How many people like coffee art? If you don’t know what I am talking about, it’s when a barista takes their time to pour an image in to the top of your milky coffee – a fan, a heart, a leaf etc. How many of you think the experience adds to the, well, experience of drinking the coffee? Does a good barista, who can perform wonders with their wrists, actually make the coffee taste better? Or do you sometimes wish they would just hurry up and pour so you can get out of there? What difference does it make if they’re putting a lid on it? Coffee art is one of those things that if you go to a good coffee bar, you now expect
Italy Archive
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This is just a quick post. Sort of post to ease back in to the writing lark after a while away from the blog. Real life has taken over somewhat. Pressures at work, getting the house sorted – or at least, LLK’s room sorted – have been a necessary, but unwanted distraction. Unwanted, in that – work aside – I’m only doing the room up as Lauren is away with Amy in Menorca. It’s amazing what you miss about someone when they’re not there. I could be all male bravado here and say that I miss Amy doing the washing or the cleaning, but the truth is I just miss her being there; for far too many reasons to cover off in just one post.
I’ve done a fair bit of walking on this trip. As I’ve walked around, I’ve not, as is customary, looked in the expensive shop windows of Milan. I’ve been more interested in the grey, soulless looking buildings that sit above, or behind that gloss of fashion. It’s no secret that I would like to live out here one day – preferably in the North, either Turin or Milan. If I was to move the family – including Nonna *shudder* then, to do it before we are too old, I would have to find a job out here. Amy has taught English abroad before, and I guess would not be adverse to doing so again. I don’t think I have the patience/interest to spend the next
I tend to talk about Ice Cream, Gelato, a lot when I am in Italy. It is, as though, a holiday can only be measure by how good the Holy Trinity – of Gelato, Birra and History have been. I’ve already confirmed how good the beer is in an earlier post, and to be honest, Milan’s history is passing me by on this trip – but there is still plenty of space on this blog to cover gelato. I prefer to seek out an indie where possible – it can have multiple branches in the same city; but that’s about it. Unless I am in the north of the country. Then I seem to have found a default yardstick, by which to measure all others
It’s a river. Nothing more, nothing less. It’s a fairly non-descript river. A river that has, through nature and man, had its course changed – its quality eroded – its importance altered over time. But it is, for all intents and purposes – still, just a river. But as an idiom; it’s more than that. It is the point of no return. If you cross the river – metaphorically cross the Rubicon – the path of your life will have changed for good. For the good? I’m reminded of the Rubicon as I plan a trip to Rome next week. I am reminded of how Julius Caesar once crossed the river, defying tradition – by leading his legions in to Italy, thus committing an act
I’ve made a mistake. I’ve convinced my mum that we should go to Rome for her birthday. The flights have been booked. The apartment has been booked. An itinerary is taking shape – but I know, in my heart, I should be taking her elsewhere. Vigàta Forget that Vigàta is a fictional town. Vigàta is somewhere, where we have found a recent, common bond. We have Vigàta; and we have Salvo Montalbano. Mum has read all the books. I am watching all the TV episodes currently being shown on BBC4. She finds him funnier in the books; I claim that maybe some of the humour is lost in translation. I love the acting, the mannerisms – the hand gestures – the looks he gives the
I can’t ride a bike. Not in the technical sense of can’t, more so the physical act of. My last knee operation left me with a leg that I can’t bend beyond 110 degrees, if you view a straight leg as being 180. To ride a bike, to push the pedals round, you really have to be able to bend your knee past 90 degrees. So why then, am I writing a post about professional road racing as a joyous, audience participation sport? Why, for the backdrop; naturally. I’m not the first to highlight the joys you can have from adapting the route of a road race, and putting it in to a more social context. The wine writer, Juel Mahoney, produced an excellent reference
Forget Cotoletta alla Milanese, that greatest of all rebranded regional dishes (it was pork, originally, not veal) inherited from the days of the Austrian Empire – the perfect accompaniment to tonight’s Derby della Madonnia (AC Milan v Internazionale) must surely be a Negroni. There’s a good chance that you won’t have had a Negroni before. With ingredients that include Campari and Martini Rosso, it is both an acquired taste, and arguably of a time in the UK. That time being the 1970s. But then why am I recommending a drink made by a Florentine barman, upon request from a Count (Negroni), to strengthen his original cocktail of choice? Well, Campari is very much a local, Lombardy (where you will find Milan) invention – drunk everywhere
I have an idea. I’ll call it an idea as I think I’ve overused the word dream on this site – especially when composing yet another whimsical post for you all to read. The idea is to park a Fiat 500 in the ever-so-unglamorous location of the underground car park in Piazza Vittorio Veneto, Turin. We open a bottle of Prosecco and Aperol. I’ll pour two “smallish” glasses of Spritz, drink them with Amy, and once finished – pull out of the car park and head through the city towards the A4 Autostrade. From Turin, we will then zigzag our way from the top of Italy – down to a final destination of either Lecce, or the Isle of Sicily – depending on how adventurous
Originally posted on Parla Calcio? Oh Italy. The place I’d love to one day call home – that beautiful country I have visited more than any other (if you discount Lancashire) in recent years. Italy – the home of great food, great wine, historical landmarks, fantastic football teams – and a language so, so, err, so…. Parla Calcio? This is a project I have thought about doing for a couple of years now. A way in which I can interweave my love for football with a burning desire I have to learn the Italian language. To see if the language of football – that of players names, club names, stadium names, formations – can be used as a bridging gap between the vocabulary used to
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