espetkov
8 juillet 2022
This is a long review, but I took the time to write it so that you will spare some mooney and, more importantly, some dignity. Please do not let yourself be deluded by all the positive reviews, like we did. I am sorry to say this, but this place is full of a specific breed of individuals that let a couple of green hills and valleys obscure their common sense. It is the only reason it is still functioning. People that say “uuu” and “aaa” and “wow” to some green grass, but don’t understand what a price-value relationship means. And while nature is always beautiful, and calming, and cathartic, if we wanted an exclusive natural experience, we had plenty of alternatives in our country. Cozzano does a decent marketing job, I will say that. It presents itself as a romantic, cinematic villa, with great history and tradition. And the villa is indeed beautiful, and the rooms have been decorated with respect to authentic tuscan heritage. The fairytale, unfortunately, stops at the architectural aspects. Reality is nothing like the story. Allow me to immerse you in our experience: 1.) We arrived at Cozzano on the night of my birthday. My sister-in-law had organized a surprise dinner with the staff. This birthday dinner was priced at 200 euros for two people, a cost well justified when taken into consideration the private chef, Walter, and the a-la-carte menu. In reality, we were served the following: A zuchinni muffin Buratta in tomato sauce Frozen dumplings on top of some more tomato sauce Old chicken with 3 roasted potatoes (If you know the taste of refrigirated, reheated chicken, it was just that - uneatable) Almond crunch parfait (a minuscule portion of mascarpone on top of one scoop of supermarket ice cream) In my modest experience dining at castles in France and Spain, private chefs visit your table during or after your dinner, to listen to your impressions and perfect their skill. Walter never made his appearence, because Walter did not exist. To say that a private chef would have cooked the menu we were served would be to say Leonardo da Vinci would have painted the Monalisa with sticks . The closest thing to a private chef we had was Sofi, and while I have nothing against Sofi, private chefs or private waiters do not come at a 200 euros-priced-table dressed in crop tops and booty shorts. The least they could have done for the sake of the story they were trying to sell, is buy a chef’s uniform. I still wouldn’t have bought it, but I would have appreciated the effort. Please understand that I am not speaking from a pretentious point of view, although it may sound that way. Had we wanted a luxury experience, we would have chosen to stay at Reschio. But we wanted the simple, rural experience - the basic, but delicious foods, born in the ever-inventive spirit of the countryside. The problem was not in the experience itself, but in the taking us for fools, in the enormous discrepency between price and offer. You cannot price a rustic dinner
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