One recent morning, in the bustle of Florence’s ancient central market, Silvano Marchetto, a stout 76-year-old man with a mane of white hair, sat nursing a Negroni as he considered what he wanted to cook for dinner. The butchers and fishmongers who walked by threw respectful nods his way.
The silver bracelets on his wrists jangled as he polished off his drink. Shuffling past meat displays and fruit stands as he went deeper into the market, he grunted reminiscences about his old life in New York City, back when he ran a celebrity haven in Greenwich Village, Da Silvano.
“Lou Reed always said I served the best branzino.”
“Rihanna loved my taglierini contadina.”
“Anna Wintour’s ex-husband used to love my rabbit.”
Mr. Marchetto liked the look of some fresh porcini, so he resolved to cook monkfish with mushrooms. His next stop was a vegetable stall. Its operator, Elena Popa, gave him a look.
“Are you famous or something?” she asked in Italian.
“I ran a restaurant in New York called Da Silvano,” he said. “Closed now.”
“Why?”
“Because. The rent. My knees. Divorce.”
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