The Body in the Piazza - By Katherine Hall Page Page 0,39
deaths, but because the artist was worn-out and ill when he did them. Maybe all that arguing with the pope. The last member of the family to rule, Anna Maria Ludovica de’ Medici, continued to adorn the inside and is buried with all her ancestors, but with her, it ended. Still we feel their presence all around us. This is a favorite place of mine, since I am often here at the mercato. Now I am talking too much! No more wasting time! It has been open since seven!”
If the market at the Campo de’ Fiori in Rome had been like the Elysian Fields, then, Faith thought, Florence’s Mercato Centrale was like walking into Ali Baba’s cave; except better, since the riches were edible.
Having parked, Gianni joined them, and they followed the Rossis down the aisles, where they were warmly greeted by the various merchants. Soon the group was sampling slices of ripe melon, fresh figs, sips of wine, and bites of cheeses. Faith recalled the feeling of being drunk on Rome, and now she felt high on the flavors and atmosphere of what was undoubtedly the best market she’d ever visited. Upstairs and down, the wares were displayed like jewels, each fruit and vegetable polished in their crates, the fish and meat temptingly spread out in the refrigerated cases. A straw porcellino hung over the counter offering his products, and they stopped to taste shavings of proscuitto, pancetta, salamis, and soppressatas. Faith’s favorite was finocchiona, strongly flavored salami with fennel seeds, which the group selected with some prosciutto crudo for panini and to wrap around grissini, the thin bread sticks, for a quick snack or antipasto. The Rossis had planned a picnic alfresco for Wednesday’s trip to Montepulciano, and they were picking up supplies for that along with what they’d need to make dinner tonight.
Francesca led them to her favorite mushroom stand and urged them to get dried porcini, which the Baronis, the next stop, would shrink-wrap for them. The aroma was again nothing short of intoxicating, and Faith knew she’d be sorry if she didn’t take any home. The Culvers bought some, too.
They had passed numerous displays of zucchini blossoms and even to Faith’s educated eye, they all looked fine, but Francesca didn’t stop until she reached a spot tucked into a corner presided over by an elderly man wearing a bright purple sweater and matching cap that proclaimed his allegiance to the Florentine football team—soccer loyalties were sacred in Italy, Faith knew. He stepped into the aisle and kissed Francesca on both cheeks. “Ciao, bella.”
She beamed and they exchanged a few words in rapid Italian before she turned back to the group.
“For Il Secondo tonight I thought we would do porchetta stuffed with zucchini blossoms, some fennel, herbs, garlic, of course, and maybe figs. Porchetta is a boneless pork roast—you will use a boneless pork shoulder to duplicate it at home. My friend Antonio here will supply the fennel bulbs and the blossoms. We’ll get extra flowers to stuff with ricotta and fry for an antipasto.”
“It’s the male flowers that we have to use, right?” Sally Culver said. “I mean I think I heard something about this somewhere.”
Curiouser and curiouser, Faith thought. Either the woman was watching a hell of a lot of the Food Network or she knew a hell of a lot more about food and cooking than she wanted people to know.
Francesca nodded. “That’s right. The females have a little bulge at the base of the flower that will become the squash, so we don’t want to pick those or we won’t be able to make frittatas and other dishes! She needs the males—they have a regular stem—to pollinate, so we have to leave some, but we can pick most of the others. If we don’t they just dry up and fall off.”
“Sounds familiar,” Terry Russo said with a venomous glance at her husband, who walked off toward a stand selling tripe sandwiches, returning with just one, which he proceeded to eat with gusto virtually in her face.
Francesca bought the produce, adding several varieties of tomatoes and ceci, chickpeas, that she told them they might use today and if not, definitely tomorrow, for salad. The lettuce would come from the Rossis’ garden, as would the herbs.
The Nashes were waiting for everyone at Baroni Alimentari. Faith was very glad it was a few minutes before ten o’clock, giving the couple no cause to complain of the group’s tardiness. She was beginning to regard Constance Nashe