And so, all good things – and some very wet and drab things – must come to an end. As I alluded to in my opening postcard of this viaggio, I’m really not one for spending time on my own. So if that has shaped some of the postcards, in a negative way, then I guess it is part way understandable. That isn’t to say I haven’t had a good time – far from it. Moments like being on the terraces with the Pro Vercelli fans, finding a great pub in Lambrate to hitting the Birrifico Italiano brewery for their pils festival were so good – they they have given me ideas for future visits – just with others included. I like Milan. I’m not
Milan Archive
You meet them. You fall for them. You think you’ll never be able to live without them. And then, just like that, you let them go. They let you go! Holiday romances are strange, intoxicating relationships that can last a week; yet still live in the memories for a lifetime. I technically fell for Amy over two “holidays”. Firstly on a long weekend in Glastonbury; then in a hotel in Shirley, West Midlands. She on a training course, me hiding from the world. Thankfully our romance lasted in to the real world, but tonight, memories of another holiday romance came flooding back. I first fell in love with Tipopils in Ma Che Siete Venuti A Fa, Rome. It was one of two bars I drank
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 can still vividly remember leaning across to my dining companion as I urged him to cast his eyes towards the door of the Pizzeria we were sat in. There, framed by a single light above the doorway was a vision of Milanese beauty so fine, that she turned the heads of most as she entered the room. It was as if the Goddess Venus had found her mortal form; choosing to dine with her worshipers for this one night only. I joked that she was clearly there for me; to fulfil her role as Mrs King in waiting – though I would need to finish my dinner before we were formally introduced. She took a table directly in front of the pass, giving the