Author Archives: Andy

In which Dino learns to be a real little bastard

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I’m sitting in the bedroom on my computer.

I have been there for about an hour.

I go to the kitchen to make a cup of tea and notice, as I go through the lounge, that the latest DVD I received by post is on the floor and not on the footstool.  I pick it up, idly thinking that I thought it had still been in it’s cardboard wrapper.

It had been.  The cardboard wrapper is now in pieces in the dog basket in the kitchen.  At this point I also notice that there is the wrapper from a bar of chocolate (which had also been on the footstool) in the basket too.  The silver paper, almost intact, is on the floor.  I let out an involuntary ‘Oh, nooooo!’, at which point Dino slinks away, head down, tail between his legs.  I know it’s him and worry only about the fact that he’s not supposed to eat chocolate.

That was Sunday.

This morning, I sit by the computer for only 15 minutes, drinking my coffee.  When I arrive in the kitchen to wash my mug, I see, in the dog basket, two Videos and the remains of the back pages of the IKEA catalogue.  Then, as I am picking it out of the basket, I see also the remains of the Baci (chocolates) box.  Then I see a half opened, half eaten box of dates.

All these had been on the footstool in the lounge and it must have been the first thing he went for when we returned from our walk.

And, today, the cleaner will be in.  And I left the shortcake biscuits on the footstool.  And the cleaner won’t know that Dino is not searching for things on there.  I am resigned to there being no shortcake biscuits in the lounge now.

This, of course, has to be stopped.

Unless, like it was for Rufus when we still had Ben, we find that it is not the puppy but the older dog wot dun it!

But, somehow, I doubt it.

So, now, I have to put something to tempt him and watch carefully in order to stop it – before it becomes an automatic habit.  Damn!

Ristorante Leon d’Oro

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As you may know, if you’ve been reading this blog for a while, I really like the Imperiale – a Chinese restaurant around the corner from my place (link on the side).  It is the only Chinese that makes Chinese food more or less the same as the UK and, in particular, it does Peking Duck (you know, rolled in pancakes with plum sauce and stuff).

I have been there a lot.  Run by a husband and wife team, the husband was always experimenting with dishes, trying a mix of Japanese, Chinese and Thai ingredients and, every time we went, would encourage us to try the dish that he had made that day.  He had talked often about his wish to open up another restaurant to make only these type of ‘fusion’ dishes.

Finally, he did.  The restaurant near to Piazza Repubblica (Via Adda, 3) is called Ristorante Leon d’Oro.  We were there on Friday night with S&N.

The place is cool; the décor with all the stone, black and soft lighting, reminding one more of a trendy discotheque than a restaurant.  I booked and as soon as I gave my name he asked ‘Is that Andy from the Imperiale?’  He was then going to give us one of the ‘smoking’ rooms but I declined as the other two of our party were non-smokers.

We got there and he recognised us (well, some of us) from the Imperiale.  We looked through the menu, unsure of what to try.  He had Asian Fusion as well as straight Chinese, Japanese and Thai selections on the menu.  He took our order but since we were unsure of what to have he suggested stuff.

And the stuff was quite delicious.  I cannot remember everything but there was soft-shelled crab in a kind of Japanese sushi style, little rolls of rice surrounding the pieces of crab; fried prawn on a stick of sugar cane; a kind of tempura of vegetables but smaller than normal tempura; a carpaccio of raw fish.

For the mains, N & I chose the Peking Duck because, well, we knew it would be the same as the Imperiale and it is impossible to resist although we promised to be more adventurous next time.  F had a parcel of orata, steamed with vegetables wrapped in a banana leaf (or something like that) which was truly divine.

I’d give a miss on the sweets though.  Asian sweets are never truly inspiring, in my opinion, with the exception of Thai rice pudding, done with coconut milk.  In this case I had crepes which were far too heavy.  S had strawberry fritters (like caramelised banana fritters but with large strawberries).  Nice idea but still too heavy.

And we had some digestivi – grappa.  We had a bottle of prosecco and then a few beers.  The total was €30 per head which, I felt, was not unreasonable.

A great alternative to the Imperiale and superb décor and surroundings.  There are three distinct smoking rooms, each self contained and really nice.  Special ventilation in each means that the smoking would not have been a problem but I wasn’t to know.

The only problem with it is that, whereas the Imperiale is a five minute walk from my house, the Leon d’Ora is about 20 minutes (foot and train) or about 10 minutes by taxi.  However, well worth a visit and the food is to die for!

Saturday night we also went to Le Vent Du Nord again.  This time F and I with A & Fr.  What a great place it is.  The beer divine and the moules just incredible.  Fr, who normally doesn’t eat moules, really enjoyed them although the guafre (a little like an American waffle) was her favourite, I think.

Hanging pictures on the floor

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We’re hanging pictures on the floor. As one does.

Obviously, we’re not really hanging them since they won’t hang on the floor. The wall was measured and then the floor was cleared to make room and the floor was measured out. Bits of masking tape were used to mark the corners.

I brought in the pictures from the living room, a few at a time. I am acutely aware that I must not break any or drop any. It, of course, makes it so much more dangerous, me having this knowledge. I place them carefully on the floor (outside the area marked, of course) or on top of each other.

The pictures are laid out on the floor. They are changed. There are too many of them. The top right corner doesn’t look right – too many small ones. The order is changed. And changed. And changed again, and on.

Eventually, they are right, it seems. It seemed that way to me before now but now, after the final few changes, it seems right. The wall (for it is not all of it) is measured and masking tape used to mark the point where the pictures will start.

I bring the first one in. The picture is positioned and the nail point secured. The nail is hammered in and the picture hung. It is the first of very many. They are all photographs of the same woman. I go and fetch the next one (in order, as they will be positioned on the wall at the top) – the first row first – as they are positioned on the floor.

Nails are taken out sometimes as they won’t go all the way in. Or, rather, enough of the way in to allow the picture to hang correctly. Everything is, almost, very precise. Each picture is hung, not in a moment, but in a minute or two, placed, centred on the nail, hanging perfectly. Row after row.

It takes some time.

Then we are to unveil the sofa and move it back against the wall – the wall where the pictures are.

Ah, but wait!

‘I don’t want you think I’m a maniac’, he says, ‘but I want to clean the pictures first’.

‘Of course I think you’re a maniac, but a lovely maniac’, I reply, smiling.

The pictures are cleaned. The covers are taken off the sofa. It is in two pieces and they are slotted together. We do this and push it back against the wall. It is perfect. Of course it is perfect. It’s F’s flat.

I think that, tomorrow night it will be three whole months since we first met. It seems it cannot be true. Surely, it is longer than that?

I told him I loved him last night, when we had got to bed. He answered that he knew I did. I was pleased as it means he can see it even by the things I do.

And I do. So much and, when I’m with him, I am not scared. And, as he was on the ladder, banging another nail in the wall and his shirt rode up and I caught a glimpse of his stomach and looked at him, I also thought that he is a really sexy guy. It’s perfect. Well, not perfect but perfect all the same. And he loves me too and, sometimes, I feel I must be the luckiest person ever!

Sometimes, I get scared

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Irrational feelings, these, I know.

Just like going to by fresh prosciutto (I might not be understood and look a fool in front of the busy queue), going to a hospital (they might spot something is wrong with me and I might never leave), going to a garage to have the car fixed (they spot me as a fool and stitch me up), etc.

These are, indeed, irrational feelings and, although I know them to be so, it doesn’t stop the feelings and, sometimes, I feel like a deer caught in car headlights – doing nothing would seem to be the correct answer, which, of course, it is not.

And the same is true for the current situation.  What if we have nothing in common after all?  I mean to say, right now, there is the move, Farmville and so on to keep us ‘occupied’ when we are together.  OK, so we both like the cinema and films but you can’t be doing that all the time.  He has books but I would say that they’re more ‘coffee table’ books than real books.  He loves music whereas I just like it.  What shall we talk about?  What will we do?

And, right now, we don’t spend all day together.  We do different things because we live in different flats and so, for a number of hours during the day we are in our own flat (in his case the new one or the old one) doing things or, in my case, sometimes, doing nothing of any importance.

But what if we HAD to spend all day together?  In the same place, in a constricted place.  In a flat with only a couple of rooms.

Let’s face it, I am lazy.  I will happily lounge around all day (and then be completely unhappy that I have wasted the time).  From a list of things to do, I may do one or two.

I’ll do that right after this cup of tea, I say to myself.  But, then, I think, I’ll just have another cup of tea and then do that.  And then I run out of time and so, from the list, if I’m lucky, I will have done up to two, no more.

How will that ‘fit’ with F who seems to be busy doing things all the time (mainly cleaning and stuff which a) I hate and b) I’m not good at)?

Maybe, I’ve been thinking, it would be right to do as he says, i.e. NOT move in together.  But how do I reconcile that with the thing that, to be a ‘complete’ relationship, we should be living together?  Am I saying this just because I’m frightened of what he may see and what he may not like?

Right now, of course, being with him is enough – even if we don’t talk or do anything in particular.  But later………

And so, sometimes, I get scared.

Giacomo

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Giacomo is not some guy (or, rather, he may be/have been) but a restaurant in Milan.  Not far from me, between Porta Venezia and Porta Romano at Via Sottocorno 5-6.

It had all the ‘look’. There was a serenity about it, partly because of the green, sort of chalkish but a bit darker, wooden half-panels on the walls, the fans on the ceiling, the ambiance, the waiters with their long aprons, reminding one of bygone days.

The food was superb. One of the best fish restaurants in Milan, F said. I had soup – mussels and clams – to start with and then the cod with a loose crunchy crust and saffron sauce (hollandaise). We had some deep fried courgette flowers and courgettes to accompany the main course.  F had the mixed raw fish starter (which was divine) and then the seared tuna with a really strong, sweet caper sauce.

I don’t know what the wine was. F chose it. It was his birthday, after all.

And, just the two of us.

The only thing that let it down a bit was the service – although excellent and attentive, the staff kept on leaning over me to get stuff off the table.  Of course, being in Italy, there’s no soft light in the restaurant – people prefer to see what they’re eating – but it wasn’t as harsh as you normally have.

The clientele were mixed but I did hear a lot of foreign voices.  This is, after all, not cheap.  I don’t know how much it was for the two of us (the rule here is that, if it’s your birthday, then you pay) but the starters were about 18 Euro and the main courses about 25+, so, with wine and dessert (F had a chocolate bombe which was to die for) it would have been upward of 75 Euro per head.  However, a must if you’re here and don’t want to worry about the price.

There is No Primark in Milan

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There. In spite of this being one of the fashion centres of the world and there being many other shops like Zara and H&M and a million and one outlet shops, THERE IS NO PRIMARK IN MILAN.

Really sorry for those of you looking for it from all over Europe but it just isn’t here (unless, of course, it’s such a big secret that nobody knows about!)!

And they ignored my email regarding this.

Update [May 2015]: I have been told that Primark are currently looking for a site in Milan (and also Rome and Venice) to open a shop. From what I read on the Internet, these shops should be open before the end of 2015.

I love Dino

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It’s a bit of a problem as you get older. Your bodily functions seem to slip into some sort of ‘uncontrollableness’. There is, certainly less control.

Sure, I could be talking about humans but, in this case, I am talking about dogs. And, more specifically, Rufus. Unfortunately, after eating, he has a small problem with farting. And the thing about dog farts is that they are extremely unpleasant for us humans.

And so, we’re sitting, watching the second season of Fame, the TV series, which F really loves and which is why, for Christmas, he bought himself the DVDs. And Rufus is lying by me and snoring. Heavily. And then, stealthily, like some sort of secret, I smell the most rancid, sharp and disgusting odour. I know, immediately, what it is. And I know it’s because he is old. Still, it is quite an awful thing.

I exclaim on how horrible it is and F just says ‘poverino’ until he, too, smells it and exclaims himself how rank it is. I suggest getting the spray from the bathroom. He says that he will get it. He returns from the bathroom and starts spraying. But it’s not the ‘fresh air’ aerosol that I was expecting. Oh no. For him, not the simple ordinary smell but an expensive perfume that he gave me because he has plenty, from his own company.

I just couldn’t stop laughing. I would never have thought of that nor, as in the past I have had to buy the stuff, would have used something that was normally so expensive. But to F it’s not like that. And, I must say, it worked a treat and was considerably better at disguising the foul odour than any household spray!

And then there’s Dino. Dino will be, as I have probably mentioned before, one of the sweetest dogs I have ever had. Daily he becomes more lovable. Most people (including F) love Rufus more because, well, he’s a grand old man and so very well behaved. Dino, in comparison, is all hair and bigger and more excitable (understandably – he’s only 18 months old!). However, I can see that, as he matures and mellows and becomes less excitable and ‘jumpy’ he will be wonderful.

Except for a couple of things. The main one of which is his propensity to lick. And I mean lick everything. It’s just a quick ‘slurp’, not constant licking. But he slurps everything. Clothes, shoes, hands, other dogs – almost as if, by taste, he can tell what everything is. And I really don’t know how to stop him. It’s like a really bad habit which I don’t know how to break. The command ‘Stop licking!’ often shouted with a ‘bloody’ thrown in between the words has no effect as the slurp has already taken place and, so, he just looks at you with that querying eye, head slightly to one side, not really understanding anything.

Gradually, stuff is being left here by F. It’s not that it’s permanent, you can see that, and I know that anyway but it’s here all the same. Last night, early, he got some guy to move the stuff he had packed. I went to the new flat to help with the delivery to the flat. And, as an aside, of course, everything will fit and everything will be OK as I said it would.

After, I drove him back to the old flat and he had a bath. As we were about to leave he said he would bring some old clothes that he could wear when we were sat watching a film or the TV so that Dino, when doing the slurp thing, wouldn’t slurp on the good stuff that he is wearing to work, today.

I laughed. The ‘old stuff’ included a very nice cashmere jumper, light grey.

However, he wore it and Dino slurped and it was no problem. F played with Dino most of the remainder of the night, after we had got back from our pizza, the first time we have eaten out since before Christmas!

When in bed, F said, just before we went to sleep – ‘I love Dino’. And, yes, Dino, in spite of the hair and the excitableness and the slurping, is, in fact, a very lovable dog and, in particular, when he is sitting by you, hoping to be stroked, he has this endearing habit of resting his head, sideways, not chin down, on your legs, looking up with his big green eyes.

But, in any case, I was pleased by his line of ‘I love Dino’.

Cartwheels

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I could have turned cartwheels, there and then!

I went over to his old flat.  He was packing.  Still.  Although he had packed a lot.  He had said to me that the place looked like a bomb [had hit it].  And it was true.

Boxes and bags were everywhere.  He was struggling.  What to pack?  What not to pack? Only one box left – so what needed to be done now and what could wait until later.  Several times he had said he was worried about the new flat being too small.  I said it would be OK.  What else could I say?

But, by the time I got there, I could see that he was quite unhappy.

‘This is why I said we could not move in together’, he said, his voice trembling and obviously upset.  ‘I don’t ever want to do this again’.  He rubs his hands on his head.  It almost seems like he is going to cry.  I want to go over and hold him and reassure him and cuddle him and take all the pain and anguish away.  I don’t as I know that he would push me away – he’s right in the middle of packing – there will be time for that later.

‘I know’, I replied, ‘I DO understand’, thinking of only last night and the comment about me finding a flat for him in my building and knowing that, right now, with the trauma that this is causing him, he is not really thinking straight but only from moment to moment.

‘I wish I could help you more’, I said, meaning every word but knowing that there was nothing I could do.  This was his thing and I had to let him do it in his way.  The only thing I could and can do is to be patient and understanding, which is what I am trying to be.

‘I’m sorry for you’, he said at another time.  ‘It’s OK’, I replied, ‘don’t worry about me’.

‘One day is good and the next day is bad’, he added, to explain the roller-coaster that he is currently on – but it needed no explanation.  ‘You don’t need to say ‘sorry”, I replied, ‘I understand and I’m still here, aren’t I?’

And I did understand and he doesn’t need to say sorry – not for anything.  And I think he appreciates the fact that I am there and with him, even if I can do nothing.  I don’t want him to feel totally alone in all this and I think he doesn’t want to feel that either and I think, from what he says, that it does help that I am there, just to be there and to be someone that he can cuddle and kiss when he needs it.

‘If you don’t mind’, he adds later, before we leave his flat, ‘I will stay with you until the 18th (when the wardrobe and bed are delivered) and I can go from work to the new flat and tidy and organise and then come over to yours.’

‘Sure’, I reply, ‘I told you before, it’s not a problem at all and it’s the least I can do to help’.  It may only be for a few weeks but, for me, they will be weeks of “almost perfectness”.

But that was the moment I could have turned cartwheels.

In which I learnt how to pack CDs

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Being as old as I am and having moved quite a number of times, you would think that I may know a little about packing up.  It seems not.

Best Mate asked me if there was anything about F that wasn’t perfect.  The thing that comes to mind (although now, at this stage in our relationship, I just find it funny and not a problem) is his obsessiveness with tidiness and cleanliness.  And it is an obsession, believe me.

Put it this way.  Last night we spent the night at mine.  This morning he said that, if I didn’t mind, he would be spending most nights here as it would be impossible for him to remain at his flat with everything being packed and, therefore, everything not immaculately and perfectly ordered.  And it’s so true, I know that much about him.

I want to help him with the packing.  Not only because I want to help him but also because I can see how the fact that things are now ‘getting done’ towards the move and the fact that we will be so much closer is making him so much happier.  Of course, that makes me very happy too.

And, so, one of things that I can do is pack his 2000+ CDs.  However, it’s not as easy as it seems.  To do this he has bags.  However, instead of showing me the bags and saying ‘get on with it’ he felt that he should show me how it should be done.

More or less, of course, the have to be packed in the ‘right order’ – i.e. the order in which they are currently in the racks.  To show me this he, almost, packed a whole bag!  There were three columns of CDs stacked and then a few that we slipped down the side.  Who knew that it could be so difficult? :-D

So I packed a few bags whilst he sorted out his shoes and then cleaned the ones he was taking.  Cleaned, of course, because he doesn’t want to clean them in the new flat.  It does make sense although I would be in such a hurry to pack that I wouldn’t do that (didn’t do that).  I learnt the other night, when R&Al came over for dinner, that, about once a month he takes his 2000+ CDs and cleans every single cover!

Last night was wonderful.  The Zampone and lentils were great.  The time we had together was perfect.  As a start to 2010 I could not ask for anything better.  And it’s so nice to know that he feels the same as I do, even if he shows it in slightly different ways.

During our conversation over dinner he was saying how much he liked my flat.  Although he pointed out that if he had something this big it would be so easy to put ‘in order’.  He said that in the spring he would ‘help me’ to reorganise the flat.  I did say that it made me a little scared – and we laughed, of course!  But there is an element of truth in that.

He also said that, in the next year or so I should keep an eye out if there were other flats in this building available.  For just a moment I thought he meant to look for something bigger for both of us.  Thank goodness I didn’t say anything.  He meant that I should look for one as he would like a bigger flat and would like one like mine!  OK, I thought, but, with every move it’s getting closer.

And, then, on his way out to his flat this morning (to continue packing) he said the thing about staying at mine more often.  Of course, I wanted to say ‘move in, why don’t you?’ but I didn’t as I knew it wasn’t the right thing to say.  This thing is just one step at a time.  Last night, in bed, we were talking about something and I made a half-joke about us taking it slowly and he said that I wasn’t taking it slowly and I replied that it takes two.

And he knew that was true.

Le Vent Du Nord; New Year’s Food Feast

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Last night, F, along with Al (of the R&Al fame) and another friend went to see Loretta Goggi. As she does a bit of singing but also a bit of comedy, etc. F said that, maybe I shouldn’t go as it would be too difficult for me. In this case, I agreed with him. I mean, if it were just music or if it were a film (with a plot) then that’s one thing – a stand-up/cabaret act is another thing entirely and I didn’t want to spoil his enjoyment by being there and him feeling he had to explain everything.

And so, as this had been arranged some time ago, R suggested we go out for dinner whilst they were at the show.

The other friend’s girlfriend, Ale was with us too. She is really nice and I like her a lot. We had quite a lot in common – mainly food-wise.

Anyway, on to the restaurant, which is why I’m posting this post. It’s called Le Vent Du Nord and is, apparently, Belgian. One good thing about Belgian places is the beer – and that was certainly true of this place. The one I chose was superb. Belgian beer has a particular taste, very malty, and I like it a lot.

But this place is one of the places to go for mussels (moules). I chose Moules Marinieres and it was, quite honestly, fabulous! Cooked to perfection and so tasty. Ale chose some other version. After we had finished, we both wanted a little more and so were going to get one between us – unfortunately, it was their last night before closing for a week and so they had no more left. Whilst we understood, we were, to say the least, a little disappointed.

Apart from the food and drink the evening was really nice.

And, I think, Ale and I could be firm friends.

If you like mussels (they do other things too, including meat) and Belgian beer then this is, certainly, a place to go in Milan, even if it is a little bit of a trek from the centre itself. In the end a couple of beers each, the moules, a sweet and, for two of us, a digestivo only cost 25€ per head – great value, I think you would agree.

The service was excellent. All-round, a great restaurant.

R dropped me home and I did the dogs. F rang after he had come out of the show and picked me up in a taxi and we spent the night at his place as he is working as I write.

Tonight we are just us, here, at my flat, being a little Italian with a little left-over shepherd’s pie (obviously NOT Italian) and zampone with lentils which I adore. Always eaten at New Year as the lentils mean wealth. Zampone is pigs trotter filled with some sort of meat stuffing – a little like a large sausage but more glutinous. It would never sell in the UK but you should try it if you get the chance as it really is scrumptious!

And, on that note, I wish all my readers a very, very Happy New Year.