Is it Brunch or Lunch or just Italy?

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Brunch. Invented by the Americans or, more likely, people too lazy to get up early enough on a Sunday to have a proper breakfast but wanted a breakfast anyway, rather than a lunch. And so, the two merged together and became Brunch.

Great idea. And the times were flexible. An early Brunch would be about 11 or 11.30; a late one about 2 or 3 p.m.

Brunch was quite simply a late breakfast – to include bacon, eggs, sausage, beans and toast and marmalade.

And the Italians like the idea of Brunch a lot only, being in Italy, they’ve made it Italian.

What does that mean? Well, certain establishments do the bacon and eggs thing (with other things) like, for example Indiana Post on the Navigli. Other, more Italian places, have dispensed with that and just do the Italian Brunch.

And what makes an Italian Brunch? Well, basically anything you may have for lunch even, maybe, including pasta – but usually without the main meat course.

And on Sunday I was invited to M’s place. My first time there.

So, being Italian the thing is the number of dishes. Rather than having a few main dishes, they like variety. There was meat and there was cheese. Then there was a kind of chicken curry risotto and two different quiche-like pies. And there was this Sicilian/Sardinian bread (can’t remember which place it’s from). There was tea and coffee (American rather than espresso) and juice and water.

Then we had sbrisolona (not one of my favourites, I have to be honest) and la greca (both cakes from Mantova where one of the guests, Marco, is from). La greca was a kind of lemon/almond cake and very nice. I’ve certainly never had it in Mantova before so will be on the lookout for it next time I’m there. There were also normal (small) pastries. There was also fresh fruit (cherries, nectarines, strawberries and melon).

Luckily, I brought a couple of good bottles of Rosé and someone else brought some Moscato for the sweets.

Then there was espressos all round.

It was a lovely afternoon (we left about 7 p.m. having got there for 1.30) but, to my mind, Brunch it was not. Italian (it only missed being under a pergola overlooking the Tuscan hills), it most certainly was and, given the right setting (as I described), it was almost exactly what you would expect from an Italian summer lunch.

>I’m just going to have to do a proper Brunch for them all, aren’t I? Although, they would probably think it strange not to have more than a couple of hundred different dishes. Ah well, this would have to be another in my quest to get Italians to understand that not all British food is tasteless rubbish.

Is this goodbye to the BBC?

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The BBC have changed the way their website works. It changed during the day on Thursday or Friday of last week. They changed it for me!

OK, to be truthful, they changed it for the likes of me – people who are abroad and access the BBC website.

The problem would seem to be something to do with advertising. See, us pesky ex-pats have this annoying habit of choosing the UK rather than the International version. This means they had their work cut out having to have two versions of the UK site – one without ads (for the people living in the UK) and one for us foreign-living folks which included slightly-annoying, irrelevant advertisements.

They did give that as a reason but also that, apparently, we found it confusing!!!!

I don’t think so. In fact, I know that this was not so. For me it was clear. I wanted UK news. If there was anything that happened in the world that was really important, it would be on the front page anyway.

The current news appeared on the ticker at the top of the page. I looked at the main page, then England and then Wales. Finally I would look at the Europe section.

Very rarely would I look at Africa, the Americas or Asia.

I don’t really trust the BBC for International news and so, now, having been given no option but to have the International version I have decided to leave.

Shame, really. But now I would rather have Google News set to the UK and the Guardian website to pick up on the other stuff.

I know it will take me a while to wean myself from the BBC but the International version that I now have to have is so annoying that I don’t think it will take long.

So, this may be goodbye to the BBC after all!

Friends come round for dinner

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Now, here’s a thing. When I first met V, he could cook Spaghetti Bolognese and that was all. Over the years he became quite proficient at cooking and we entertained quite a lot. I would always do the sweet whilst he would do most of the other things.

However, now that V is no longer there, I am back to doing my own thing.

Whilst in the UK, I bought quite a few pieces of Stilton and Cheddar. Also, from Londis in Hay-on-Wye, the best smoked bacon I have ever tasted. They cut it and vacuum pack it on the premises so it’s not like supermarket bacon which shrivels as the water content vaporises but it stays almost the same size and is really very tasty.

So, as I am determined to demonstrate to Italians that the food from the UK is not like they think, I had promised A that I would do dinner, mainly so that he could try the Stilton (with Port, of course).

Friday night was a night out with colleagues at an agriturismo called Ai Boschi in a small village called Origgio, not far from Milan. The nice thing about agriturismos is that they grow a lot of their food on the premises. I suppose they are an extension to the British ‘Farm Shop’. Agriturismos will have a restaurant and, quite often, rooms. Unfortunately, they are not all great. This one was, well, mediocre.

It meant that I did not get home until about 2 a.m. I had already said to A that dinner would be Saturday or Sunday depending on how things went (cleaning the house, etc.). As it was, I actually got up about 11.30 which was very late for me. And put me all behind.

However, I made the supreme effort to clean the house and, finally, at about 7 p.m. went shopping. I managed to make it in time to get the Port from the little off-licence near Corso Buenos Aires so called A to say we were on for the dinner.

To start, I had a baked pasta dish, given to me by G, our cook at work. Then I made a warm bacon and chicken salad – the bacon from Londis and the salad including salad cream which I had also picked up in the UK. Finally, cheese, British cheese biscuits, apples and port.

A made some big thing about me being able to cook and it made me think that V did most of it after all. A didn’t know I could cook whereas, in reality, it was me who taught V how to cook.

The meal was a great success. F really loved the bacon and the Stilton, which made me very happy. My first dinner in the flat!

Sunday I went for brunch at A&F’s. M, A’s friend was there too. As he pointed out, it was more like a wedding breakfast! Many courses and it lasted for hours.

And, the weather over the weekend was great so a good weekend all round.

A Security Issue

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How well can we rely on the security staff at Europe’s airports to do their jobs? Can they really protect us from a terrorist who is determined to blow up a plane? Are they, or the machinery they operate, up to the job?

My experiences show otherwise. The number of times I have been checked through British Airports and then European ones, each having a different set of rules and each finding different things to concern themselves with, make me wonder what this security thing is all about.

Take my latest trip.

From Malpensa through Brussels to Birmingham. Fairly straightforward, you might think. However, add in the fact that, in order to smoke, I go through security more than once at most airports. I get to learn what they want and this makes it quicker (for them and me) – however, something is most definitely wrong.

I am taking coffee in my hand luggage. This is finely ground coffee. It’s special Italian coffee and is for Best Mate.

First there is Malpensa. In the tray I put my bag. In another tray I put my coat and my mobile phone. My coat contains my cigarettes and a lighter. I keep all my coins and my other lighter. Stupidly, I have worn my boots which have a large chunk of metal round the heel. The security guard wants these on the conveyor belt which is, kind of, fair enough.

I slip through the gate with no beep. I collect all my things and on we go to the aircraft.

We arrive in Belgium – Brussels to be exact. I leave the airport (as if I am going to Brussels) so that I may go outside to have a cigarette.

Of course, I have to go back through security. Here they want all shoes off – metal or no.

I put my bag in a tray. I put my coat (with mobile , cigarettes and lighter) in another tray. But wait! Here they also want loose change. I take the Euro coins from one pocket and the English coins from another and add them to the coat tray.

I step through. No beep.

However, here, they decide that my bag requires checking. Nothing has been added or taken away since Malpensa (except the Milan-Brussels boarding card).

They go through the bag. They are interested in the tobacco and the coffee but, of course, everything has to come out. Nothing is found that is bad (I am not a terrorist).

I pack up and walk on.

After coffee and a sandwich, I really need another cigarette. Once again I leave the airport to stand outside the arrivals and have my couple of cigarettes.

I go back through security. This is the same security gate that I went through before. Exactly the same gate. There were a few different staff.

I placed my bag in one tray; my coat (with phone, cigarettes, lighter, Euro coins and British coins) in another and my boots in a third.

Then he asked if I had anything else in my pockets. I said my wallet (credit cards and cash) and he wanted them too.

So, there I was, going through the same gate as I had done an hour before. Personally, the only differences between last time and this were:

Minus: Credit Card Wallet

Plus: One glass of beer (inside me, of course); One chicken, bacon and lettuce sandwich (again inside me); A couple of cigarettes worth of extra tar/nicotine/whatever; Dust or anything that may have been floating in the air and is too small to see.

It beeped.

So then I had to be searched as did my bag.

The guy actually said that he had seen me go through before.

My conclusion to this was that either:

  1. The machine beeps every fifth or tenth person through, whatever.
  2. Someone in the team had a remote control switch that made it beep (and that is for another post).

Either way, it simply WAS NOT POSSIBLE for the machine to detect beer, chicken, bacon, lettuce, tar or nicotine in my body. And I honestly assure you there was nothing else that was additional on my person.

Speaking to someone today who knows someone in the Civil Aviation Authority in the country they come from (not Italy or the UK) he said that his friend had advised that, in fact, these security checks were a waste of time, money and energy but that ‘it makes the passengers feel safer’.

Well, not me it doesn’t. It makes me feel angry as I now know that the security gate in Brussels (the one on the left as you go through to the UK flights) doesn’t work properly. And, if it doesn’t work properly, is it the only one? I suspect not.

And then there was the UK on the way back. Going through Birmingham security:

Female Security Person: Do you have a belt, sir?
Me: No.
FSP: Can you take your sandals off please sir?
Me: Why – that guy has just gone through with sandals?
FSP: Exactly sir, and it set the alarm off.

I went through sans sandals.

Whilst waiting for my stuff to come through, the next five people were allowed through with their sandals on!

I’m sorry but you are just being random. And random doesn’t make me feel safe. Random means lucky not secure. Random means you are there to annoy me rather than make me feel good. All this security rubbish has to stop.

So, Brussels security does not make me feel safe and Birmingham security are too random for me to feel safe.

At least with Italian security you know where you stand – I.e. they are fairly relaxed about it – but, weirdly, it makes me feel safer as, instead of concentrating on rubbish, they probably have time to truly observe the people going through and can spot someone who might be acting in a suspect manner.

I am now a twit; Hot, Hot, Hot

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I have succumbed. Now let’s see how it works. It seems to be easy enough and, if it works as easily as it seems then I can see why it has become the thing of the moment.

On the side you will now see my Tweets. It might be useful whilst I am away, if I am unable to blog much.

Yesterday, in the late afternoon, whilst I was taking a break from sweating profusely (aka cleaning the house), I noticed that my Weather Pixie said it was 35°C. And that is at Linate airport, a few miles out of town from me. So it would have been a couple of degrees hotter on the Perfect Street.

To be honest I just love it although, unfortunately, Rufus is suffering a bit. Still, it won’t last for long.

And this morning, at work, when I went outside for a cigarette, I could only stand a few moments in the sun before having to move into the shade. For me, that is great.

And still no zanzare! I can hardly believe it, although the people who live in the Hinterland (suburbs) are starting to suffer them so I guess it’s only a matter of days now.

Update Apr 2015: I no longer have my tweets showing.

When is a question not a question? When it’s asked by an Italian!

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Sometimes, I just love Italians and the way they think. It’s like living on a different planet.

Having been to Mantova’s Festivaletteratura a number of times I have found that, given the opportunity to speak in public, they really don’t know when to stop or, worse, get to the point.

This is particularly true when they ask questions.

The night before last, I was honoured to be invited to my good friend Stef’s graduation, for he has worked very hard over the last two years and got his MBA. As usual, when he is pleased with himself (as he has every right to be), he just can’t stop grinning.

Of course, before the actual handout of the certificates, there had to be some speech by some guy and then he was asked questions from the panel of lecturers. The last question though, took about 3 minutes to ask and then, at the end, the question failed to materialise! They are a strange people, these Italians.

There was another guy who, I think, was actually doing the handing out – he actually started his speech by saying it would be brevissimo (very short). Of course, he was Italian so that was his own special joke and he continued to talk for over 15 minutes!

Anyway, aside from that it was a very nice evening with drinks and apero food afterwards. N & I managed to get quite a few prossecco’s down us and I met Stef’s parents and younger brother.

There was only one thing, and this is one of those little things that still smart after all this time – if V & I had been together and there, after the event, it would have been nice to go for a quick pizza. But we’re not together and even though I really fancied it, I didn’t go on my own. I did resist calling him which, I thought, was good, as it would have felt far too needy – at least from my point of view.

Yesterday, I have been mostly wearing sandals

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Those of you from the UK will remember the BBC comedy program The Fast Show, from which this title is taken.

And it’s true. It is now so hot (hurrah!) that, last night, for the first time this year I wore sandals to take the dogs for a walk and did so again this morning

>For those of you who don’t know, I cannot abide cold feet – and my feet feel the cold a lot. I will not wear socks with sandals and for the first forty-odd years of my life I wore sandals for about 6 days a year (and changed in the evening for socks and shoes).

It is only since coming here that I can wear sandals all day and night – and I love it.

And so, it is likely that now and for most of the time between now and mid to end September, I shall be wearing sandals.

I am exceedingly happy about that.

A Warning – a poke in the eye with a large iron bar – about a week too late!!!!

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We have metal windows at work. Recently we have had a man in, fixing the windows. Not that there was anything really wrong with them but, according to sources, for security reasons, they had to be modified. This involved drilling and, generally making a lot of noise.

When the Window Fixer was doing our office I had to leave. The noise of the drill and the fact that the windows were open, leading to things being blown about and because, whilst fixing two of the windows, I could not sit at my desk, meant that I found things to do outside the office.

This was last week (Wednesday or Thursday, I can’t really remember).

Today our illustrious Purchasing Manager came into the office with our Health and Safety Manager. They wanted to check that the work done was OK.

Did the windows work? – Well, yes (but they did before?)

Did the Window Fixer remove the windows to do the job? – Well, I wasn’t here for most of it but I didn’t see him remove them.

Finally, the warning was given, in Italian because our H&S Manager speaks English worse than I speak Italian which, as regular readers will know, is terrible, our Purchasing Manager translated that:

I should be careful not to allow small particles of dust from the drilling of the window to get in my eye as he (our H&S Manager) did!

Hmm. I look incredulously at him, suppressing the belly laugh of scorn that should have greeted this statement.

‘But’, I pointed out, ‘the job was done last week so I guess I don’t have to worry about it now!’

Honest to God, this man seems to get more useless by the passing day.

Not just the British complain about the weather.

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This morning, as I drive to work, it is already 20 degrees! Over an hour earlier, before most people were even awake or, at least, before they were out and about, I was walking the dogs.

It is warm enough not to wear a coat and wear light clothes. I do not quite trust it enough to be wearing sandals but, another week of this and maybe I will.

Two weeks ago the Italians (and I) were complaining that there was too much rain and that it was far too cold. “It’s too cold for May” or “There’s too much rain”, they say (me too!).

Now the Italians (but NOT me) are complaining that it is too hot! “It’s too hot for May”, they say! I say “For me, if it were like this every day I would be very, very happy”.

I had forgotten……

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……just how bad Telecom Italia were.

I am reminded this morning. No Internet. I phone the line. They ask if the ADSL light is on. It is. They do a check. They inform me that it will, definitely, be fixed before Thursday.

Someone (and I forget who) was surprised that Infostrada/Wind were so much better. But it is true. I think, in the 2 years (or whatever) I was with Infostrada, I only had to phone them once (and I’m not even certain that I had to do that!).

Whereas, with Telecom Italia, I had to phone them quite often.

They are, as I said before Teminally Ill – and crap with it.

I HATE TELECOM ITALIA! May they and all they arrogant, supercilious employees, rot in hell.

I remain, slightly, angry, in case you hadn’t guessed.