My plans are to head toward the train station and a restaurant, Giannino, where the back room is an unofficial club for generations of AC Milan players, owners and executives. I haven't been in a few years. Last time I ate there, the walls were covered in photos and jerseys. Former AC Milan owner and the original playboy president, Silvio Berlusconi, had his picture on the wall. It's that kind of joint.
The first time I went there, the rest of the restaurant was quiet and empty and the back room was nuts. The best way to describe the madness is to say it felt like everyone was on mushrooms or something. It was this big communal party that still has me coming back to eat nearly every meal in Milan there, all these years later. I'll chase that night forever. I'm gonna eat there tomorrow, too, so deeply did that one evening hook me. That's what this city can do: get in your blood. The Giannino back room would be the place to go after a Champions League final or after a Scudetto has been clinched. That's the hope of the new owners and all those fans who left San Siro behind on a disappointing Sunday night. There'd be old men in beautiful jackets and young players in track suits, everyone pouring wine and laughing and passing plates of risotto and fried pork chops and osso buco.