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23 April 2012 @ 08:58 am
Venice: missing details  
I just realized that I have been remiss in posting the names and addresses of the places we've been eating for others' reference. Here's the missing information, and I'll try to do better going forward.

Our hotel (it's been lovely): B&B Aquavenice, Rio Tera S. Leonardo 1371.

Thursday dinner (seafood risotto): Trattoria Misericordia, Fondamenta Misericordia Canaregio 2515.

Friday lunch (ravioli with pumpkin): Osteria da Carla, Corte Contarina San Marco 1535

Friday dinner: a variety of chicchetti bars including All'Arco (yummy eggplant thing), Do Collone (bacala), and ProntoPesce, Pescheria Rialto San Polo 319 (smoked swordfish mini-sandwich).

Saturday dinner (broccoli flan): Osteria Da Rioba, Fondamenta della Misericordia Sestiere Cannaregio 2552.

Sunday dinner (pistachio-crusted lamb): Anice Stellato, Fondamenta de la Sensa Sestiere Cannaregio 3272.

 
 
 
Intelligentrix: Travelintelligentrix on April 23rd, 2012 01:26 pm (UTC)
My brain translates ProntoPesce into FastFish, which is also alliterative.

I am both enjoying and envious of your trip to Venice. It's one of those places high on my list of cities to visit, especially Murano.
David D. Levinedavidlevine on April 23rd, 2012 06:55 pm (UTC)
ProntoPesce is indeed Italian for "FastFish," but despite its very clean and moderne appearance, and the fact that the service there was indeed quite speedy, it was the very opposite of fast food.
mcjuliemcjulie on April 23rd, 2012 02:44 pm (UTC)
I have also been enjoying your Venice posts. I was there once years ago and I thought it was amazing. I also came to the conclusion that it was illegal to serve bad food there.
ruralwriterruralwriter on April 23rd, 2012 02:54 pm (UTC)
I'm enjoying the virtual vacation to Venice! I just finished watching a Venice documentary on Netflix prior to your trip commencing.

Of course, I always wanted to go to Venice to find the Brenta canal...

Brenta :-)
Elf M. Sternbergelfs on April 24th, 2012 12:27 am (UTC)
My memory of Venice is covered in my own blood.

I was twelve, and walking with my sister down a cobblestone lane. We had stopped in front of a butcher shop to marvel at the ugliest piece of meat I had ever seen. It was several seconds before I registered that it was a cow's tongue.

I was even taller than my daughter is now, and the people of Venice must once have been short, because the butcher sign that hung overhead, a heavy wooden sign, stuck out into the street at just about the level with my forehead.

My mother insisted we move on. I took three or four steps forward when this yappy, shitty little white dog, the kind classically held by old ladies, the kind that desperately wants to remind you, no really, his ancestors were wolves, came running and yapping out from behind an ivy-covered wrought iron fence. I startled badly, turned and slammed head-first into the butcher sign.

Scalp wounds bleed a lot. By the time I got back to the hotel, I was a horror of red all down my white shirt and across my face, even with the red bandanna pressed to the hairline above my eyes. My mother was at first freaked, and then angried that I'd disrupted the tour, but eventually we all calmed down.

I'm envious that you've made it this far without trauma! :-)
sophielandonsophielandon on April 25th, 2012 05:20 pm (UTC)
You appear to have stayed right around the corner from where I lived 16-17 years ago in the Calle Emo, and we're in the process of finding places for a couple of weeks in fall. Was there a bathtub?
David D. Levinedavidlevine on April 25th, 2012 07:03 pm (UTC)
No bath in our room, alas.