It was early October - the start of the mushroom season - and in the markets the air was heavy with their heady, earthy, almost other-worldy scent. Crossing the Arno as the sun set, silhouetting figures on Ponte Santa Trinita against a golden sky, we plunged into the shadows of Borgo San Jacopo, just as one might step across some unseen threshold and sink back in time. The light from the osteria's narrow entrance spilled onto the pavement like a beacon.
Inside, the dining rooms veer towards Tuscan pastiche (dark wood, white walls, old farm implements, pottery wine jugs), but hold short of overstepping the mark. When the service and the food kick in, there's no question that this is the real deal. The season's ingredients were very much top of the agenda here, as we were told "off menu" and with some pride that they had mushrooms – a plate of raw porcini was wafted regularly through the dining room – and persimmons, which featured in a dessert. Persimmons, it seems, are widely grown in this part of Italy.
The ubiquitous Florentine crostini with chicken livers was at its best here, and our first taste of fettunta was a revelation. I've no idea how simply bread and garlic and oil can taste that good. As befitting the restaurant name, we chose wild boar with grilled polenta and, as befitting the season, we also chose pork with wild mushrooms. Both were superb. So was the bottle of Classico we washed it down with.
It seemed that tourists, mainly, came here to be wrapped in a cosy Tuscan embrace for the evening, but it seemed too that the osteria offered no concessions, no compromises to this ready flow of business. The sunset that had escorted our arrival had turned to blackness when we spilled out onto the narrow street. The air was still warm, but a breeze caused a shiver on the surface of the river as we crossed it and picked our way through the city back to our hotel. This time-warp thing kicked in again. Hardly anything you walk past in Florence hasn't been around for centuries, and I felt a strange feeling of déja vu and timelessness as we wandered back to our hotel.
Okay, the Classico may have had something to do with it.
Osteria del Cinghiale Bianco, Borgo S. Jacopo, 43R, 50125 Firenze
Tel 055 215706
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