It was our first Italian wedding. Our second wedding this year. They were very different.
Don’t stop the food coming – an Italian wedding
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Tag Archives: Food
Lemon Meringue Pie; Dino
Dino
I couldn’t wait until Monday. The last time I had made a Lemon Meringue Pie, a week or so ago, I took a piece in for S to try. She had been badgering me for the recipe ever since and, eventually, I obliged.
The Great Panecone and Full-English Breakfast
The café is almost like a bar in a pub. An old-fashioned bar. The fixed, wooden bench with the high back hugs the wall all the way around. The ‘bar’ is wooden too. Nice, old wood. The tables are large and rectangular and, would you believe it, wooden. The floor is wooden without carpet. It’s all well scrubbed – spotlessly clean.
The feeling is warm. The sun shines in through the windows and it is bright inside, in spite of all that wood. The espresso machine, behind the bar, gives a delicious smell to the whole place. The staff are, in the main, dressed in white.
Where have all the assistants gone?
More from our trip to Scotland and the differences between UK and Italian life/culture, etc.
We landed at the airport and had arranged for a taxi to take us to the city at which we were staying. There were quite a few of us. We knew about half the people and knew of, by reputation, most of the rest.
We arrived at the city and a group of us (about 6 or so) decided that we would go into town. V & I really wanted a Kentucky Fried Chicken fillet burger. I know it’s crap (junk) food but when you just can’t get something the old adage ‘absence makes the heart (or in this case, stomach) grow fonder’ was definitely in full swing.
Luckily, an Italian with us, F, was also very keen on this type of junk food and was also up for it. A couple of the others had never tasted it so had no idea. A couple of people returned to the hotel. We asked several people where the nearest (actually, only) KFC was. We had various answers, mostly quite vague. V saw Greggs and decided to have a sausage roll – as did F and one or two others.
I thought, whilst they were buying, I would find out definitively, where the KFC was. What I needed was a shop with helpful assistants. Aha, I thought; Marks and Spencer. So I walked in. The shop was spacious with plenty of room between the racks of clothes, something we rarely see here, in Italy. Something else that I hadn’t bargained for and had completely forgotten about was that, after wandering around for about 10 minutes, I still couldn’t find an assistant!
Here, in Italy, after about 1 minute an assistant would be there; offering their help. Here, in one of the most renowned stores in the UK, assistants were less than ghosts.
I gave up and went to a shoe repairers where some very pleasant local lassies gave me very precise and spot-on directions.
Later we talked about this within our group. It was consensual that, in the UK, we had driven this type of service out of existence. And, the more I thought about this the more I knew it to be true. In the UK, I used to get very annoyed if I was bothered by assistants. Sure, I wanted them to be there but only when I wanted them! Until then I wished to be left alone until I had selected what I wanted. I agree that I think the UK drove this away and I think that the UK is the worse for it.
Here, in Italy, good service – and having an assistant pay attention to you almost as soon as you walk through the door is very good service – is essential and very much expected. Here, and certainly in Milan, assistants are everywhere and I’ve got used to it now. I know how to react and use their assistance rather than discourage them from trying.
By the way, the burger was divine. I know that to you, my lovely reader, this is nothing special but to us the taste was a wonder on our tongues. I wouldn’t swap Italy for the UK but, sometimes, these things are missed.
Hunger!
Now, of course, I’m feeling hungry. At the moment, as I write this (it’s 2.15 p.m.), my mind flicks over between a nice panini (of course, I should correctly say panino since I am only thinking about one…..no, come to think of it, my mistake was putting the word ‘a’ in front of nice panini) to a plate of pasta. And then, A, bless her, has suggested we meet with her and another friend, B, for a Thai next week (and by that I mean, of course, dinner in a Thai restaurant – not some random person from the Thailand).
Of course, this is entirely all of my own doing – me feeling hungry, that is. I have noticed that, in the last few years a number of things are happening. None of them are really good but I put a brave face on them by saying something like ‘well, I am quite old now’ or ‘at my age why should I bother about that’.
I lie, not only to myself, but also to others, including V but V never reads the blog so I can mention it here.
So, I am not eating anything for lunch. Now, those of you who know me and, in particular, have worked with me, will know that I never really ‘did’ lunch. Lunch was for wimps. Actually, so was breakfast. The only time I ever did lunch was when I had to for business purposes and the only time I did both was when I was on holiday or stayed in a hotel for business purposes.
Not a new thing. I started this at the age of 14 (so more than a couple of years ago). You see, by that time I was hooked on the smoking thing. And, at 14, we moved to a new house and so, to a new school. The fantastic thing about this school was that, at the start of each week, we were given money to purchase tickets for lunch (we used to call it dinner money – strange that, since it was for lunch and not dinner).
But, of course, I soon learned that if I didn’t use the money for dinner I could go into the town and buy something that I really wanted – so that would be cigarettes, then!
And that continued for the rest of my life until …. we came to Italy and, more specifically, when I started this job. The problem was that I used to teach here. I used to do a class in the morning and another after lunch and they gave me free lunch and, since most of my classes seemed to revolve around food (important for both me and every Italian), the offer of a free lunch in the canteen here was really not something I could (or could be seen to) pass up. The other problem is that, on some level, it is still like I’m on holiday – but all the time.
And now I work here. And the canteen is good. It’s not a five-star restaurant, but G (the cook) does fabulous meals.
So, I always have the pasta course and the main course.
And there’s the rub. Because then I go home and we have a meal similar to those we had in the UK (in terms of the amount, not the quality).
Unsurprisingly, I have gained a little weight. Well, that’s true up to a certain point. Not only have I gained a little weight but it seems my body has decided to redistribute itself. Weight (fat or muscle, it’s difficult to remember what it was really) from my top half is going with gravity whilst weight from my bottom half is defying gravity.
They are meeting in the middle. Not really very good. This wasn’t supposed to happen until I was, say, about 70! And others can say that I don’t look my age, but when I look at myself and the redistribution that has occurred, I think only of my grandfather who is (was) always in his 70’s – in my mind. He had the same problem – but, then, he was 70+, for God’s sake!
So, now, I’ve gone from not having lunch (well, hardly ever) to having lunch every day to not having lunch every day. Providing that I don’t go anywhere near the canteen and cannot smell the food cooking, I am fine (more or less).
This week I have done really well. I had lunch on Wednesday. This was a determined effort by me since last week I ended up having lunch every day – and my stomach didn’t shrink. So, this week only Wednesday. To be honest, Monday was easy, Tuesday less so and Wednesday I gave in.
S came back from lunch and said that the lunch was OK (actually, Friday is not my favourite day, the choice is not so good) and I felt rather proud of myself that I had only had one lunch this week. And then that made me think of food and then I felt hungry. Oh yes, and I can’t get rid of the pictures of the very nice salami that is currently in the fridge and I even started thinking about having lunch tomorrow by having some of that salami!
People here have suggested that I only have one course in the canteen or have a salad. But I just can’t do it. G and P are so nice and although I have managed to get them to give me less, it is impossible for me to say no.
And this has been the most dreadful, rambling blog post that I think I have ever done. For which I apologise.
P.s. as I’m posting this, S has just offered me a small piece of chocolate, which, to be polite, I did not refuse ;-).
Hearing from old friends; Sunday Lunch; the Sales in Milan
It was nice to hear that M & B had had a nice time visiting A in Canada. Here, we have fireworks making all the noise and there, they have pots and pans being banged and car horns blaring. Seems like it’s only the UK that celebrates New Year more quietly (although I am aware that, these days, there are more fireworks than there used to be).
Friends are starting to arrive back from their celebrations in the South (or Paris, for some). So this weekend was doing some catching up with some friends. Saturday, V was working so we only went out in the evening but, yesterday, we did Sunday Lunch for some friends and eat the Christmas Pudding that V had been given, as Christmas Day we had gone out for lunch.
The Sunday Lunch started at just after 2 p.m. and finished (with a short shopping break) at about 11.30 p.m. This is the way Sunday Lunch should be. Long, leisurely affairs; much food (Roast Beef, Yorkshire Pudding, Horseraddish Sauce, etc.; Christmas Pudding and Brandy Sauce; Cheese) and some very good wine. And, although we drank quite a lot, because it was spread over so many hours, it didn’t cause us to suffer at all.
V wanted me to get a shirt (like one of the ones I gave as a present to V for Christmas) – but now it’s the Sales (they started on Saturday). I knew the shop (TerraNova) was in Via Torino but V informed me that they also had a shop on Corso Buenos Aires. So, I braved the rain (for it was truly miserable) to walk up there. When I got there, having dodged the many umbrellas, carried by short people but unaware, it seemed, that their umbrellas can only be described as lethal weapons and the general Italian way of not seeming to see you (i.e. they just keep on walking quite unconcerned that bumping into you or not moving out of the way is NOT acceptable to English people), I found that this shop only sold half the stuff of the other one. And although I was only out of the house about 20 minutes in total I really had had enough, so texted that I was sorry but I just couldn’t do it.
I am not a fan of shopping at the best of times but, in miserable weather, crowds of people and sales – it’s just pure torture for me.
According to S (with whom I work and is a bit of a bargain hunter – worse than V), the time to hit the Sales here, in Milan is the first weekend and then the last few days (in about a month’s time). The first few days allow you to get the best stuff and then it’s all rubbish until the last few days when the best bargains (i.e. the most discount is applied) are to be found.
So, if you were thinking of coming over for the Sales, I suggest you wait, now, until the end of January/beginning of February.
I’m reminded of things: the perfect Yorkshire Pudding
V is playing Christmas music (to death) on the CD player. Just had Guadete which I like both as a song and as a Christmas song and then came someone’s rendition of In the Bleak Mid-Winter which reminded me:
Happy Christmas from V&A
The festive season is upon us and I just wanted to say a very Happy Christmas to all our friends. I hope you have a fantastic time.
The End of the World is in less than 7 days!!!!
It’s how it feels. The traffic is terrible; the urgency of everything is at its height (work, home, etc.); we are out every night this week as so many of our friends leave for extended breaks with their families; the shops are full to bursting (see below); people start to lose their ‘nice’ gene.
And it happens every year. But why? I realise that, if you don’t get presents before Christmas then it makes less sense but it’s not a disaster. And if the client does get the parts on the day before Christmas, what on earth is he going to do with them? And, if you don’t get bread and milk today then the supermarket WILL be open tomorrow, with new supplies.
There’s this thing about Christmas that is a proper milestone in nearly everyone’s mind.
And, considering this is supposed to be the season of goodwill, where the hell is it?
Apart from the story below, I think the best thing to do is to chill-out. Take it easy. Don’t worry. Even if you don’t get the presents/parts/bread, it’s not the end of the world. Honestly.
Anyway, my experience of trying to get that ‘last minute’ something:
I know what I want. I know exactly what it should look like. But finding it is so difficult. A present for some friends. Candlesticks – but it’s got to be glass, got to be square pillars and not round, preferably smoked or some sort of opaque glass.
And, we’re in Milan, the design centre of Europe? But can I find what I want? No. It seems so simple. We traipse up Corso Buenos Aires and into all the probable shops. V has to go on his work’s Christmas outing (I am joining him later) and so I go to the centre of town to try La Rinascente (like Selfridges or Debenhams as it used to be). I get off the metro and walk up the steps to the outside and it is cold. The crowds are tightly packed. Everyone seems to be going to the same place. I join the slow-moving queue to get inside. I enter and then the crowds are more tightly packed. There is no way to side-step the snail-paced human traffic jam.
We shuffle along and, if I am honest, this is exactly why I don’t like Christmas. If I had any other choice (I guess I DO have another choice but …) I would have turned round and joined the shuffling queue out of there.
At the escalator, going up was more difficult. So I went down – as this was one of the places to look. Downstairs is busy but tolerable. I see some very nice examples, not really what I wanted but suitable, except for the price. I would even pay up to €100 but €300 to €3000 are just completely out of range.
I join the queue to catch the escalator up and up and up. They have ‘bouncers’ at the end of each escalator. But it’s not to check that people aren’t stealing things, it’s to keep the flow going. Why do people reach the top of the escalator and think that it’s OK to stop and look about them? So we move on, as fast but no faster, than the escalators themselves.
I reach the floor I want. Ah, here are candlesticks. And reasonable prices. But not glass and not what I want. I look lost. Some very nice assistant asks if I need help? I explain what I want. She guides me, through, over and round the people pointing out a type of candlestick here, another type there. Eventually I say I will look at them and decide and thank her for being so helpful.
There is a glass one, with a brown glass stem. Not really. Some silver type ones from India but totally wrong. And then I see some small, silver, candlesticks that are ideal only they have been out too long and need serious cleaning. But I have seen silver like this before and it doesn’t always clean so well.
I find another assistant (I should have gone back to find the nice one). This one says that it only needs cleaning. I ask if they will clean it. She says they only have cleaner for glass but she will try. She tries. It doesn’t work, making me more nervous. Will you give me my money back if it doesn’t clean up? I ask. As usual here, in Italy, the answer is no. They only give you a replacement article(s) or, if you’re really lucky, a credit note.
I decide against it. I walk up to San Babila and walk along a street I know that may have something. A shop window looks promising and inside I find what is, almost, perfect. How much are these, I ask. €80 is her response, it’s plexiglass. Not exactly what I wanted but pretty close. Do you have two, I add. No, only that one.
I give up at this point. It’s just not to be and I have a trifle to prepare. I go home, thankful that I don’t have a sackload of presents to buy as I couldn’t stand it for much longer. I’m not really a Christmas Shopper!!
A body without a mind; Mexico’s National Dish is not Chilli Con Carne
Last night, for some strange reason, I did not sleep well. It seemed (although it is probably not true) that I woke up every half an hour or so and so, this morning, feel like …. well ….crap!