Saturday, May 23, 2009

noir











Noir appears like an unexpected mirage on the side of the street. What attracts is the crowd of people leaning against and sitting on the wall front on the river Arno. Glasses of white wine, of Campari Americanos, thin flutes of prosecco catch the fading light. On embassy row, next to the British Embassy, Noir rocks it’s early evening crowd with a dj and club music that sound like the summer beach dances on the island of Ibiza.

I order a Campari, Caleb a gin and tonic. The aperitivo buffet is full of platters of couscous, cured meats and cheeses, olives, rice salad, anchovies, cornichons, Russian salads, breads. Young bariste replace the quickly emptied dishes with new or bring trays of little bite sized crostini or sandwiches out to the revelers on the river. It’s Friday night and it’s the city of Florence. Men and women dress for each other, dress for themselves. Fashion asserts itself: black boots, black jackets, freshly pressed shirts, loose, almost careless hair. The sun sets over the bridge casting pink reflections in the smooth water only rippled by the lone swimming nutria below us. The clouds call to mind 18th century painters. The last glow of light catches the cigarette smoke and the tango between dancing eyes of men and women out on a Friday night.

1 comment:

theforeignkitchen said...

This made me want to go to Florence OH SO BADLY! (wearing somthing black, of course) And I can't wait to check out your osteria, good fresh ingredients and a passion for food sounds like the perfect recipe.