Long Goodbyes and Lampredotto in Florence

This was my entry into the travel writing scholarship contest with World Nomads Insurance. It wasn't a winner, but I hope you enjoy.

Zoe’s long golden hair was whipped into a frenzy by the breeze as we rolled our bicycles across the Arno river along the Ponte S Niccolo, the mid-afternoon Tuscan sun beaming down. We were being guided around the city by a lovely young Florentine named Alessia.

For the fifteen year-period preceding my arrival in Italy, I’d devoted myself entirely to raising my daughter Zoe to the best of my abilities as a single father, and we had never been apart for more than two consecutive weeks. She is undoubtedly my best friend and my life’s greatest achievement. The reason for my melancholy in that otherwise glorious moment in Florence was this: in three days I’d be saying goodbye for a year. I had been given the opportunity to take a leap into the unknown and travel the world as a digital nomad. It was an opportunity that I’d been longing for, and one that I couldn’t refuse.

These feelings continued as we pumped our pedals up to the Piazzale Michelangelo, and still further uphill to the Abbazia San Miniato al Monte, the highest point in Florence. As I looked out across the city, I felt the weight of history, as well as the weight of my decision. We then headed out to the countryside, past the grand, gated olive estates and down shaded lanes bordered by ten-foot high roughshod stone walls. This route led us back into the centre of town.

After sharing some delectable Tuscan wine and crostinis, I asked our guide where we could find the quintessential Florentine dish, and she informed me that we were in luck. The locals love the Lampredotto sandwich: the broiled fourth stomach of a cow, served on a brioche bun, dusted with garlic salt, a green savoury sauce and finally a red, spicy sauce. There just happened to be an excellent shop only a few blocks away. We promptly walked over and pulled up a couple of stools at the street-side shop window - where we could see and smell the Lampredotto simmering away right under our noses. I ordered a sandwich and was treated to a visual feast - the steaming basin of fat where the bread was dipped, the Lampredotto being chopped and simmered. Finally my sandwich arrived, positively dripping with sauce and juices. The first bite was unlike anything I’d ever tasted - an intense, fatty beef flavour with earthy undertones, meat that just melts in your mouth, the sauces and garlic coming together in a symphony for the tastebuds. I don’t remember much after that first bite - only wolfing down the rest of the sandwich in state of bliss - juices dripping down my chin, with the light of the setting sun streaming down the alley.

For a few minutes, the Lampredotto sandwich took my mind off the arduous task I’d already begun: saying goodbye. Needless to say, I’ll never forget that afternoon in Florence, the feelings and the flavors which will last a lifetime.