The bathroom in our Firenze hotel is nice. Which is good, because Josh, Mom and I are spending the evening in here with a Peroni and a Moretti, both Italian beers, one of which lists winning championship years by Italy's national futbol team. We found ourselves all meeting in the bathroom once the kids dropped off to sleep and are too tired to change our location and so have been skyping, chatting, and now blogging from the comfy confines of the roughly 8 square meter bathroom. You'd think after today's train ride, I would not want to hang out in a bathroom, but this one is way nicer.
We had a real dinner in an actual ristorante tonight. We were sent there by Jerry in the leather shop who recommended we go there, eat like the Italians do and ask for Gigi. When we told the waiter that we'd been told to ask for Gigi, he said, "well, he's the owner, and he's right over there but he doesn;t speak any English." Right. Of course. Well, tell him we asked for him. We ordered some blessed french fries for the kids, and spaghetti, penne with truffles, mixed salad, the ever-present bruchetta, and a 1/2 liter of the house white. Mom, in a clear effort to make sure no one shared her dinner, ordered the tripe. The food was fantastic and Gigi, a gregarious sort of man, burst into song over and over again while we ate.
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