Good thing someone told me about the nearest supermarket because I would have walk right by it. No big signs, hardly a sign at all. But I did find it and bought yogurt, olive oil, milk, Weetabix and at the moment I’m boiling a half dozen eggs for a snack. Little local shops are supplying me with bread, cheese and prosciutto, and the outdoor market across the Arno at Piazza Santo Spirito offers fresh clean lettuce. Sometime during the day I’ve made myself a salad. So far, except for cappucchino, I’ve been preparing my breakfast, lunch and snacks. Then out to dinner for a appetizer, primo or secondo course and a glass of wine. “You can’t get a poor meal in Italy,” so I’ve heard and come to believe. Why would I want to cook?