Il Latini

• Via dei Palchetti 6r
• Firenze (FI)
• Official Website

Florence is a beautiful city, and one steeped in history. It has boasted an impressive list of notable residents for hundreds of years: Salvatore Ferragamo, Dante, Galileo, Machiavelli, Leonardo, Michaelangelo, Donatello, and Raphael. But really, besides the names of the Ninja Turtles, the foundations of the modern Italian language, and some of the most significant art in the world, what else does this city have to offer?

Well, there is also its food (not to mention its wine). Tuscany is perhaps the most often romanticized region of Italy, and Florence is its famous capital, drawing tourists from all around the world to take in the local flavors. Many pessimistic knowledgeable “foodies” might try to warn you away, claiming that it is near-impossible to eat well in this city. But as long as you understand the fact that such God-forsaken monstrosities as Tuscan spinach dip (with only 17 Atkins Net Carbs!) are not even remotely Tuscan, I think you’ll be just fine. The people of Tuscany are known throughout Italy as mangiafagioli (”bean-eaters”), consuming incredible amounts of the cheap legumes. And it comes as no surprise to anyone who’s enjoyed a panino col lampredotto (tripe sandwich) or a bowl of ribollita (vegetable soup made with stale bread) on a trip to this region that the foundations of the Tuscan kitchen lie in la cucina povera, literally “poor cuisine.” This type peasant food embodied the term “rustic” long before it became a restaurant buzzword.

When in Florence, I set out to find a restaurant emblematic of this cuisine. It was not an easy task. This being my first trip to Italy, I found that the siren song of trying to find the undiscovered gems sometimes distracted me from enjoying the tried-and-true. Culinary trail-blazing be damned, one night I decided to go somewhere that all the guidebooks recommended. That place was Il Latini.

The scene is over-the-top Tuscan kitsch, with rows of prosciutto hanging from the ceilings and straw-covered flasks of red wine on the tables (”They do that here, too?” I thought to myself). Packed every night, it is about as far from undiscovered as a restaurant can possibly be. I’m also about 99% certain there was not an Italian in the dining room that evening, save for the staff. They have a printed menu, supposedly, though it’s never shown to anyone. A waiter just makes his way to your table to begin the interrogation. Vuoi un po di prosciutto? Sure, prosciutto would be great. I’ll take the one hanging over my head. Con melone? Nah, not a big fan of melon. Va bene…forse un po di finocchiona? I’d love some — that fennel seed-studded salame is one of my favorites. And so on it goes, until the horse-trading is complete, and the food begins to arrive.

The opening round was a trio of plates. The first, rosy pink slices of prosciutto toscano. Differentiating it from prosciutto di Parma, there is a peppery, vaguely herbal quality to this type of cured ham, in addition to the expected saltiness. The almost-translucent thin slices practically melted on the tongue. Very tasty. The second plate was a thicker piece of finocchiona. In addition to the namesake fennel seeds, this tender salame also had coarse chunks of black peppercorn, adding a nice kick at the end. The third antipasto was an absolutely phenomenal panzanella di farro. This Tuscan classic is traditionally a tomato and bread salad, the latter of which this version replaced with nutty farro. Juicy tomato chunks, small bits of onion and celery and a liberal dose of extra virgin olive oil kept this salad very simple, but incredibly flavorful.

In Tuscany, soup often replaces pasta as the predictable primo, so I was pleased when my waiter suggested a bowl of zuppa di farro e fagioli. While it might seem repetitive to have farro in two consecutive dishes, such nit-picks are not something one notices when they both taste this good. This thick soup, loaded with farro and white cannellini beans in a tomato broth, was quite flavorful. And the traditional C-shaped drizzle of olive oil on top of the soup just added an extra richness. Very nice.

When I asked for bistecca alla fiorentina, the beautiful porterhouse steak that is basically the region’s signature dish, the waiter shook his head and apologized, saying they couldn’t do one smaller than 1.5kg. Not really in the mood for a $80 main course or a Fred Flintstone chunk of beef that night, I was asked what else he might recommend. Il filetto di manzo, he told me, no question. And he certainly didn’t lead me astray. This huge, fist-sized beef fillet was cooked rare as requested. Irresistibly juicy and just full of flavor, it was a winner. On the side, I enjoyed a simple contorno, or side dish, of zucchine e pomodori. Chunks of relatively narrow zucchini lightly stewed in tomato sauce. Though a little overcooked (the Italian way with vegetables), this was still tasty.

The waiter now rattled off a fairly boring and predictable roster of desserts (Tuscan cuisine is not exactly known for its sweets). Nothing really appealed to me and I had a date with Grom later anyway, so I passed. But luckily, everyone gets cantucci (biscotti) and vin santo (”holy wine”) to cap off the meal here. Loaded with delicious almonds and dunked in the sweet wine, the biscotti made for a lovely ending to the meal. But wait. We’re all friends here, right? Have some moscato d’asti, too, my waiter said. Why, a glass of one of my favorite dessert wines? Don’t mind if I do.

The prices, I’m convinced, change with the mood of the jolly, plump owner, which fortunately seems to be a consistently happy one. He came over to my table, and pulled out a notepad. Thinking silently thought for a second, he then smiled and scribbled down a number, having decided that €40 would be my tariff that night. Fine by me. Considering the quality (and quantity) of the food, I found it to be a pretty good deal. A touristy place? Sure, that’s Florence for you. But sometimes the answer to the age-old question of what’s for dinner is, simply, “I’ll have what everyone else is having.”