. And each public square was shaped of a perfect mushroom. The crowds within? Oregano.
The table was set, the second cheapest bottle of wine was emptying, and goosebumps were goosey. One does not simply eat the worlds best pizza unprepared, and some not at all. Flocks of touristas around us ordered pasta, seafood, garlic bread (?) and seemed unaware of their tragic decisions from the menu.
Alas, it was our time.
The pizza shined like a beacon off it's green platter. Cheese still bubbling like fine champagne on top of the handmade roma tomato sauce. The first bite was divine. The second, as though from another planet (a delicious planet).
Before I knew it, there was one goddamn perfect slice left. Too many toppings to make the last bite reasonable, but there was no need for thoughtful mastication at this point. It went down fast and it was over.
Mr. Ciro - until we meet again.
Ahhh.... I still don't understand about the french people?
ReplyDeleteSleepless in Val d'Or
I think Todd was meaning Frenchies from France... Not Quebec, as all Quebecers are a dream!
ReplyDeleteDid you at least order Jess something to go after she watched you inhale her half of the Za?
ReplyDeleteLove Mom and Dad H
Ahhh... It was the Dijon part I didn't get?
ReplyDeleteStill sleepless
Don't put words in my mouth!
ReplyDeleteAnd of course Ma & Pa H (which, might I add, does not help distinguish from the other Ma & Pa H) don't understand the Fremchie comments as they heeded the warning to stop reading where things took a turn for the less appropriate!