what to order in Florence: if you know, you know

The ritual: walk in, find the till, give them your caffeine order, grab the ticket and head to the bar to pass it over to the barista when it’s your turn. Follow this process carefully for fear of the scornful look from the very smooth team in charge of your morning coffee. Gilli is Florence’s oldest cafe, which started out as a bozzolari (a doughnut shop) in the late 1700s. It’s pretty timeless too, with a thick wood bar, tiny-tiled flooring, glittery chandeliers and faded-edged mirrors across a grade high-ceilinged space, plus the glass counters filled with colourful sweets, chewy nougat and treats. In the morning, find your place for a stand-up cappuccino and a cornetto, but in the evening, they’re practical pros of whipping up a strong negroni.

A hole-in-wall joint that’s so perfectly chaotic it only makes sense to tune into the madness. You must book, the later seating perhaps as that’s when this six-tabled space really comes alive, plus you’re less rushed for table turnover. Less is much more here – with a stripped-back handwritten menu and a white-tiled interior that’s not been touched since the 40s. Thinly-sliced affettati (cold cuts) is nice to start on but it’s an experience ordering the chicken breast. It comes out in a foamy tsunami of butter sauce: your waiter will eye up the number of people in your party before telling the chef to pull out a certain size pan to fit the group, and then it’s served white-hot and sizzling. 

You’re heading out of the city here, but it’s just a short taxi ride away. Locals know to come for lunch – keeping a close eye on their opening hours which seem to be made up day-to-day – mostly for their minestre (thick bread-based soups) and typical Tuscan dishes. It’s beautifully wooden inside, with solo-dining Italians spinning pappardelle in wild boar sauce at the bar while chatting with the owner. Order the ribollita – a chunky, carby, vegetable soup – or the just-warm pappa al Pomodoro, a mushy dish famed for its reuse of stale bread from the day before but with flavour so strong you’d think the tomatoes were just picked (they likely are).

When we say come early, we really mean it. I’ve waited well over an hour in the queue outside this south of the river neighbourhood favourite because I thought I’d just ‘breeze on in’ at an off time in late September. Tables are shared, so you’re bound to bump elbows with a group of young Italian graphic designers or a Florentine family with their kids, but they like to get you in, fed, and then out the door again. It’s cheap as chips too, a wonderful respite from the more central spots that hike up prices. Don’t expect anything culinarily testing, this is home-cooked family-style flavours. When on the menu, order the roast beef patate al forno, a nice cut of protein, seared in spices and served with thick squares of fat dripped and roasted potatoes with rosemary. Their stuffed chicken with mortadella and pistachio is very good too.

Panini is synonymous with the city. Little corner stool-filled sandwich shops with sweet-smelling dough and big, ancient old meat cutters at the ready for salami slicing and stracchino shaving are abundant across Florence. But, in recent years, social media has kicked off a hungry fury for more popularised super-stuffed sandwiches, leaving hour-long lines and street-filled chaos (and litter for that matter). If there is a crowd out front, turn away, and instead head to I Maledetti Toscani. The set-up here is twofold: small, round buns with some of the inside pulled out to make room for one to two fillings, or square, oily schiacciata bread (focaccias thinner sister), eaten with a glass of wine. The bold go for lampredotto (stewed tripe), the less adventurous can stick to mortadella and pecorino.

There are a few spaces from this much-loved brand over in the hip Sant’Ambrogio (note, the market here every morning except Sundays is a treat for fresh ingredients). The restaurant is a touch more formal than the cafe where a young, laptop-totting crowd like to come for cappuccinos in the morning. But, for a long lazy bite to eat, head to the ristorante for towering plates of antipasti – including the silky, velvety chicken liver crostini (fegatini), or sometimes pork liver. And a negroni,  they make a delicious one indeed.

Now, there is so much more than just a dessert to order at this pretty timeless old-school restaurant where the walls are decked out in framed drawings and posters and most of the waiters in white jackets have been dancing across the dining room for over 30 years. The ragu, the tortellini in brodo, and the ricotta stuffed courgette flowers are winners, but at the end of every meal, it’s all about those teeny tiny sugary glazed cantucci – a type of biscotti, which really just means biscuits – speckled with almonds, then dipped into a sherry glass filled with sticky sweet Italian wine.

It’s often the conundrum – do you go with the typical primi, secondi, contorni route for lunch, or do you go big on the meat with a couple of vegetable sides? At Vini e Vecchi, it’s both. Not helpful I know, but the duck pasta is sensational, as is the steak. This osteria (the more casual version of a family-run trattoria) is a bit different though: on the menu, in big letters, it says ‘no pizza, no cappuccino, no ice, no spritz, no ketchup, fuck cancer’, which sums up the energy of owner Tommaso, who has a thing or two for Madonna (all her greatest hits are played at full blast all day long). The bistecca comes out grilled, and raw (as it should), and it melts like butter in a hot pan. Order with fagiolini and spinach. And with a house red too. 

First things first: skip any toweringly tall mounds of ice cream you see anywhere in the city centre. Those sky-high piles of highlighter-colours fruity flavours are often pumped with air and frill, it’s almost never the real deal. So instead, cross the Arno to the petite Piazza della Passera to this gelateria. You know it’s a good sign when Cinzia, the wife of the husband-and-wife duo who runs the shop, graduated from the Gelato University of Bologna. Flavours are traditional and seasonally done so well: ricotta with figs, almond sorbet, pink grapefruit and ever-popular chocolate, scooped from the belly of their freezing cold silver bucket-filled counter.