Cameras flash. Mouths drop open, and silence falls over a small group of tourists standing in awe before one of Italy’s oldest works of art — a wall of cured meats.

A beastly aroma fills the air. Legs of prosciutto and strings of salami form a canopy inside the old Norcineria, a meat and salami shop in the heart of Florence. An impassioned guide serves up delicious tidbits of gastro-history along with a selection of dried ham, a food dating back to the Romans. And from the first savory bite of finocchiona, a fennel-and-pork salami, the shop is transformed into a food museum, where tourists thrill at eating the art.

Details, Florence

Tuscan food: It ranks up there with Michelangelo’s David as a reason for travelers to flock to Florence. But getting a taste of a culinary masterpiece requires more than just stumbling out of a gallery and into the nearest trattoria. Tourists expecting to randomly discover a gourmet cafe often learn the hard way that bad food happens, even in Italy.

Perini Gastronomia, a gourmet market shop stocked wall-to-wall with wine, olive oil and balsamic vinegar, provides the backdrop for our next gastronomic invasion. Mazzaglia serves us a glass of Chianti while the shopkeeper prepares a cutting board with three rows of crostini toscani, Italian bread topped with truffle butter, tomato chutney and chicken liver paté. My friend and I moan between bites and do what Mazzaglia dubs the “yummy food boogie,” an eyes-closed, raise-the-roof jig.

The two of us are still swooning over the crostini when another board arrives, bearing slices of aged pecorino, or sheep’s cheese, bathed in truffle-infused honey, as well as chunks of parmigiano-reggiano drizzled with balsamic vinegar. The pecorino bite unites earthy with sweet, while the parmigiano number pits fruity against tangy, finishing with a subtle kick at the back of the throat.

“That’s the neck-gasm,” Mazzaglia laughs.

She explains that traditional balsamic vinegar, not to be confused with what we Americans put on our salads, contains no wine vinegar; it’s a complicated syrup aged for at least 12 years in small barrels and verified by a European consortium. A small bottle of the luxury dressing costs between about $85 and $200 — or more — depending on how long it has been aged, and Florentines pour it over everything from steak to gelato. In addition to tasting the expensive traditional variety, we sip a plethora of more affordable hybrid balsamics and ponder their subtle undertones. Raisins? Dates? Oh yeah, it’s made from grapes.

Out of the comfort zone

Mazzaglia, who keeps a bottle of balsamic vinegar in her purse, fell in love with Italian food and wine in 2002 while studying in Florence with the University of North Carolina. She became a fixture at the Central Market, grocery shopping and befriending chefs and shopkeepers.