Two Days in Florence

All for me.

My recent visit to Florence reminded me why Italian food so often sits right at the top of everyone’s shortlist of favourite cuisines. It’s not just that it tastes so damn good, it’s everything around it. The pace of life, the weather, the way meals are given time and space. It all feeds into it, literally and otherwise, and it’s hard not to feel a bit jealous of how naturally it all fits together.

What is always most notable is the relationship people seem to have with their food here. There’s an empathy and quiet knowledge of what’s in season, where it’s come from, how it should be treated. Nothing feels overthought, but nothing feels careless either. The ingredients do most of the work, and people trust that. A tomato tastes like a tomato, and that’s enough.

It did make me think about how far removed we can feel from that in a lot of the UK. Food so often comes packaged, rushed, or chosen out of habit rather than connection. In Florence, it felt closer, more immediate - like what you were eating actually belonged to that place, and to that moment. There’s something very grounding in that, and it lingers with you long after you’ve left.

Italian cuisine, at its best, reveals itself in the eating and drinking. Sitting down to even the simplest meal, it all feels specific to that place and the multiple courses set the pace. Pasta here hits differently - richer, more textured, and each dish with its very own story, as though it carries something of its history and surroundings with it. And then the quieter moments of indulgence: a tiramisu that borders on godly, rich yet nearly impossible to stop shovelling into your mouth. It’s a reminder that food doesn’t need to be complicated to be memorable, just honest, and done well.

Bravo.