Sex.
Fettuccine alfredo cooked with a blowtorch.
You can’t have one without the other.
Okay, if you want to be technical about it, you can.
But honestly, that’s not a world you want to live in.
So don’t.
Meet Tosca, a stunning/seductive garden that plays host to Italy’s chief exports: Super Tuscans, homemade pastas and sweet amore, now open in South Beach.
This’ll probably be the most attractive place that you’ll ever twirl a forkful of linguine in (sorry, Casa Tua).
You’ll walk in through a flutter of gauzy white curtains and head toward the back. Stroll under a tunnel of ficus trees that leads into something like a well-maintained (and Emilia-Romagna) version of Narnia—an indoor/outdoor thicket of circular leather banquettes surrounded by a gurgling fountain, two swings tucked away in a corner and a stargazing binocular station. Hey, look, there’s the Big Dipper.
Expect an evening filled with the soft glow of lanterns, chianti and the unparalleled glory of fresh fettuccine alfredo prepared tableside using a wheel of parmesan and a blowtorch. (Nothing sets the mood like a blowtorch.)
But before you go, there’s a desk. Up by the exit. You or your date can use it to write a letter to Shakespeare’s Juliet (of star-crossed lovers fame). Seriously. The restaurant will mail it to Verona, where it’s said to ensure everlasting love.
Don’t forget the stamp.
Fettuccine alfredo cooked with a blowtorch.
You can’t have one without the other.
Okay, if you want to be technical about it, you can.
But honestly, that’s not a world you want to live in.
So don’t.
Meet Tosca, a stunning/seductive garden that plays host to Italy’s chief exports: Super Tuscans, homemade pastas and sweet amore, now open in South Beach.
This’ll probably be the most attractive place that you’ll ever twirl a forkful of linguine in (sorry, Casa Tua).
You’ll walk in through a flutter of gauzy white curtains and head toward the back. Stroll under a tunnel of ficus trees that leads into something like a well-maintained (and Emilia-Romagna) version of Narnia—an indoor/outdoor thicket of circular leather banquettes surrounded by a gurgling fountain, two swings tucked away in a corner and a stargazing binocular station. Hey, look, there’s the Big Dipper.
Expect an evening filled with the soft glow of lanterns, chianti and the unparalleled glory of fresh fettuccine alfredo prepared tableside using a wheel of parmesan and a blowtorch. (Nothing sets the mood like a blowtorch.)
But before you go, there’s a desk. Up by the exit. You or your date can use it to write a letter to Shakespeare’s Juliet (of star-crossed lovers fame). Seriously. The restaurant will mail it to Verona, where it’s said to ensure everlasting love.
Don’t forget the stamp.
