Class absolutely cannot be bad in Firenze

Often, when I tell people what my masters program is, I'm greeted with questions such as "Oh, so you're a nutritionist?" or "...going to open a restaurant? ...going to be a chef?", and so on. It's then usually followed with an awkward pause, and "So...what are you going to be able to do with that?"
Which is fine. We all have to deal with questions we do not necessarily want or have answers to concerning our life decisions.
In Florence, however, simply saying you study food - gastronomia - is enough. It merits a satisfied nod, a "Brava!" These are a people who understand the importance of food, and they consider it a matter of pride that hits so much closer to home then simply saying it is a national obsession. It is all consuming, as important as breathing, and potentially as important as the impending World Cup. People in Florence are understandably boastful of their food.
Last night we went to a Hosteria by the market and were treated to a 9 course dinner of the traditional Florentine foods that were discussed in the reading. Wine and new friends (and a negroni or two) made for a great start to the program. The bread soups, minestra and ribollata, were simple, peasant dishes consisting of broth slowly poured over the famously unsalted tuscan bread with beans, tomatoes, and soffritto (celery, onions and carrots - the "holy trinity" of Firenze cuisine). Crostini with a parsley and caper pesto disappeared in minutes, but at about course 8, things started significantly slowing down. Dessert went almost untouched, except for the Vin Santo, which everyone gratefully sipped in something similar to relief that the meal was actually over.
Class today was at Villa Ulivi, across the sloping Tuscan fields dotted with olive trees like sharp green pinpricks. It's a hike, but deeply inhaling honeysuckle air and looking at the clear blue sky really gives you a nice perspective check on what constitutes an inconvenience.
We had a lecture on the history and production of olive oil, followed by a tasting. The oils got better as we went on, and though I appreciate the grassy, nutty qualities of beautiful green oil, tasting something that is almost entirely made of fat does get trying after a while. Not to mention I'm an absolute horror at making the appropriate slurping noise that distributes air and the fat to properly coat your tongue. I think the whole point was to make us look like idiots, slurping and sputtering. The girl behind me almost choked.
A few of the girls and I walked the 20 minutes to the Duomo. Like so many sights in Italy, it absolutely never gets old. It has been said so many times before, but pictures are an embarrassment to how insanely huge and spectacular it is. It consumes every part of your line of sight. Even when you turn your back to it, you just keep turning around to steal glances. It's an addiction.
We found a fantastic "deli" a few blocks north, off of Via Dei Servi. It was incredibly small, but panini and a few simple dishes were cheap and fresh - and it has been in business serving simple and delicious cibo since 1927. A dusty picture in the corner showed it had not changed at all since World War II, save for a few "flags" that would certainly not be appropriate now. A panino with mortadella, freshly sliced, thin as paper and mozzarella pulled from a ceramic bowl of milk drizzled with oil and balsamico was only 2 euro. Vino della casa was only 1. The six of us girls immediately decided this would be a regular stop, especially considering its proximity to an artisanal gelato store serving Tuscan oddities such as pignoli (pine nut) and anice (anise), along with the usual suspects made of fresh ingredients sitting promisingly piled on the stainless steel counters in the back. I stopped for one before getting my sandwich, and another immediately after. It was that good.
Shopping ensued - or rather, trying things on and not buying them, and then cocktail hour at out Professor's AMAZING apartment overlooking the Duomo. Fresh parma and melone, foccacia, tomatoes with olive oil from our NYU villa. Then, about 15 of us strolled to the Ponte Vecchio and had a nightcap at the Continental Hotel's rooftop bar, which had an impressive drink menu and some swanky white couches, in addition to having the most over the top elevator I have ever seen. I thought it was a sitting room. No one needs a couch like this in an elevator, especially one that only goes 5 floors.
But Firenze is a small city, with buildings that are built short and stout so that they bow to the Duomo and Medici castles and cathedrals that, rightfully, tower over the low buildings and shimmering dark river below. One of those views that just makes you sigh and smile.
Not a bad first day of class. And a beautiful welcome to my temporary home for the next several weeks.