PONTE VECCHIO-64 Via dei Bardi: When the Germans were forced out of Florence in 1944. they blew up all the bridges across the Arno except one -the famous, shop-crammed Ponte Vecchio. To block access to this spared bridge, they demolished all streets approaching it. It has taken the Italians years to repair this overnight folly, and the job is by no means finished.
In one of the rebuilt structures jutting over the Arno is a new restaurant which you will probably enjoy. It is named after the old bridge, and the view of the river from its terrace is worth the cover charge alone. As we write, the two upper stories of the building aren't even finished, but the ground floor hums with activity. Coming in, you have a view of the wellscrubbed kitchen, and there is a choice of panoramic tables-for the early comers, that is. Service and wine are good here, and the cooking, which leans toward the rich Bolognese tradition, is very palatable. Our carnivorous sense had been sharpened by a morning of viewing the more comestible Rubens nudes at the Pitti Palace, and our appetite was keen as we confronted the tagliatelle frctchc alla bologntse. They were impeccable! For festive diners-out there is music and dancing at the Pome Vecchio, and one can obtain a meal there at almost any hour.
TRATTORIA SO.STANZA-25 Via del Porcellana: That democratic institution, the trattoria, enters into the life of almost every visitor who stays in Florence for more than a few days. A fundamental difference between a ristorantc (where 'he waiters are leisurely and wear white coats, the menus arc typewritten and the tables individual) and the trattoria is that in the latter the waiters are in short sleeves and hurried to the point of hysteria, the menus are scrawled in pencil and the public rubs elbows at the same cable in a spirit of camaraderie, or better. The prices in a trattori are sure to be lower, but the food is often better, “litis explains their extraordinary popularity. Believe it or nor, there is a TRATTORIA DI BING CROSBY in Florence. Our favorite, Sosranza, is on a little side street near the luxurious Excclsior and Grand Hotels. It is small, consisting of a bar where they sell wine and bread to passing housewives as a side line, and an ice-box stocked with good Tuscan meat. Beyond this is a longish room closely packed with tables for six or more, and a small kitchen with a charcoal grill blazing away and fragrant kettles simmering in the shadows.
Two waiters handle all of the customers, and they arc in a frantic hurry most of the time. When Mario, the more flighty of the two. reaches a truly dizzy pace, the customers call him Mcrcurio, and Mercury's outstretched pose is what he assumes most of the time. To judge by the gallery of post cards in the bar, Sostanza has friends all over the world, especially in America. Departed guests send him views of skyscrapers, and nostalgic sentiments. Their nostalgia is not surprising. The pasta is tender, the sauces are rich. Steaks, chops and chicken sizzle forth from that grill, and they are wonderful. Mario throws it at you, but what of that? A perfect bistveca all Fiorentina, the size of a second baseman's mitt, arrives at your table for just over a dollar. Everyone drinks wine in a carafe, everyone is friendly, but the conversational pitch is low. We recommend Sostanza for the lustier type of gourmet, and for friendly and gregarious people. It isn't necessary to speak Italian either: Mario is working hard on his English!
TRATTORIA CAMILLO - 57r Borgo San Jacopo: This is a somewhat larger trattoria, with a high, vaulted ceiling and a little annex for the overflow of guests who inevitably appear. It is located on a little side street close to the south bank of the Arno. This is a family affair, carefully watched by mother and father Camillo, with white-haired uncle reigning in the kitchen and an indeterminate number of younger Camillos waiting on table and tending bar. Its food and atmosphere are the pure essence of Italy, and most commendable. We liked the husky young waiters, immaculate in their white shirt sleeves and aprons, energetic and polite. A more friendly place would be hard to find in Florence.
SIENA
T'his ancient hill town has a cordial motto: “Siena opens its heart to you even wider than its doors.” Fretful motorists wish there were some way of opening up its streets, too. Few medieval cities are as hopelessly corked up with traffic This magnificent site is dominated by two structures, the striped Duomo and the immense tower of the town hall. I'm heathen enough to think that the multicolored marble façade is vulgar and not beautiful at all. The tower is better, and the interior, of course, is matchless.
One of the most famous public squares anywhere is II Gimpn, the huge, sloping. shell-shaped piazza where the roughest, most picturesque and bizarre of all horse races is held twice each summer. This is the celebrated palio. as colorful and overcrowded a gladiatorial pageant as you'll ever encounter. Jockeys wear medieval costumes and whip their competitors' horses as well as their own. A fine point-a horse can win if he comes in first, even without a jockey. For those two days II Gimpo becomes the most turbulent spot in Italy, but usually the square is quiet, except for a few shouting chestnut vendors. The shadow of the immense campanile of the Mangia, or town palace, swings slowly around the piazza, precisely like a sundial. The time of day can be gauged by the building on which its shadow falls.
AL MANGIA-Squarely in the middle of the north side of II Campo is a restaurant with an absolutely unbeatable location. Its name is Al Mangia, and its tables are stretched out under awnings and umbrellas in a most inviting fashion. Inevitably it is “touristy,” but the food is above the Sienese average. We asked for the specialties of the house, and received a plate of tortelli alla Mangia, oversized ravioli stuffed with nutmeg-scented spinach, then a veal cutlet with a faintly sharp sauce, subtly seasoned with herbs, and a chocolate cake Sicncsc style, heavily sodden with kifscli - magnificently fattening. and a caffd espresso, and called it a lunch -which it certainly was. Wc have fainter praise for the service.
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