Last night was AIM's last wine class. And what a grand finale it was, too. The Wine Expert had just the right mix of talking and drinking, everybody actually liked the wines (unlike last time), the basement room was as yellow as ever. We had two whites and six reds, a perfect mix for a red wine fan such as myself, and two of the reds were Super-Tuscans, which was fun. Also two Chiantis, which I've never been all that fond of but which were OK, a very good Brunello, and an almost equally good Rosso di Montalcino. I even liked the whites; a Vernaccia and a Bianco di Toscana, which is apparently one of the best selling whites on the NY restaurant scene at the moment. Cheaper here, though, by far. I'll have to buy some.

It was so fun, in fact, that we spent some time afterwards, the wine expert and I, coming up with ideas for next year. We decided to do another series in the fall, but with some different emphases-- under 20 Euro, say, or bring your favorite, which could turn into quite the drunkfest. I tried not to think too hard about the high likelyhood of me not being here. They'll have fun regardless, and I've lined up some other things as well, which should help Martha out if I need to resign and she takes my place.

We had reservations for ten o'clock at a Tuscan restaurant (to go with all the Tuscan wines), so we hung out in the hotel bar drinking until it was time to go. Bruce made the reservations, and we couldn't get in any earlier. Which was fine with us, but not with George and Martha who have a regular meal-time of six o'clock. Any later than that, as we discovered last time, and George gets cranky. The class didn't finish until seven, of course, and George had Martha out of there and looking for sustenance immediately.

We went to leave at nine-thirty or so, and that's when the evening stopped being so fun. Angie's purse was stolen as we sat there drinking in the bar. She had it on the floor next to her, and the guy at the next table just put it in his gym bag, zipped it up, and strolled off. And we didn't notice. Oh, we remembered the guy in question all right, and his gym bag too. There was hardly anyone in the bar, just the six of us around one table, a couple in the corner, and the thief. Who left about half an hour, if that, before Angie discovered her bag was missing.

The hotel staff was very nice and very, very apologetic. They insisted that nothing like this had ever happened before, never. It's a nice hotel, very nice and somewhat swanky. But it's in a bad neighborhood near Centrale station. And they let Bruce use the hotel phone to call in the stolen credit cards. 800 number or no, it's international and it costs. The bastard had already used the cards, too. 90 bucks at a pizzeria, an almost impossible amount to rack up, especially in the short time allowed, so he quite obviously has an accomplice there. Especially since he'd managed to spend 40 bucks somewhere else as well.

Poor Angie lost two credit cards, her new palm pilot, and her new telephone (which, by the way, was finally working). I called the phone, but the thief wasn't stupid enough to answer. She also lost three hundred Euro in cash, plus all the other stuff that's not worth much, but will be a pain to replace. What a shitty thing to have happen. The phone and palm were fairly new and purchased with credit-cards, so they're going to see if they can get their money back for those. I don't know if they will. Just a shitty situation all around.

In the end, it was almost eleven by the time we were ready to go to dinner. I had called the restaurant earlier to explain that we were going to be late and why. I had the manager at the hotel call again before we left, to explain things better and see if the kitchen was still open. The restaurant said no problem, so he called us taxis and off we went.

The restaurant was a Tuscan place called Ilia, and it was absolutely fantastic. Elvis' penne arrabiata was suitably angry, the papardalle with boar was fabulous. I had their specialty risotto and it was sublime: a basic risotto made with just stock and cheese, with a little lake of reduced beef stock on the top. Maggie and I split La Fiorentina, which is a huge t-bone cooked rare with just a hint of garlic. It was perfect, beautiful tender meat cooked just right and red, with a crunchy crust. It would have fed three, easy, but Maggie and I did our best. I did give Elvis a piece. His veal was fab, as was the paillard and Bruce's fish. They didn't have my first choice of wine, a Morellino di Scansano. We had a Lange from Piemonte instead, and it was so good we had two bottles. Not that we wouldn't have had two bottles anyway, you understand.

We skipped dessert. No room.

Elvis and I ended up walking home, as the trains had long since stopped by the time we finished and taxis were in short supply. It must have been past two by the time we got home.

Which explains why I was late for church this morning. Oh, I woke up in plenty of time, but I was moving ve-ry sloooowly. Stramilano, a marathon, was this morning. It was finished by the time I walked to church, and the marathoners, who had just run Lord knows how many kilometers, were walking faster than I was.

Worth it though, for a meal like that.