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December/Januar y 2023 VIII MAGAZINE In the beginning, they should look at the hours involved, or the salary but what they learn. That’s what makes the difference. You need perseverance and persistence if you want to get anywhere. DOES THE CALL TELEVISION EXPOSURE ATTRACT YOU? In 2017 I took part in Top Chef Italia, second edition. It was a really good experience, but at the moment I don’t wish to repeat it. My primary interest now is the company I work for. __________________________________ RECIPE Char in a potato and pumpkin crust, with black truffle Jerusalem artichoke cream INGREDIENTS • Char • pumpkin • potatoes • Jerusalem artichoke • black truffle Preparation Fillet the char and make portions of 110 g each. Once browned in the frying pan, place on top the potatoes and pumpkin previously blanched in hot water for one minute and cut 1 mm thick. For the Jerusalem artichoke cream, cook them in boiling water. Once cooked, add the grated truffle and whisk. __________________________________ AT PAGE 26 DO YOU KNOW? Walking with Vilma by Gianluca Donadini Vilma is Tuscan, born in Scandicci a few years ago. A former cyclist in the days of Maria Canins, she is a swimmer, free spirit and committed camper-vanner. She lives in San Jacopino, a district in Florence’s Quartiere 1. When I need terracotta, Vilma takes me to Impruneta; for household goods to Bartolini. Pegna’s craftwork shop is an institution. Anzuini is the pret-a-manger butcher’s shop of reference. For fruit and vegetables go to the Campagna Amica market in Cascine. For a coffee at Gilli’s. And walking with Vilma you go to tabernacles, wine cellars, graffiti, villas, parks, churches and museums. And when she gets hungry, Vilma knows where to go. And if she’s a little rusty because she almost always cooks at home, there is Sacha, her son, to give advice. ‘ Eating well in Florence is possible but you have to know how to choose, ’ Vilma reminds me. ‘The range is so wide that sometimes there can be a doubt about the quality ’. Not of the Michelin-starred places, but of some trattorias that often deal with an inattentive public and may, because they are in a hurry, superficially represent the traditional tables of good Tuscan living. Yet there is plenty of meat in Florence, the city is famous for its beccai (pork butchers) and the ability to cut it, and so many are the pulses loved by the Florentine-eaters with a rich choice. FRATELLI BRIGANTI At Fratelli Briganti you eat spaghetti with tomato sauce cooked as only Lido , Lionello and Leonardo know how. The Florence of Piazza Giorgini is far from the tourism of Via dei Calzaiuoli. The restaurant, which is as noisy as it gets, and is open until late at night so that one can find a table even after many an evening’s shenanigans. The veranda is often crowded. On the street there are always people smoking, sipping a glass or chatting while waiting for a free table. The accent is Florentine. Foreigners are few. We sit with die-hard Fiorentina fans who occupy a space in the back room. Fiorentina football club is in the heart more than on the jersey. Vilma herself has a family season ticket and goes to the Franchi even if it rains because “ oh Fiorentina of every team we want you queen” . Also the Franchi has helical staircases and the Maratona tower and it is more beautiful for her than Nervi himself and the regime that unveiled it in the 1920s on the ashes of the Campo di Marte airfield. Fried food is a Briganti tradition: from rabbit to chicken to simple mozzarella in carrozza (fried mozzarella sandwiches). The portions are generous and fill the plates as I would expect in a trattoria while eschewing gourmet service. The zuccotto and marengo are a must. The zuccotto is the dessert of Florence. “ My father used to make it,” recalls Vilma, head baker at Balboni & Müller, English Bakers, in Via della Vigna. However, we must thank Buontalenti who invented it from a small helmet then in vogue with the infantry. In Florence it was called zuccotto after the small headgear of the clergy. RUGGERO We are on the Senese, an ancient city road leading south. There’s traffic and Vilma whizzes along in her mouse-coloured Mazda while the drive belt whines a little. We drive in the middle because the Vilma is a well-balanced woman and likes to be in the middle, perhaps a little too much in the middle not to feel a thrill in the bends. Because the Vilma’s untamed driving is vintage, worthy of Baroness Marie Antoinette. I drive on the nervous roads of Sicily for the Targa Florio. The tables are close