Buca Lapi

We came to Buca Lapi on a Tuesday because the calendar was kinder than the weekend. The room was three-quarters full and somehow more honest for it.

The room is exactly what you want it to be: vaulted brick cellar under Palazzo Antinori. We were seated near the back, given menus we hardly needed, and brought a small bowl of olives without being asked.

We started with French onion soup with the cap of cheese intact, which set the tone — generous, unfussy, and confident enough not to crowd what was coming. With it we ordered Rioja gran reserva, decanted at the table, and were glad of both.

Then the main event: bistecca fiorentina, the dish that puts Buca Lapi on every short list. There was a thumb of butter melting into the cross-hatch, and a single sprig of thyme on top, and not one thing more. The signature touch — the oldest cantina in Florence, since 1880 — is not a gimmick; it is the reason to come.

For sides we asked for grilled radicchio with anchovy butter and pommes Anna. Both arrived hot, both arrived early, both were exactly large enough to overdo it. We overdid it.

Dessert was vanilla ice cream with a shot of espresso poured over, mostly because the waiter raised an eyebrow when we hesitated. He was right to.

I paid the bill, walked out into the Florence evening, and put the address back into the notebook with a star next to it.