Date: 08 December 2001
Usual easy clean marblish floor, tv on stem, firm bed, and shower room. Location handy for motorroute and a tour of small towns and cities coloured by baked earth.
Dinner served by waiter with hazy understanding of the ordination of the courses,he commented that my companions' zoo-like behaviour made it impossible for him to accept our admittedly lavish instructions. The other guests in the restaurant were enjoying a lower middle-class Sunday night family treat, or perhaps a fifteenth date, but were not too perturbed by the arrival of the troupe of monkeys.
An ok beginning with signs of what was to come, prosciutto and mozarella, but alas the prosciutto is gristly, carelessly cut, the mozzarella acceptable with its liquid core. The waiter, warming to us now, is informed that I would like my gnocchi before my Florentine Steak cooked bloody. The gnocchi are saucy, I hope homemade, but without specificity.
Bistecca alla Fiorentina, so so good, but this one is so so, too thin not obscene like they should be, would be better with a little ketchup, great steak stands alone. And there are no potatoes only salty frenchfries.
A frosty cake, the lovable server digs out a dry Cuban, the antics continue, more beer, more wine, caffee, a cognac for those who are left. Time for bed, it's only 12.10am when the tv is switched on.
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