I love a good happy hour. Then again, what's not to love? Cheap drinks. Cheap nibbles. And all before 5 o'clock.
On our first day in Florence we strolled aimlessly down the cobbled streets looking for some light fare and a glass of Italian vino. We asked a gentlemen moseying by where we could find just that and he pointed us in the direction of Note di Vino, "they have Happy Hour". And the birds started to sing. Really.
Note di Vino could quite possibly be the smallest bar I had ever been to with only a few tiny tables indoors. There was plenty of outdoor seating, but due to the cold weather, those seats were all vacant.
Bottles of Italian olive oils, jams, liquors and vinegar lined the walls. No space was wasted here. We grabbed the last seat and I pulled my chair an arms length away from the glass filled wall. I break things.
I assigned Peter the job of ordering the wine at the counter and picking up our complimentary Happy Hour grub. I was confident in his ability to say "vino" and "grazie. Besides I wasn't ready to test my cd-learned Italian just yet. Luckily, he came back to the table victorious.
The free munchies were a delicious trio of bruschetta; tomato, garlic oil and roasted vegetables. Forget dinner, I could have just made this and my glass of Chianti a meal.
Unsure of Italian Happy Hour etiquette, we did not go back for seconds. But, for the record, I wanted to. Really bad.
Have you ever had Happy Hour in Italy? Or any other country?
