Tag Archives: Italy

Giving a whistle

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As I mentioned, nearly everything is good, wonderful or fantastic!

The last half of the year has been rather good, in most ways.

I saw Best Mate for her 40th birthday; we went to a lovely wedding in London and slipped in a few hours of sightseeing too (well more of visiting the Isabella Blow – Fashion Galore exhibition at Somerset House and a tiny bit of shopping); we went to see a lovely flat (although I don’t think it’s quite right for us and nor did F); Christmas is coming and I got a new car.

I did all my Christmas cards (will post tomorrow), got most Christmas presents (except the main one for F which I’m getting during the weekend before Christmas plus, maybe, a few other small things), F’s birthday is sorted (depending on the Christmas post) and F will be cleaning the house whilst I’m away.

Yeah, OK, the going away thing is not so good. I will be away fours days (more or less), including the whole of this weekend. :-(

It’s for work, not pleasure and the timing is, well, not brilliant – other than, when I come back, the house will be clean. Apart from, maybe, the kitchen. F wants to do that when I’m there, otherwise, nothing will be thrown out and he’s a bit of a “thrower-outer” whereas I’m a bit of a hoarder, even with foodstuffs.

The menu is almost set both for Christmas Day and Boxing Day (when we shall have guests, as last year) and, at the rate New Year is going and the self-inviting that people seem to do, we may have a house full and be doing a buffet dinner rather than a sit down dinner! But that’s OK. It’s nice that people want to join us for New Year. The important thing is that we’re with the dogs (because of the fireworks).

For Boxing Day we shall have Roast Pork, some Christmas pudding made by Best Mate, some nice English cheese and a very nice bottle of port that I bought when I was over for Best Mate’s birthday! Plus, because we’re in Italy, lasagne, brodo with pasta, salumi (for which I have a mostarda made with tomotoes), panettone and a ton of wine. Mmmmmm.

We went to see a film on Sunday night (in Italian so I didn’t get a lot of the dialogue – and it was very dialogue-heavy – Venus in Furs). On the way back, as we strolled across Corso Buenos Aries, F remarked how he “didn’t feel Christmassy”. I pointed out that he said the same thing about the same time last year. He explained it was because Milan was so miserable. I said that the lights on CBA looked really lovely. He said that it wasn’t like London. I pointed out that, for me, there were the lights of Hereford or Hay-on-Wye and so, the lights here, in Milan, ARE wonderful although I agreed that London’s were better.

Anyway, I never feel really Christmassy until I’ve finished work for the holidays. Before that, it’s always such a rush to do everything in time – both at work and home.

Anyway, I AM looking forward to Christmas, being at home, with F and the dogs and feeling “safe” as I always do at home.

Got some nice Christmas films to watch as well :-)

So, things are, generally, pretty good!

And, anyway, should anything be bad, you can always do as the song says and give a little whistle.

It seems it’s back on!

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We have been in a bit of a lull, as I may have mentioned before now.

There was a point (I think about April or so of this year) when there was, what I believed was, serious talk about us moving in together.

There are, of course, fundamental differences in opinion upon what is “the perfect flat”. In addition, there are fundamental differences on where is the “perfect area to live”.

To recap, these are “somewhere light and airy” (him) and “somewhere with character” (me). “Somewhere modern” (him) and “somewhere from the 20s or 30s” (me). “An area of Milan that’s cheaper” (him) and “the area I have always lived in Milan” (me). “New furniture” (him) and “don’t mind as long as all my ‘period pieces’ come with me” (me).

See how close we are? ;-)

As I may have mentioned previously, I was an ardent looker for flats that didn’t come through an agency (less money to pay up front). Until, that was, I gave the numbers of a couple of places that I had found and rung, to F for him to follow up and make appointments. When he didn’t do that, I stopped looking.

Recently, in the last few weeks, he has started looking again.

And, this week he came up with one through an agency which he went to see yesterday. It’s a small distance away and, more or less, in the same area. It has good transport links. The important thing (and the thing that means that he has listened to me) is that, as he pointed out, it is in a beautiful, 1920s building. And he explained that it really wasn’t so far from where we live now.

He loves it since it fulfils his requirements of being very light and airy plus it is not a bad price for the size.

Unfortunately, I have to see it in the light (the electricity has been turned off, obviously). To do that, I have to wait until the weekend after next since we are away this weekend.

But he loves it and thinks it would be perfect. He is worried that in a week it will be taken.

My opinion is that he may be right. My secret opinion is that, if he is right, then it will still be there in just over a week, in spite of what he thinks to the contrary. My secret, secret opinion is that, actually, if it is right, I will know as soon as step into the place when all other considerations will fall by the wayside. He doesn’t know of my secret opinions.

Unfortunately, I still have my concerns over this “living together” as I know I have mentioned in a previous post. But there’s no concrete objections or thoughts – just concerns. I’m sure we can work them out but, given that we don’t really discuss important things, the working out of them may take some time. So my concerns remain.

Hmmm.

Dishes that Italians didn’t export – probably for good reason

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Italians have exported so much of their food successfully that it’s hard to imagine that there are dishes that, I am sure, would never be a hit abroad – certainly not in the UK.

But, there are some.

As I’ve mentioned before, vitello tonnato (thin slices of cooked veal covered with a mayonnaise with tuna) would be one of them. We just don’t really do fish and meat together.

Another was something we had in the canteen at work. Pizzoccheri.

As it happens, I really do like this dish. It’s a bit like “winter comfort food”. It comes from Valtellina (a place/area very close to the Swiss border, in the Alps, north of Milan).

This is true winter food. Something to fill you and warm you from the inside.

But ……… to look at it, with it’s pasta the colour of mud and the look and texture as if someone had made a huge mistake and cooked everything just way too much to make it a cloying, tasteless mess, you’d be forgiven for turning your nose up at it. However, that would, in my opinion, be a mistake.

The pasta is a flat, ribbon-type pasta make from buckwheat. Hence, I guess, its colour and texture. To it are added boiled, diced potatoes and chunks of cabbage or chard and a delicious melting cheese that holds it all together and also makes the eating of it more fun, in that strings of cheese hold onto the rest of your dish as you bring the forkfull up to your mouth.

Pretty, it’s not. Filling, substantial and very tasty, it is.

Somehow, I can’t imagine this ever being a “hit” in the UK. Which is a shame.

I’m not sure that you have this in the South of Italy. Perhaps my readers who live there can tell me?

Gravity and a slightly strange friend(ship)

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I went to see the film Gravity last night. It wasn’t in 3D but it was in English which was the best I could do.

Even if it wasn’t in 3D, it was fabulous – a gripping-the-seats fabulous, all the way through. Although at one point after about the 3rd or 4th “mishap”, I found myself thinking, “What! Another problem? Give the girl a break!”

It was, of course, better to see in the cinema and, I’m sure, have been better still in 3D.

I went with a friend. Well, I say “a friend” and, yet, not really that close.

A few months ago or so, she contacted me. It was unexpected. We were, really, friends of friends. I had met her a couple of times and even spent on evening at her place for dinner. But it’s not like we had each others phone numbers or lived in the same area of town. When my friend went to live in the USA, I thought that I would never see her again.

That’s not really true. The reality is that I never thought of her at all. That’s how close we were.

In fact, my friend, before going off to the USA, fell out with her and so, wasn’t invited to the wedding. However, when my friend was back over Christmas, it seemed she had “made up” with her.

Anyway, as I say, a month or so ago, she contacted me (I think via Facebook). She wanted to go for an aperitivo (a drink) one evening. I expected her to tell me something but, no, we just had a drink and chatted. And yet I felt something was not quite as it seemed. I mean, we never really “got on”, we don’t really move in the same circles and we have very little in common. So I kept asking myself why had she suddenly got in touch.

Then, suddenly, last week, she suggested we go to see Gravity. OK, so I wanted to see it but, still, it was strange. It’s not like we are bosom buddies or anything. So why?

Of course, it did cross my mind that I was just being a little paranoid. Perhaps she really liked me? Perhaps she thought of me often?

But, even so, the whole thing just didn’t ring true.

And, last night, I think, I got my answer.

She is going to be made redundant. She knew about 6 weeks ago. So, she’s networking and I’m a person who might, at some time, be able to put something her way. I guess. Not that I wouldn’t, of course and not that I mind being “used” in such a way – I would, after all, do the same.

Or maybe this is just me and she’s just being my friend?

But I don’t think so.

Marrone, maroon, catsagna and Chesternut 5

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This, being Autumn, in Italy, is the time for chestnuts. I actually quite like chestnuts although F can’t stand them. Ah well.

However, if you buy the candied version, they are called marron glacé – the French name.

So, this morning I’m chatting with my colleague over coffee (you know, the one who has “blonde moments”) and, as she often does, she will be talking about something and then say to me,

“theword, you know what is?”

In this case, the word was castagna. Now, I do know what this means but sometimes I just reply “no”, as I did this morning.

She said, “oh, you know, marron?” This made me laugh. I explained that this was a French word, not English.

She seemed surprised by this. “But, Marron 5?”

This made me laugh more. What she meant was Maroon 5, the group. I had to explain that maroon is not the same as marron. But what really made me laugh is that all this time she has been thinking of Maroon 5 as Chestnut 5!

I said that the word was a colour – a sort of dark red (I always thought a kind of purplish-red although when I looked it up it’s supposed to be a brownish-red, the name having come from the French word for chestnut).

So, all these things turn a kind of full circle – castagna (It) = marrone (It) [both a type of chestnut and a colour] = marron (Fr) [as in marron glacé] = chestnut (Eng) which could = a darker version of maroon (Eng) [colour] = the first part of the name of a group, Maroon 5!

Of course, there is also a friend of F’s who regularly calls castagna “chesternuts” which always makes me smile.

I further explained to my colleague that Maroon 5 was a group name and said that, for example, a famous (in Italy) group from the 70s or 80s was Pooh – which, of course, could be translated as cacca as pooh is an alternative spelling of poo. Of course there is also Winnie-the-Pooh – but I always thought that name had something to do with Christopher Robin’s idea of fun, since children always think bodily functions are funny.

Anyway, while we’re here, let’s have a bit of Maroon 5:

and a little bit of I Pooh [The Shit, if you like] (who, if you’re not Italian, I’ll bet you’ve never heard of!):

2013 Italian Christmas Stamps

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They are already out!

I have ordered mine.

The 70 cent one is, as usual, religious.

The 85 cent one (which I need for my cards to the UK) are the non-religious ones.

To be perfectly honest, this year’s stamps aren’t that wonderful, in my opinion. However, since Italy only do the two stamps each year, it will have to do and I really don’t go for the religious stamps at all.

So, to all you Brits sending your cards back “home”, get yourself to a post office and order some.

Arguing about food with Italians. Do I have mad cow disease?

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Well, I have been here for a number of years now so I am, I feel, partly qualified.

Obviously, I have not tasted everything this wonderful country has to offer. For example, I learned today that there is such a thing as tomato mostarda – and, what is better, is I am promised some by a colleague :-). Mostarda is usually made with fruit (pear, fig, etc.) and has a special, very slightly mustardy taste.

The reason that I learnt about this is that we were having an argument about food.

Yes, an actual argument which, even if I am English, I didn’t lose, by the way. Even if there is a lot of English food that is really good, people here still think of English food as it was in the 50s, 60s and 70s which, to be honest, was not really great, in general. Then we found things like garlic and our cuisine improved at breakneck speed. However, I digress.

For lunch, in the works canteen, there was, for the main course, goulash with polenta. I do eat polenta but, when I sat down with colleagues at the table and one of them said something out my choice of main course, I couldn’t help but make some snide comment about polenta.

Polenta is, after all, as I pointed out, a “filler” in that it fills you up. What it does not have is taste. Nor, for that matter, a decent consistency. Imagine, if you will, some lumpy, badly mashed potato that has been allowed to get cold and then warmed up – but without any real taste.

I did say that “rough” (i.e. unrefined) polenta is much better in that it does have some taste (and mixed with a good Gorgonzola it is quite remarkable). However, I think “tasteless stodge” would be the best description for polenta.

I’m guessing that this was “poor people” food. You didn’t need to have much or any meat but some sort of sauce to give it taste and then, bingo, you had a filling meal!

The person in front of me couldn’t really disagree but tried. I explained again that it was, basically, a filler.

I then added (as I was in my stride) that Italians, who think they know something about food are, in fact, quite crazy and can’t really talk about “food” in that they have meat with fish – a very popular dish here. A number of years ago I would not have dared to do this. Now, I know what I’m talking about.

He knew what I meant. He said “You mean vitello tonato?” I did indeed. He then tried to say that it wasn’t really like that as it was only a sauce. I replied that it was a fish sauce ….. with meat. He agreed but said that there was only about 10% of tuna and mostly mayonnaise. I retorted with the fact that containing fish and tasting of fish, meant that it was, in fact, a fish sauce – and that insane Italians had it with, of all things, a piece of meat.

He then decided to try a different tack.

“Chutney,” he said.

“Mostarda,” I came back with. I think he knew he was beaten.

He didn’t like mostarda even if his wife comes from the place that makes “the best mostarda in the world”. He promised to get me some.

I Said how much I liked mostarda, especially with cold meats. He then told me about tomato mostarda and promised me some of that.

To be honest, rather than chutney, he could have come back with a lot of things but I’m getting better at this lark and can think up things to come back with.

The problem is that everyone think that Italians = food and English not= food which, of course, is too much of a generalisation and therefore, is always open to attack. In my case, whenever anyone comes out with something like “the English don’t know how to cook”, I have a number of things to hit back with – including vitello tonata and polenta. Italians don’t really equal food after all ;-)

Then again, it’s really all a matter of taste.

Officialdom in Italy – erm, this is NOT how it works!

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You may remember I was dreading going to get some official documentation thing done.

Well, today was the day.

The office opened at 8.30. Being Italy, I knew my best chance to spend as little time as possible, the first visit, was to get there about 8 a.m.

I failed. It wasn’t entirely my fault. Last night we were at some friends for dinner and F did his back in during the day so, when we got home about 12.30, I had to take the dogs out.

I set the alarm for 7 a.m., knowing I would have to take the dogs out. An hour would be enough, wouldn’t it? Even as I was setting the alarm at about 1 a.m. I knew that it wouldn’t be. F said that he would get up with me as he wanted to go and have his injection at 8 as he was going to Greece for the week.

The alarm went off. It was so nice being in bed that I set it to snooze for 5 minutes. Of course, as it was only an hour to get my act together, even 5 minutes was a no-no – and I knew that, it was just that I really, really didn’t want to get up.

I got up when it went off again. I didn’t wash or anything but took the dogs out straight away. We got back about 20 to 8 (it had to be a shorter walk this morning). Of course, F only actually got up the moment I got back. And he made for the bathroom. So, that was that. I made coffee. Just before 8 he came out of the bathroom but I was having coffee and, much like every morning, my head takes a while to catch up with being awake. In fact, I always say that I’m at my best from about 11 a.m.

Of course, it doesn’t mean that I can stay up late. Normally, I would say, my best period finishes about 2 p.m. – after that it’s all downhill to bed!

Anyway, back to the story. I did try to rush but it was like swimming through treacle. I made it out of the house before 8.30, which I thought was quite an achievement, to be honest.

I realised, just before I left the house, that I had not taken a copy of my passport or my codice fiscale sheet (I never got the card). I went to the tobacconists under my flat and got copies.

I knew I wouldn’t have everything that was needed but I’d done my best.

I catch the bus but get off too early. I walk to the place and arrive there about 9 something. I go to the office which is on the 4th floor. I really do hate doing this thing in Italy. I dread it. I thought, on the way there about turning back but steeled myself to continue. After all, this had to be done sooner or later.

I get the lift to the 4th floor and go into the waiting room. I see the machine to get a ticket. The ticket says B52. They are currently calling out B21! Shit, I think, I really should have been here earlier.

I sit down and wait. And wait. However, by about 10, we’re nearing my number. All these people only seem to spend a few minutes in the offices. I see many of them clutching folders with documentation. All my documentation is contained in my passport which is in my pocket. My heart sinks with every second of waiting. I toy with the idea of NOT doing this. After all, I maybe don’t have the need of it any more?

But, having already arranged to be late for work to get it, I have to continue.

My number comes up – it’s about 10.15.

I go into Office number 8. The guy is sat at a desk behind a computer. I explain what I want. He asks if this is my first time. I say yes. He asks if I’m resident. I explain that no, I’m not really. He asks where I am from. I tell him.

He needs my codice fiscale. I give him the original paper. He asks if I have a payslip. As luck would have it, in my bag is the last payslip from October. I tell him I have a letter from my employers but he says a payslip is better.

I hand it over. He doesn’t look at my passport.

He types some stuff in on the computer. Whilst he’s doing that, I tell him who I have selected because she is close to my flat. He nods and agrees. He continues typing.

He finishes typing and says, in English, “OK, that’s finished.”

He can see I look shocked. I say, “Finished in what way? What happens now? And my card?”

He prints out two pieces of paper. He says that one of the pieces of paper is the proof that I am “on the system” and until I receive the card I can use this. The other piece of paper gives the time she will be available.

He is smiling. He can still see I am in shock. I explain that this sort of thing has simply NEVER happened in Italy. I explain that, normally, I expect to go two or three times. He assures me that this is all done. He asks to take a copy of the codice fiscale document. I explain I have a copy. He would also need to take a copy of my passport. I say I have one of those too! This thing, of them making copies, has never happened before in Italy – for anything! Normally you must bring your own copies. He takes a copy of my payslip.

And that was that. 15 minutes! I am still in shock. I still can’t quite believe it. This, I would probably not even expect in the UK. This is stunning. This is wonderful. Oh, were it all like this in Italy.

So, anyway, now I am officially able to obtain the free health service. I have a doctor. I can go to hospital. I can be treated – and almost all for free. Like in the UK.

So, my first taste of the Health Service here is pleasant and comes across as efficient.

I like it :-)

In which I almost lose my power of speech …..

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It was the shock.

We’re out for a drink with An, a friend who lives up the road from me. We’re in Polpetta and I’ve arrived a little later than them.

And I forget how it all happened because, to be honest, everything else beforehand became a little blurred.

F is talking about his house near Carrara. He’s talking about doing it up (as I may have mentioned before). During this talking previously, it has been mentioned that it would be done so that, in due course, we could retire there. Of course, “retiring” is something that I’m not sure I’ll get to but, no matter, it’s not for a few years yet. And, of course, the idea of doing it up is not only for that but also to go down there more often. F hates Milan (whereas I love it) and dreams of being somewhere else.

If the house was done up, we could, for example (he says), go down for Christmas, Easter and other times. We would have computers and TV and DVD players and so on. We would have nice (new) furniture and it would really be a home away from home. The dogs would have the garden and it would be totally “ours” (well, his really, but you know what I mean).

I’m happy with this. It would be nice. We’d have his family and friends nearby; we’d have the beach for the summer; the dogs love it – so everything would be good.

Then, last night, he’s talking about it with An and comes out with …..

“Once I’ve got the money to do it and it’s done, we’ll move down there to live.”

My face must have registered the shock of this statement. He adds, to me, “I didn’t tell you before but it means we get out of Milan.”

We had always suggested that, once the house was done, should we lose our jobs or something else happen that we could, if we wanted, move there permanently. But this was a slightly different twist. This was more like once it’s done, we move immediately!

“It’s OK,” he adds, “you can do teaching and editing and I’ll get a job.”

Well, that’s OK except, the pay for teaching down there would be less than here – and here it’s not so fantastic. Plus, teaching means no pay for December/January and mid July to mid September. I don’t know if he understands that.

Not that we would need so much, of course. But, still …….

Then, as we’re talking, he qualifies his shocking statement to “maybe we move down in 1, 2 or 3 years.”

But it was the feeling I had when he first said it. It was a little frightening, to be honest. Now, that seems stupid, even to me. But there you go. I was frightened by the thought.

On the one hand, he obviously sees the future with me in it, which is good. On the other hand …. well, I don’t know, really. I’m not sure why I feel a bit frightened by the thought that we could be there by this time next year. I almost feel “not ready”. It’s not a feeling I have, generally. I’m much more of a “take things as they come” kinda guy. So, in theory, it shouldn’t pose a problem for me.

And, yet, the unease remains. When I first met him I would have moved in with him the next day. Now, I’m more “it’s OK as it is”.

“We’ll buy all new furniture,” he says. “But what about my furniture?” I ask. “We’ll sell it,” he replies.

I pull a face. I’m really not so happy about that. I mean to say, I’m not that bothered about “things” but ….. they are my things and, in some way define a little who I am. I don’t want to get rid of them. I would if, say, we were moving to the other side of the world but, still, getting rid of all my furniture would mean giving up nearly everything I own. Then I really would, almost, have nothing, plus some things are irreplaceable. The grandfather clock and the bookcase are what I bought with the money my dear Grandfather left me. To part with these two things would be difficult.

And, yet, they are only things, so in reality less important.

They aren’t the reason for me feeling so unsettled about the possible move. Part of it but not really that much.

No, I don’t know why I feel like this. It’s not normal for me. Well, it’s not the “new normal” that came with the move to Italy anyway.

But after he said it, I was unable to speak at all for a few minutes.

And there’s still an element of shock that remains.

So, I guess we’ll see what happens. After all, F does tend to say things that don’t necessarily happen. So, let’s not panic just yet, eh?