It’s the quintessential Tuscan café. You’ve never seen anything quite like it. It sits where the road curves over an old stone bridge and Tractors and toy Fiat Pandas are the only traffic. There are wood umbrellas and square hedges and thin cypress pines. There’s a gravel path and a painted plaster sign with a coat of arms and a shield. It is called Ponterotto which means broken bridge, presumably because it has been on more than one occasion in the past.
Inside, it is cool and cheerful and there is a big display with the best salumi of the valley and a big enameled slicer and a man with big hands to slice it. There is bar menu where house wine is eighty-cents a glass and one-Euro-twenty per liter if you put it in your own bottle.
On the wall is a menu of bread by the pound and the mirrored bar shelf holds every kind of bitter liqueur you could want.
And it being Italy, there is a long, silver espresso machine steaming and hissing as cappuccino’s slide down the counter to their proper owners.
It is the perfect place to have a coffee, to sit, undisturbed and think ; to ponder, brainstorm and come up with ideas. It inspires creativity and it would be the envy of every café hopping hipster in London or New York: Good pastry, good coffee, cheap. It would be the ultimate remote office for