The Food Section

Grazie Mille

I just wanted to thank Josh for having me, and everyone else for reading and commenting. It's been a great week, and I hope everyone enjoyed this as much as I have. I'm back at work in Berkeley now, at a wonderful new restaurant, Eccolo -- it's so Italian, I almost don't miss Italy.

Anyway, I love to give tips on where to eat in Tuscany (and the Bay Area), so don't hesitate to contact me at anytime through my blog.

Buon appetito, e ci sentiamo presto!

A Timballo How-To

This is Benedetta Vitali's recipe for timballo, which borrows heavily from the recipe in Jeanne Carola Francesconi's La Cucina Napoletana, one of my favorite cookbooks of all time. We are going to include it in the cookbook we're working on now, but the measurements haven't been converted from the metric system yet. So use the metric converter, along with some good judgment, and your timballo should come out beautifully.

Timballo di maccheroni

For the pasta frolla:
380 g flour
100 g sugar
150 g butter, at room temperature
1 egg
2 egg yolks

For the meatballs:
200 g ground beef
75 g stale bread, crust removed
1 egg
30 g freshly grated parmesan cheese
1 tablespoon chopped parsley
2 cloves garlic, finely chopped
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
250 g fine bread crumbs
Extra virgin olive oil, for frying

For the stuffing:
1 kg chicken livers, cleaned
6 sage leaves
2 cloves garlic, sliced
200 g Bufala mozzarella
30 g dried porcini mushrooms
250 g shelled peas (if in season)
Salt
Extra virgin olive oil

For the pasta:
500 g ziti broken up by hand
150 g grated parmesan

1 batch ragú (see recipe below)

In a mixing bowl, combine the butter, flour, egg, and sugar. Knead it with your hands just long enough to make the ingredients stick together. Cover it with plastic wrap, and allow the dough to rest in the refrigerator for 30 minutes.

Reconstitute the dried mushrooms by placing them in a small pot and covering them with water. Bring the water to a boil and then remove it from the heat. Strain out the mushrooms and chop them coarsely, reserving the mushroom juice.

Soak the bread in water for 5 minutes. In the meantime, combine the beef, egg, parmesan, parsley, garlic, salt and pepper in a large bowl. Squeeze the excess water from the bread and crumble it into the meat mixture. Knead the mixture until all of the ingredients are evenly dispersed, and taste a little pinch of it to check for the salt and pepper. Avoid over-mixing the meat so that it doesn’t become tough.

Form meatballs the size of peas, or just a little bit bigger, out of the mixture, and roll them in the bread crumbs.Once all of the meatballs have been formed, heat about 1/2 cm of extra virgin olive oil in a skillet until it is shimmering, and fry the meatballs for one minute until they are lightly golden. Remove them from the oil with a slotted spatula and place them on a sheet lined with paper towels to drain of excess oil.

Heat a skillet over a high flame and lightly coat the bottom with extra virgin olive oil. Add the chopped garlic and sage leaves, and when the garlic begins to sizzle, add the chicken livers and sauté for 3-4 minutes. Partially cover the skillet with a lid to prevent the oil from splattering everywhere. Take care not to burn the garlic, and the chicken livers should be lightly browned on the outside but still pink on the inside when they are done. Set the livers aside to cool. Once cool, cut the livers into 1 cm cubes.

Bring a large pot of water to a boil and salt it heavily. Boil the ziti until they are very al dente, remembering that they will continue to cook in the oven for another 40 minutes. Prepare an ice bath with a few tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil in it. As soon as the pasta is cooked enough, remove it from the boiling water into the ice bath to stop it from cooking any further.

Heat the ragú thoroughly over a medium flame with a bit of the mushroom juice. When the pasta has cooled completely, strain it from the ice water and toss it with half of the ragú and grated parmesan cheese.

If you are using peas, place them in a skillet with 150 ml of water and a few tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil. Season with salt and simmer the peas for 3 minutes until they are almost tender.

Cut the mozzarella into 1 cm cubes and let as much liquid drain from them as possible.

Preheat the oven to 180°C. Roll two-thirds of the dough directly over the bottom and 5 cm up the sides of an 28 to 30 cm springform pan. You can also roll out the dough on a piece of marble or any smooth surface and transfer it to the pan. It’s better not to add any flour while rolling.

Fill the timballo: begin with a layer of pasta, and then a few pieces each of porcini, mozzarella and chicken liver. Sprinkle a few tablespoons of peas and meatballs over the pasta next, and then a ladleful of ragú. Continue with another layer of pasta and more filling, and finish with a layer of pasta and a ladleful of ragú. The timballo has a tendency to dry out in the oven, so use enough ragú to keep it moist.

Roll out the last piece of dough to a thickness of 5 mm and lay it over the timballo. Carefully seal all of the edges of the timballo, trying your best to not leave any visible seams. The timballo will expand while baking, and if there are any seams, they may rupture in the oven.

Bake the timballo for approximately 40 minutes, until it turns a beautiful golden brown color. Once cool, carefully take the baking shell out of the pan and place it on a serving platter.

Ragú

1 1/4 pounds (575g) very good beefsteak, such as sirloin, rib eye (Scotch fillet) or round steak
1 pork sausage, about 4 to 5 ounces (110 to 140g)
2 chicken livers
2 ounces (50g) beef suet
1 chicken neck
1 large or 2 small onions, minced
1 carrot, peeled and minced
1 large or 2 small stalks celery, minced
1/2 cup (125 ml) extra virgin olive oil
1/2 cup (125 ml) dry red wine
Salt
2 fresh or canned tomatoes, peeled
About 4 cups (1 l) water
Pepper
1 piece of lemon zest, cut into strips
1 pound (500g) pasta
2 to 3 tablespoons (30 to 40g) unsalted butter, for dressing
1 cup (125g) grated Parmesan cheese, for serving

Remove the sausage from its casing and crumble it up into small pieces. Chop the livers, and cut the suet into small cubes. Scorch the chicken neck over a flame to eliminate any residual hairs. Put all the meats in a bowl and set aside while you prepare the soffritto.

Use a pot large enough so that all of the meat will sit in a single layer and brown nicely. Heat the onion, carrot, celery and oil over medium heat until the vegetables are dark brown, about 15 minutes. After the first few minutes, watch the soffritto closely and stir with a wooden spoon to prevent burning. Also, if necessary, add a little water to keep the soffritto from burning.

When you feel that the soffritto cannot get any darker before burning, add all of the meat to the pot and stir with a wooden spoon, mixing thoroughly. Increase the heat and begin to brown the meat.

Brown the meat for about 15 minutes. Be attentive -- the meat should form a toasted crust without burning. When the meat is well done, add the wine and raise the heat to maximum. The wine will deglaze the pan and reintroduce that delicious flavor back into the ragú. Keep stirring until all of the wine has evaporated and the meat begins to fry again.

Add the tomatoes and squash them with a fork, then stir to combine with the meat. Add the water (it should cover the meat by 1 cm). Lower the flame to a minimum and add salt, pepper, and the lemon zest to the pot.

Let the ragú cook gently for at least 2 hours, occasionally keeping an eye on the level of the liquid -- it should always be creamy. If it becomes too dry, add some water. Towards the end of the cooking, taste the sauce and adjust the salt. At the end, remove the chicken neck. Separate the meat from the bone with a fork and a knife and add the meat back to the ragú.

A Drum With the Best Things in the World Inside

Ever since seeing Big Night, my dreams had been filled with visions of the timpano. I tried to convince the chefs at Chez Panisse to put timballo on the menu, saying that though it might be a lot of work to prepare, it would be easy on the line, but they never went for it. I decided that I'd make a timballo for myself at my own goodbye party, with pesto, trenette pasta, minty meatballs and hardboiled eggs, but things got really crazy before I left, and I never got around to it. So when I got to Italy and Benedetta asked me to come help her with a cooking demonstration and dinner that the Marchesa di Frescobaldi was holding at her Castello di Nipozzano for the European press, I was thrilled to find out that timballo would be on the menu.

Timpano, which means "drum" in Italian, and timballo are two different names for the same thing. As they put it in Big Night, "A timpano is a drum with the best things in the world inside!" Traditionally from the south of Italy, there are different versions wherever you go -- some with rice, some with pasta, some with both -- the timballo is a slightly sweetened pastry crust filled with all sorts of savory treats, ranging from hardboiled eggs and meatballs to chicken livers and mozzarella cheese. It's a party dish, brought whole to the table and sliced with theatrical flare before the guests, accompanied, of course, with plenty of oohs and ahhs and in Italy, usually applause.

I love rich, dramatic foods, which explains why I am especially drawn to the party dishes of southern Italy, such as timballo and riso sartu', a savory cake similar to timballo with a crust of risotto crisped in the oven. For me, there is just something so thrilling about the buildup to a dish like timballo: spending one whole day to gather the perfect ingredients and the next to create a masterpiece. I love becoming obsessed with a food, learning about its many possible variations, and then making it just the way I see fit. I was lucky, because Benedetta also loves southern food, and when I got the chance to make timballo with Benedetta, I was in heaven, getting to make the timballo of my dreams alongside my own personal timballaia.

It was the kind of late September day that people picture when they think of Tuscany -- the sky was clear and blue, the air just turning crisp, and our car was loaded with all of the makings of my first timballi. As we drove out of Florence to the east, toward the outskirts of Chianti, apartment buildings turned to farmhouses and the cypress trees that line the hills started to appear. The year's vendemmia had come and gone, but the olives were still on the trees, and we could see workers laying tarps in the groves in preparation for the harvest.

At that time, I really had no idea who the Frescobaldis were, but once I saw their amazing castello, I realized that they must be quite a family. Later, I learned about their wines, and their Luce project with the Mondavi family; I also came to know that their oil is included in the prestigious Laudemio. But the views from their home into the hills were enough to convince me of this family's place in the Italian wine world.

Once Benedetta and I were settled in the kitchen, I got to work preparing the meatballs. I ground the beef, mixed it with parmesan, egg, soaked bread, parsley and garlic, and seasoned it. Then I formed tiny, pea sized meatballs and rolled them in bread crumbs before I fried them until they were just golden brown.

Next, Benedetta fried the chicken livers with sage and garlic, and I parboiled the pasta. We used huge zitoni that I broke up by hand before cooking. Once they were completely cooled, I tossed them with abundant ragú that we had brought with us from the restaurant while Benedetta started on the pasta frolla for the crust. It was easy enough to make, just a little flour, egg, butter, salt and sugar kneaded together to form a dough. She let it rest for about 30 minutes before we rolled it out to cover our 10-inch springform pans.

Then, we just filled the timballi: first, a layer of pasta, then pieces of chicken liver and bufala mozzarella, some meatballs and a little extra ragú to keep it from drying out in the oven, and and then another layer of pasta and stuffing. The last layer was pasta, and then we carefully sealed up the entire thing with a sheet of pasta frolla. From there, we just stuck it into the oven for about 40 minutes, until it was a lovely shade of golden brown. We pulled it out and let it rest when it was done before serving it to the journalists, who were stupefied at the beauty of it all. It took me a few bites to get used to the sweet crust, but now I can't imagine the timballo without it. I've made different versions of the timballo since; I think the only way to ruin one is to go nuts adding too many different ingredients. Tomorrow, I'll post Benedetta's recipe, which I think is a great standard.

Tuscan Take-out

I can remember the first time I discovered my neighborhood rosticceria, or rotisserie -- I was at a friend's house, and she said that we should walk down there and get some chicken and lasagne for dinner. So we went over, just as the lasagne was being pulled out of the oven. Two young women worked behind the counter, expertly weilding the spits without burning themselves as I probably would, and carving whole roast chickens with two or three slips of a knife. Even before tasting anything, I was impressed.

When I got home, I was delighted to find that the spit-roasted chickens were the best I'd ever tasted -- herby, salty, and moist, the skin was just amazing. We'd bought a bit of each type of chicken, both the tondo (round) and the schiacciato (flattened). In recent years, I'd come to prefer chicken leg to the breast, because nearly every breast I encountered was dry and flavorless. But deep down inside, it's the white meat that I love, and after a bite of the pollo tondo, I knew I'd found The Perfect Chicken Breast. As one might expect, the breast of the pollo schiacciato was drier, but the skin was crispier, and the leg was absolutely heavenly.

The lasgane was an incredible heap of pasta fresca, ragú and besciamella, and over the months, I've come to realize that it's never quite the same. It's like a little lottery, except you never lose. Sometimes, there's more meat, sometimes more tomato, but it's always delicious, and always cheap.

Another staple for me is a little container of roast potatoes, which I still find to be a bit of an enigma. Tossed with salt and rosemary, they are unmistakably Tuscan and go perfectly with any of the roast meats. But, I swear that I see them being pulled out of the deep-fryer when I peek into the kitchen. It's one of those don't ask, don't tell kind of situations, I guess. My only tip on the potatoes is never to get the ones from the first batch -- like french fries and really any fried food, the first batch never gets the intensity of flavor that the later batches take on, and they don't get to be golden brown, either.

It took me a while before I figured out the hours of the rosticceria -- often I would go there too early, and sometimes, sadly, too late, once everything had been sold out. Once, though, I hit the jackpot and got there right as they were opening, and saw something I'd never seen before, the rosticciana, or spare ribs. I asked if they were a new thing, and the comessa laughed and said no, that actually, they had them every day. They were just so popular that they usually sold out in the first 20 minutes. So I licked my lips and ordered some costoline and patate to take home for dinner. We loved them -- they were greasy and tender and perfectly seasoned. They were excellent, but I wouldn't want to have them for dinner every night. Not like my beloved petto di pollo tondo.

Though I usually just stick to the chicken (I am a creature of habit when it comes to foods I like), the rosticceria has plenty of other offerings: through the winter, a thick farro soup got me through the flu season; pappa al pomodoro is showing up these days; there are always a couple of pastas and a sformato, and lots of grilled and roasted vegetables; trippa alla fiorentina makes a frequent appearance on the menu, and arista, or Tuscan roast pork loin along with spit-roasted rabbit, beef and lamb are usually available. Just last week I had a great sandwich for lunch that I made with a few thin slices of arista, some rucola and a caper-y salsa verde.

My new favorite summer offering is the parmigiana di melanzane, easily the best eggplant parmesan I have ever had. It is so rich that even I, the bollito sandwich addict, don't miss the meat. Huge pieces of mozzarella cheese are layered with thick slices of eggplant and a simple pomorola sauce. The parmigiana is another of those rich southern dishes that makes me swoon, and this one can compete with the best of them.

Rosticceria & Ristorante della Spada
Via della Spada, 62/R 055.218.757

Firenze + Summer = Tourists + Gelato

A Guide to the Best Gelato in Florence, by Flavor

Especially in the summer, it seems like every other storefront in Florence sells gelato, so choosing the right place and the right flavor can be a little intimidating. Along with a comprehensive list of the city's best flavors and gelaterie, I'd like to give a little gelato primer, if you will, on how to choose an ice cream you won't regret (in case you forget the list I've prepared at home).

1. Start by looking for signs that say produzione propria, which means "house made," though even this is often not enough to guarantee that the gelato will be any good.

2. Every time I enter a new gelateria, I glance at the pistachio flavor. If it's neon green, then I leave. For me, this is a better indicator than produzione propria, because even homemade ice cream can be full of artificial flavors. Pistachios are relatively expensive, so many ice cream makers take the easy way out and use artificial flavors and colors to fake it. What makes gelato so lovely is the purity and explosiveness of its flavor -- if someone is stooping so low as to add food coloring to his or her pistachio gelato, then there's no telling what's being done to any of the other flavors.

3. My two favorite gelaterie, Vestri in Florence and San Crispino in Rome, use cylindrical steel containers to store their ice cream. The gelati are kept out of view, but are better refrigerated and preserved. For these places, the flavor of the gelato is advertisement enough -- they don't need to show their wares to attract customers, because they have the best product available. This sort of refrigeration system is more traditional, and also more expensive, than the hotel-pan-in-the-freezer-case setup that is much more common, but in my opinion, it is a sure sign that the gelato is of the highest quality.

4. When ordering gelato, try to limit yourself to three or four flavors. Having too many flavors can get messy, and it becomes difficult to tell which is which by the end of your cone or cup.

All of the gelaterie that I've listed below make their own ice cream from scratch using fresh, wholesome ingredients. For the most part, you can't go wrong choosing any flavor at any of them. But, each place does have its strong points, and I've generously done extensive taste testing to be able to bring you the best of each gelateria.

Alpina, Badiani, and Veneta are a little out of the way, and so, a little less touristy. Carabe' is run by a lovely Sicilian couple who bring up their ingredients from Sicilia regularly -- they also make delicious cannoli and cassata. Carrozza and Neri are two great options in the center. And Vestri is not so much a gelateria as an artisan chocolate shop that also happens to have some amazing gelati. Vivoli, a mainstay in guidebooks, lives up to the hype for the most part, though it is rather expensive, and its gelati tend to be very sweet.

Almond: Carabe'

Amarena: Carrozza

Blueberry: Veneta

Buontalenti: Badiani

Chocolate: Vestri

Coffee: Vivoli

Fig: Carabe'

Fior di latte: Vestri

Lemon: Carrozza or Carabe'

Melon: Carrozza

Mint Chocolate: Vestri

Mousse flavors: Vivoli

Nocciola: Carrozza

Persimmon (autumn): Vivoli

Pistachio: Carabe'

Rum crunch: Alpina

Straciatella: Vestri

Strawberry: Carabe'

Walnut: Carabe'

Wild Strawberry: Vestri

Yogurt: Alpina

Any flavor of Granita: Carabe'

Alpina -- Viale Strozzi, 12/R (055.496.677)
Badiani--Viale dei Mille, 20/R (055.578.682)
Carabe'--Via Ricasoli, 60/R (055.289.476)
Carrozza -- Piazza del Pesce, 3-5 (055.239.6810)
Neri -- Via dei Neri, 20-22/R (055.210.034)
Veneta -- Piazza Beccaria, 7/R (055.234.3370)
Vestri -- Borgo degli Albizi, 11/R (055.234.0374)
Vivoli -- Via Isole delle Stinche, 7/R (055.292.334)

La Guida del Mercato

Throughout my time in Florence, I've lived in pretty much every neighborhood in the center: San Niccolò, l'Oltrarno, Sant' Ambrogio, and smack dab in the center between the train station and the Duomo. Though I loved San Niccolò and l'Oltrarno, living a minute's walk from the Mercato Centrale definitely appeals to the cook (glutton) in me.

When I first got to Florence and worked lunches at Zibibbo, the only day I had off was Monday, so every single Monday I went to Nerbone for lunch. One of the chefs at the Chez Panisse Cafe was obsessed with the bollito (boiled beef) sandwiches there, waxing poetic about the thin slices of costole, or rib meat, and especially herby salsa verde every time he put bollito misto on his own menu. So I made a point of having a panino bollito be one of the first things I ate when I got to town, even if I was still grappling with the mid-September heat. Bollito isn't exactly the perfect summer meal.

But oh, the joys of the perfect Nerbone panino. It took me some trial and error: in the beginning, when I didn't speak Italian, I got there once at nearly 2:00 p.m., just before the market closes, and asked for a sandwich. The cashier tried to warn me about something, but I acted like like whatever he was talking about was no big deal, and I just paid for the sandwich, anyway. He gave me my receipt, and I walked to the other end of the vetrina to order my panino, and Stefano, the paninaio, pulled out a big hunk of lampredotto, the tripe that looks like the ruffled shirt of a 1974 powder blue tuxedo, and started to make me a sandwich. I realized later, after my first -- and not entirely unsuccessful -- encounter with tripe that they'd been telling me there was no beef left.

Now that I am an old pro at the panino game, I always go through the same routine when I order a sandwich. First, I go over to the right side of the stand to make sure that there is plenty of beef left, as well as both sauces: the EXTREMELY spicy peperoncino oil, and the lovely, to-have-a-sandwich-without-it-would-be-a-crime salsa verde. I think that Nerbone's salsa verde just might be my favorite ever--they add some interesting ingredients. It's always different, but my favorite combination includes parsley, celery, carrots and olive oil. It's that simple. And it's so amazing.

After I'm sure that they've got what I want, I pay for my sandwich and sneak back over into the panino line. This is no easy task -- as Emily Wise Miller writes in her Food Lover's Guide to Florence, my favorite guide to the city, "Nerbone is more than just a sandwich vendor, it's a contact sport." When I've made it to the front, I ask for a "panino con la carne, bagnato, con tutte due salse," which means a meat sandwich (as opposed to one with lampredotto), with the bun dipped in the meat broth, with both of the sauces. These days, a bollito sandwich costs 2.30 Euros, which explains why it's become a staple of my diet.

Nerbone is a workman's hangout, where all of the neighborhood muratori come to have a bowl of pasta or a bit of manzo con patate (beef and potatoes). It's more than just a sandwich stand -- it's a little piece of la vera italia hiding behind tourists and snapshots, with hearty, cheap food (I love the ribollita and pasta al ragú when I'm not feeling like a sandwich) and wine to keep the regulars happy.

Of course, the market has plenty to offer besides Nerbone. Over the past two years, I've come to know and love certain vendors in the mercato. They're a part of my extended family, knowing when I'm sick or sad, missing me when I don't come around for a few days, and advising me on what I should make for my friends for dinner each night. My vendors are the outermost circle of my Florentine support system, and here, I'll share them with you.

Usually, a trip to the market starts with a visit to Bar Bellini, where I grab a quick cappuccino from Anna or Piero. The bar's been there since 1898, and it was one of the few bars in Florence not to double its prices when the Lire switched over to the Euro. A cappuccino is still only 80 centessimi.

For eggs and meat, I head to Macelleria Manetti Simone, where Signore Manetti, his wife, and son have fresh eggs and homemade sausages that they make daily. Of course, they always have la bistecca fiorentina available, as well as pretty much any cut of pork, lamb and beef imaginable, including beautiful seasoned roasts that are oven-ready. They also have chicken and sometimes turkey. But I've gotta say, those little salsicce are great for dinner, or to throw into a quick pasta.

If my meat needs ever extend farther than what the Manetti provide, then I head over to Tripperia M&L where Rosin Lorella and her husband Marco Ghirlanda offer every type of offal you might ever dream of. They've got four types of tripe, both raw and cooked, cow's udder (a Tuscan delicacy), brain, sweetbreads, heart, tongue, spleen, kidney, liver, lungs, and of course, testicles. Traditional Tuscan food comes from la cucina povera, where housewives had to use every bit of meat that came their way to sustain their families through the winter. I've never witnessed a love affair with offal that can compare with that of the Tuscans', and I think the existence of this spotless tripperia is ample proof of this adoration.

Though Florence isn't a coastal town, fish comes in every morning from Livorno and Viareggio, and there is a decent selection of tuna, swordfish, sea bream, and rockfish, as well as anchovies and sardines, at the market. I always go to the immaculate counter of Fulvio Dolfi to get my calamaretti, tiny squid the size of my pinky finger, and other fish and shellfish, such as mazzancolle (a relative of shrimp) and telline (cockles, or miniature clams).

My favorite vendor in the entire market is by far Baroni Alimentari, the exquisite shop run by Paola and Alessandro Baroni. Not only is the place immaculate, but they have the most extensive variety of meats and cheeses, olive oils and wines, to be found in San Lorenzo. Paola and Alessandro make a point of knowing all of their purveyors personally, and of course tasting and becoming familiar with every product that they offer before they make it available. I must admit that their prices might be a little higher than just any old place you might stumble upon, but even they are willing to work with people (like me) who might not be able to afford Capezzana olive oil and red cow Parmesan.

Paola and Alessandro were the first people I got to know personally in the market, and I've come to trust them so much that I'll take pretty much anything they'd give me. They have amazing olive oils, like Marrechutone, from tiny aziende -- places that make no more than three or four hundred bottles a year. And I've never tasted any Pecorino Toscano that can rival the cheese that I can get from them. Just last week I got the most perfect cheese I have ever tasted, a local raw milk pecorino that was maybe 10 days old. It was so soft and mild that any description I might be able to give would just ruin the memory of it.

The Baroni shop also has a stunning array of prosciutti and salumi, several types of Parmigiano, snacks, bread, mostarde, fresh cheese such as feta, mozzarella, and sheepsmilk ricotta, vinegars (including an impressive selection of aceto balsamico), canned tuna and anchovies, butter, wine, pasta, chocolate, coffee, and grappe. Basically, if it were the only food shop in Florence, no one could complain.

Another Gastronomia with an especially good selection of house made mostarde is Perini, run by two brothers, Claudio and Andrea. Their orange, apple, fig, apricot, and pear mostarde are wonderful -- sweet and shockingly spicy. Sold by the etto, or 100 grams, these mostarde are perfect with a bit of that Baroni pecorino.

My final stop on the ground floor is at Naturalmente di Barbara Conti, where Signora Conti and her husband Leonardo sell all sorts of candied fruits, which I've never actually tried, and charming tins of biscotti and amaretti, the little almond and egg white cookies that find their way into a variety of northern Italian sweet and savory dishes. The Amaretti Virginia and Roman Gentilini biscotti are what draw me back time after time (not to mention their most beautiful packaging).

On the top floor of the mercato, the sheer selection of fruits and vegetables can be intimidating until you find a regular fruttivendolo. I get my vegetables from Mari Battagliani and Simona Cavaciocchi, a mother-daughter team situated at the top of the southern stairs. They've got everything a cook could ask for, and always in season; they've never tried to sell me anything questionable. In fact, I've never even seen anything questionable at their stand. But do watch out for Mari, because she's really good at getting you to buy things you don't really need or want.

And right behind them is Leonardo Maggi's fruit stand. His unparalleled Tarocchi and Sanguinelli blood oranges single-handedly got me through the winter, and his strawberries are the sweetest I've ever tasted. He's always got several types of apples, and right now he has those special white Tuscan peaches that are simply perfect.

For porcini, I always go to Stefano Parigi, just a few steps to the left of Mari's stand. He may have less mushrooms than some of the other vendors, but he's always willing to split them in half to show that there aren't any worms. Plus, the lamps above his stand are shaped like porcini. You can't beat that.

In the far corner of the second floor is Emilio Castro's humongous dried fruit kiosk. He's got everything you could ever imagine could be dried, including kumquats, apricots, berries, cherries, peaches, coconut and melon. Though I must say that some of the bright colors elicit a raised eyebrow from me, his tomatoes, nuts, and peperoncini are among the best I've seen at the market. And, they aren't pre-packaged, so you don't have to buy a half-kilo or some absurd amount that might take you 6 months to use.

Usually, by the time I reach Signore Castro's stand, I am so laden with produce and other foodstuffs that I don't even want to think about the fifth floor walk-up apartment, so I've taken to trying to stagger my shopping with produce one day and meat, cheese and eggs on another. That way, I get to go to the market every day. It breaks my heart to think of all of the foreign students and picnickers in town who think it's cheaper or more convenient to shop at one of the dinky grocery stores. It's not. The art of bargaining is alive and well inside the mercato. My trick, especially with produce, is to wait until as close to 1:30 p.m. as possible, when most store owners are starting to close up shop and want to get rid of their stuff. It's a great strategy. Just don't wait too long, or you'll miss out on all of the good stuff and get stuck eating a tripe sandwich when all you wanted was a bit of bollito.

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Destination: Florence, Italy

The Food Section travels to Florence, Italy, this week for the second edition of Moveable Feast, an ongoing feature consisting of local food writing with a decidedly non-New York focus.

Professional cook and writer Samin Nosrat will be guest editing The Food Section for the next five days, providing a bellyful of culinary reportage on the flavors of Florence.

Ms. Nosrat spent three years at Chez Panisse in Berkeley, California, before traveling to Florence to work on a cookbook with Benedetta Vitali, chef/owner of Trattoria Zibibbo and the author of Soffritto: Tradition and Innovation in Tuscan Cooking. She just returned to the United States, but during her final days abroad, she penned a series of reports on some of her favorite food finds and culinary experiences during her two years in Italy. From the secret culture of ordering a panino bollito at the Mercato Centrale to where to find the best gelato in Florence, Ms. Nosrat will be your gastronomical guide.

While Ms. Nosrat takes the helm, Appetizers, the daily links, and Agenda, the weekly listing of food events, will be on a one-week hiatus, returning the week of July 5.