Trouble at Teatro del Sale

A couple of weeks ago I wrote a post about my visit with Susan describing the whirlwind tour of Italy that we enjoyed that week. One of our nights in Florence, I took her to experience Teatro del Sale, the dinner theater where I'd seen the rockabilly show earlier in the fall. Because it is such a uniquely Florentine thing to do, I thought it would be fun to go again with Susan and the show that night was jazz, which sounded pleasant enough. So we made a reservation to go with Melissa and her mom who was also in town for a visit.

As background, Teatro del Sale is owned by the rather famous restaurateur, Fabbio Picchi, who owns several other establishments in the immediate area. His restaurants tend to be rather expensive which is another reason why Teatro del Sale is so great: good food PLUS a show for much less than you'd pay for the same food across the street.

The deal with this place is that you sit at small tables in the theater and every so often, the chef leans out the kitchen window (the kitchen is entirely visible through a wall of windows) and bellows at full volume what is coming next. Diners then herd toward the window in a disorderly fashion to accept their plate of whatever food has just been described. This is where knowing Italian might come in handy but half the fun for me is the adventure of having no idea what I'm eating.

The first time we were there, the chef who was doing the bellowing was a young (rather cute) guy, and based on descriptions of Picchi, I was pretty sure that it wasn't him. I was right. This time the chef in the kitchen was an older, more commanding figure with flowing white hair and a thick white beard. This was definitely him. He is apparently known to be somewhat eccentric, a fact which I soon confirmed.

After each course, diners are expected to clear their own plates and bring them up to a window which is right next to the main kitchen window. Quite innocently I made the egregious error of bringing over a plate that was not empty. The dish was smoked herring over some sort of veggie salad that would be been OK except that it was quite garlicky. None of us at the table wanted to partake but I was the unfortunate soul who took the plate back.

Apparently one does not return anything but an empty plate when under the watchful eye of Fabio Picchi.

He saw me do this, gave me the hairiest eyeball I've ever received, and silently raised his arm with finger extended, directing me back to our table. I tried to go back and get the next course from him but he would have none of it, he silently ordered me back to my seat. From then on, the others at the table had to get food for me and even Susan took a little grief for the mistake. I have learned that the trick is to put an empty plate on TOP of the not-empty plate before going to the kitchen.

Mental note has been made.

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