Il Latini

One of Florence’s best-known restaurants is Il Latini. Until recently, they didn’t accept reservations and the lines to get in were legendary; but one of the waiters at Donnini told me that they were now taking reservations. Just before noon, yesterday, we were in the area of the restaurant and walked over to see if we could get a table for dinner.

As we arrived, they opened the door for lunch. There were at least 30 people waiting in line. After the crowd was admitted, I approached the maitre’d and asked if it was possible to make a reservation for dinner.

“How many in your party?”

“Two.”

“And what time would you like?”

“7:30, please.”

“The name?”

“Kennedy;” I started the spell it out “K-e-n-n;” but he interrupted me.

“Kennedy, such a famous name.”

“Not the same family, I’m afraid.” He walked to the desk, but wrote nothing down. I hesitated at the door for a moment and he turned to me and said; “you are fine for seven-thirty.”

The whole exchange was quite friendly, even jovial and I wasn’t certain if he might not be putting me on. It seemed too easy. I hoped we had a reservation, but I wasn’t entirely certain.

We decided to give ourselves a little wiggle room and arrived at 7:10 (the doors don’t open until 7:30), there was a crowd of at least seventy people packed into the alley in front of the entrance. After a few moments of listening and asking, I determined that many people had reservations and many didn’t. I left Jane at the edge of the crowd and worked my way as close to the entrance as I could. The door opened at precisely 7:30 and the same maitre’d stepped out. People began calling out names; some held up cards, or pieces of paper, with their names written on them.

In the same jovial manner as earlier, he began letting people in and assured the crowd that those with reservations would be fine. After a few moments, he looked at me.

“Kennedy”, and I held up two fingers. He snapped me a salute and said; “Ah, Mr. President, your table is ready!”

He helped part the crowd, as he had for others before us, so that Jane could get through, and we were in!

We were taken to a rectangular table, set for six and within seconds, were joined by two other couples.

The setting is rustic. The simple wooden refectory tables are arranged to form seating for four, six, or eight, determined by the space in that part of the room. There are three barrel-ceilinged dinning rooms and hanging from those ceilings are rows of aged hams. About eight feet from the floor is a simple wooden shelf that holds the restaurants extensive array of wines. The bottles are stored standing, two deep. Stored in this manner, they clearly move quickly.

Our waiter arrived and he informed the table that he recommended the house antipasto, which offered a sampling of several dishes. With our unanimous agreement, the dishes began to arrive.

First came a liver pate`, on crustini, along with a bruschetta. I’m not a fan of liver, but I wasn’t passing up anything. It was delicious! As was the bruschetta. Before we were even well into the first offering, a plate with 8-10 slices of the prosciutto was placed in front of each of us. Followed quickly by a Spelt salad and an insalata caprese. The antipasto was a meal in itself!

The room was lively; waiters moved quickly, distributing armloads of dishes. Each array of tables has a magnum of house wine, Chianti, that comes with the meal, but many diners order from the wine list. I ordered a 1998 Brunello di Montalcino. The conversation level in the room was already a din, as strangers, thrown together, became friends, if just for an evening.

The antipasti gone, the waiter gave our options for the first course. There is no written menu at the table; the waiter tells you what’s offered and you choose. There were four pasta dishes, gnocchi and tomato and white bean soup. Jane loved the gnocchi, I could have made a meal of the soup; it was that good!

With the preliminaries concluded, it was time for the difficult choices.

The restaurant was founded, 50 years ago, by Narcisso Latini, to provide good, hearty, affordable meals to the locals. The list of entrees continues to reflect the restaurant’s humble beginnings. The offerings on this night include sausages, chicken, rabbit, lamb, veal; and of course, beef. Jane, no surprise, ordered the rabbit. The beef tempted me; a house specialty that’s a local legend, but I was concerned that it might be more than I could finish. My suspicions were confirmed when, a few moments after ordering the nearly-as-famous pan-fried lamb, a serving of the steak went by our table. Had it been any larger, it might have required two waiters to transport it to the soon-to-be corpulent diner.

The break between the first and second courses allowed us a chance to concentrate on the Brunello. It didn’t disappoint. Though perhaps a little heavy for the rabbit, it was perfect for the lamb. (Jane says it was perfect for the rabbit, too.)

When our entrée arrived, the aroma alone was worth the price. Jane’s rabbit was a light golden hue, moist and perfectly seasoned. My lamb was the best I’ve ever tasted and I’m pretty proud of my own version! It fell off the bone and melted in my mouth. There were no seasonings on the table. None were necessary.

I devoured every edible morsel of my lamb, and then polished off the remains of Jane’s rabbit. I didn’t think there was room for another gram of food; but then the waiter announced the dessert menu; I dug deep and found space.

In my world, no meal is complete without fruit and the raspberry cake was singing a sirens song! The cake was accompanied by an excellent Vin Santo and a plate of biscotti; a few moments later, a glass of Muscat to cleanse the palate.

Perhaps the biggest shock of the evening was the bill. Like a junkie, I would have paid any price, but the total cost of the meal, not including the wine, was just 80 Euro!

Il Latini will probably never win a star; the rustic setting and lack of formality in the staff, doesn’t suit Michelin’s style. But, if I’ve ever had a better meal and a more enjoyable dining experience, my memory fails to recall the occasion.