Florence in my kitchen.

Trippa alla fiorentina, one of my all-time culinary joys, I was first introduced to it in 1981 when my mother tried a recipe from a fancy cookery book, a collection of a former newspaper’s Italy correspondant’s favourite Italian dishes, some sort of culinary memoirs, and therefore the only cookery book my mother would feel inspired by, it was an immediate success with me, I declared it my last meal before being hanged, I then was told Germany didn’t have the death penalty any longer, but what these trippa actually were, I was not told. Years later, however, I found out, when we had moved up north, to a place where ‘trippa’ were only fed to dogs, oh sweet Baden-Wuerttemberg, how I still miss you, you are so much closer to France and Italy, you know what and how to eat (and how to make cars, but that’s just coincidence, I guess), but by then, I had grown worldly enough not to care, a veal’s a veal, whatever part, unless you’re vegetarian of course, or worse, vegan – in that case: vade retro, satanas! Many other a year later, I traveled to Florence, enjoyed the glorious architecture, and finally tried that former Italy correspondant’s recipe “vor Ort”, on my “Lokaltermin”, my on-site inspection, so to say. The place was really nice, the food, however, was not. It tasted just the way it was not supposed to: like dog food.

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