In Italy, the relatives are always there. 15 years ago in Florence, I went to a restaurant. Immediately I ran to the master with a story that his relatives own this small restaurant from the beginning of the sixteenth century, and since it did not change: no interior, no recipes. Then dragged a fat old (at least superficially) a book in which they recorded the guests of honor, and, opening it at one of the first page, was poking his finger in the record states that in a 15hh th year of the order table, where I sat, sat and drank wine, Leonardo and Botticelli, and immediately offered to produce exactly the sort of wine. Did, I tried - sour, from time to time, I think.
