First night in Pisa

Sometimes, I am told, a memory of a fine meal is situational, rather than related to the quality of the food. I am not entirely convinced. But my first ever meal in Pisa, which was my first ever evening meal in Italy, has stayed with me for many years. Since 2008 in fact.

I was by myself but, like Dr Watson in one of my favourite Holmes stories, had no time to be lonely. The holiday which lay ahead was a walking holiday in Tuscany. But I was not due to arrive in the marvellously named “Castelnuevo di Garfagnana” - Newcastle of the Enchanted Forest - for a couple of days and had decided to spend some nights in Pisa. Having arrived in the afternoon, I had already seen the Leaning Tower and wandered around the empty streets surrounding it: pleasingly, a few moments outside the tourist trap surrounding the Tower, was medieval calm.

I can recall nothing about where I stayed that night but imagine that I chose somewhere to eat that was nearby. I sat outside, took photographs of my food and scribbled in my notebook. I have written before about my first meal in Italy which was on 11 September 2001. On that occasion, Cousin Pen had said she wasn’t hungry enough for more than one course so I, out of politeness, had followed suit. This evening, with no one to please but myself, I opted for all the courses.

I remember little about the antipasti or the secondi, but they were better than merely adequate. The pasta, though, put everything in the shade. Taglioni, which I had never had before, with fresh truffle. I can still taste it.

I recall one incident well. A girl aged about ten, I supposed, coming towards the restaurant and seeing her friend, rushing towards her, throwing herself at her in delight with the customary “ciao ciao”. The friend was equally pleased to see her. The encounter had all the warmth of the Mediterranean.

I finished my meal with a vin santo accompanied by little almond biscuits to dip into the glass.

One should never try to recreate meals and fortunately I did not have the opportunity. On the walking part of the holiday, I raved about the meal I had enjoyed and when we all arrived at Pisa to return to the airport at the end of our holiday with a few hours to spare, I suggested having lunch at the same restaurant: I had in mind more taglioni with truffle. My fellow walkers were themselves keen or decided to humour me. But when we arrived at the restaurant, it was closed.