Monthly Archives: February 2006

I’m going to have to snap a pic of the city’s new fire truck. Here’s a cut-and-paste from the City Manager’s weekly report:

“This week marks the first week of service for Monrovia’s newest fire truck, Truck 101. If you haven’t seen it, please feel free to stop by the Fire Station No. 1 to catch a glimpse of this very effective piece of equipment. Not only does the truck feature a 100-foot aerial ladder and a full assortment of ground ladders, but it also provides all of the necessary cargo space to allow our personnel to carry the appropriate urban search and rescue and vehicle extrication equipment that they need. I should also point out that we have some awfully handy people in the Fire Department, and they have been able to fabricate and install much of the needed compartment pieces for the truck at a significant savings to the City. Again, come on in and take a look because it’s an impressive piece of equipment.”

I thought I’d share my love of a particular café in Florence, Fuori Porta, which means “outside the door.” Quite literally, it was outside my door. It was just a few steps away from my apartment. It was, what I considered, the perfect café. Anytime of the day or night you could find something that was just right to satisfy your hunger. In the morning, they served coffee and cakes. Midday and through the evening they served red wine by the glass (five bottles were always open and on the counter), coffee, tea, and crostoni (toasted bread with toppings). For the equivalent of $5-7 you could get a meal and a glass of wine or coffee, and it was all good quality. The bread was freshly made, heavy white good for toasting, and the toppings were endless. They had a slicer behind the counter and had a variety of meats, cheeses and fresh vegetable spreads (artichoke, asparagus, etc) that took up probably ten pages of descriptions of their notebook menus.

Later in the evenings they had desserts in addition to their regular menu, and they stayed open until 2 a.m. The guys who worked there were not downtrodden automatons. They enjoyed the café and the great music that was everpresent (akin to having KCRW). The walls were covered in shelves of red wine and collaged with newspaper clippings. The place was full of life and if they didn’t have a chair available they would somehow conjure up a plastic one from the back so you could sit down somwhere. It was small, with well-worn picnic-type tables inside and inexpensive round tables and chairs outside with a couple of umbrellas. It was unpretentious, fun, and authentic. It is what I miss most about Italy.