I'm Just Mad About Saffron (The MasterChef Australia Edition)

Saffron’s mad about me… Don’t you love that song? I do – it would appear though, that MasterChef Australia’s Producers DO NOT…

You wouldn’t believe it peeps (well, most of you will because I already told you) but I had a MasterChef audition this week!! What? FBJ?? But you say the only MasterChef in the world is the UK MasterChef – WHAT WERE YOU THINKING???  To be honest, I wasn’t planning on applying, I didn’t even know they were recruiting (again‽) Mrs Feather sent me a link to the application asking if I was applying.  “What the hell?” Thinks I and filled it in, “it, not like they’re going to call me right?” wrong. Unbelievably one of the very nice production team gave me a call and invited me to audition.  Shit. What do I cook? It’s not like I actually have a signature dish!

I told the Wee Girl when she called after work “Australian MasterChef??? You’re not actually going to go are you??” You will remember my previous post, where I may have said we prefer UK MasterChef? I stand by my views – a far superior contest… “Yes Wee Girl, I will, I mean, what a laugh right? “Maybe…” She says – she is not convinced, believing that a personality contest is inferior to a cooking contest.

So I turn up with all the other hopefuls in our timeslot – 20 in all, so they’re chewing through about 60 people in a day – that’s a lot of broken cooking dreams left burning in the halls… Me on the other hand, well – I’m here for a good time.  If they like me, they do, if they don’t? Well… there’s no accounting for some people’s taste*

So a few of us get chatting and having a bit of a laugh – seems like the 5 of us are all from Sydney, and they’re a really nice bunch.  We swap stories and talk about stuff – general nervous bonding I guess.  Amongst others, there’s an IT Girl (that makes two of us) and a young lad who is studying the bassoon at the Sydney Institute of Music – dude, why are you here? The bassoon is a far superior calling, I mean, you get to sleep in, play late, miss gigs... way more fun than a chef I reckon…

So finally a young, spunky producer comes in and introduces himself (his name now escapes me of course, we’ll call him Good Prod).  He tells us he loves us all and really wants us all to succeed so, you know, cook our best and we’re all in with a chance!  Everyone is pumped – itching to cook.  They really want to see our REAL personalities he says (hmmm be careful what you wish for dude – I’m not sure you can handle my real personality).  They’re going to be filming us too – uh oh, there goes my street cred…

He then goes on to warn us of the perils of double dipping.  Oh FFS!! What is it with people and double dipping?? Seinfeld has a LOT to answer for, the un-funny bastard.  I mean, remember when you’d go out when you were young and fancy free, meet some guy and snog him – there were no swab tests beforehand! WHAT IS THE DIFFERENCE??? What a load of wank. I have no cold and no cold sore – I am clean!  Oh, and of course, no cutty cutty meat on the same board as your vegies, it’s not like they’re both going to be cooked to kill all the bacteria right?  Salad? I concur, otherwise? Pfft!!

So into the kitchen we go.  I’ve decided to cook ravioli filled with ricotta, basil and lemon with a lemon cream sauce.  I don’t know if I mentioned, but when I was in Umbria we did a pasta making course with the gorgeous Leonardo and Alessandra (as you do).  The pasta recipe had been passed down through generations and one of the things he stressed was that pasta dough needed to be kneaded (ha ha) for half an hour. Phew! Half an hour?? That’s a lot of kneading… We did it there, and I’ve done it again since coming home and it really does make for an amazing pasta dough.  Unfortunately though, I’ve only got an hour so… ten minutes later dough is done and looking pretty, shiny and squidgy.  Camera man comes round and does a close up of me kneading – look out for that if it makes the cut on the show ;-) I hope he doesn’t show my age spot up close…

So now second producer strolls around, let’s call him Bad Prod – I really did feel like they had the Good Prod/Bad Prod thing going on, he was a whole lot more serious. He complimented me on my glossy dough and moved on (phew).  I made my filling and suddenly, a wee box of saffron catches my eye… hmmm saffron, I LOVE saffron! Maybe it will give my dish that extra je ne sais quoi? So I add a bit to the filling.

It’s now time to roll out the pasta – and the thing with ravioli right? I don’t like it too thin, there’s a chance it will burst, when it cooks it looks like old ladies undies and also, I like it with a bit of substance or it all gets a bit soft and mushy, so I roll it out to my satisfaction and it really is a spanking dough (if I do say so myself).  Back to my bench and shit, there’s still HEAPS of time to go… Oh well… I make my wee ravioli and put them aside to be cooked at the last minute.   I did the sauce in about 3 seconds flat – it’s just not that hard and at the last moment think – hmm maybe some saffron in there too… Why not after all?

And then the camera, producer and sound guy is bearing down on the guy next to me, he’s talking it up – living the dream, saying what he wants to achieve out of this.  Good Prod then says to me, well you’re doing a whole lot of standing around; well I’m just efficient says I (maybe I SHOULD have kneaded the damn dough for half an hour…)

The camera then descends on me – what are you cooking, what do you want to achieve? And a few other things, maybe what inspires you? I don’t remember.  And so what do I say? Hmmm I would like to be in food writing.  Food writing?? WTF FBJ? where’s the cooking in that?? I dunno, maybe I should have said I want to start a cooking school for underprivileged single mothers teaching them how to cook wholesome meals – but that’s already been done right?  I did have an opportunity to bang on about Feather and Bone – how much I loved them and how I love cooking ethical meat, my whole 80/20 rule and all that… I’m not sure if that’ll make the cut – I may have come across a bit manic (who me?) Good Prod seemed to like me – but I reckon he’s like that with everyone.

When it was time to plate up I did – the dish did look lovely (I would have taken a photo but that was totes not allowed) so you’ll have to deal with a photo free blog.  Bad Prod came around and made a snide remark about seeing the saffron threads in the cream – I should have heard the death knell then…

So we have to stop cooking (which I had really stopped about 20 minutes before).  And there we stand, waiting for them to come around and taste all our dishes.  I wait as my pasta congeals on the plate – mmm delicious… So finally it’s my turn, Bad Prod and 2 ladies I did not have the pleasure of meeting beforehand start to judge my food.  Oh, that’s waaayyy too much saffron says Bad Prod WRINKLING HIS NOSE AT MY FOOD - OMG stop me now… It’s given it a real ‘funky’ taste.  Hardly, I think.  Oh and that cream sauce (what, the one that’s been sitting there congealing for 20 minutes? That cream sauce?) It’s way too heavy says woman number 1.  Well, that’s why I put the lemon in, says I.  That was never going to work with all that cream and butter says Bad Prod patronisingly to me – (#@@$^%^#$ I think to myself)

Then, woman number 2 cuts a piece of my pasta off and says (wait for it) “I haven’t actually tasted it but this pasta looks too thick to me” ARE YOU SERIOUS? You are not even going to deign to taste it, but you’re judging it? These people are too much.  I mentioned what I learned in Umbria – from Leonardo, who you know; uses a recipe passed down through generations about a 30 minute knead*.  Pfft! Says the tasters, it only needs 10 minutes max (in their most pretentious tones) yeah, right, Mr Fiftieth Generation Umbrian has no idea right…

Good Prod is hovering in the background and as the Bad Prod and his entourage sweep off he has a bit of a taste, happily he didn’t gag and luckily he didn’t comment on the saffron – Good Prod to the end – go you.

Was it my best ever dish? Nope. Did it deserve the nose wrinkling disapproval by Bad Prod? Nope again – I thought it was yum when I tasted it, if a bit lemony of all things…

A lot of us got ordinary comments, so we all swapped commiserations afterwards while waiting for them to come in and give us the, who goes through news.  My name was not called; I’ve decided they’ve already filled their position for Plucky Comic Relief so I was out on my ear.

I am a bit glad though, my 2 week dry aged Dexter sirloin on the bone was still safely in my hotel room, and the amount of food they actually tried when they were judging was miniscule – I’m not sure I’d want to waste that glorious cut of meat on their judgey judgmentalness – especially when the majority of it goes to waste – that cow will not die for naught! Himself and the Wee Girl will give it the love, affection and respect it deserves…!!!

I walked back to the hotel that evening singing Mellow Yellow at the top of my voice… I'm just mad about Saffron, Saffron's mad about meeeeeeeeee, I'm a just a mad about Saffron, Saffron's mad about me! They call me Mellow Yellowwwwwww.....

*note that foodie double entendre??
*and his pasta was not rolled wafer thin - it has to have bite you see...

Birthday Dinner Fun (AKA Neck is the New Shank)

It was Himself’s birthday a couple of weeks ago so of course a three course meal was on the cards.  I needed it to be fairly simple as I’ve been a little under the weather, but awesome anyway.  The first hurdle in my grand plans was that Himself’s birthday was on football training night, would he sacrifice football for food? The question was presented.  The answer that came back in short order was ‘yes’ but then he had to arrange an alternative coach (alas, he also coaches said team).  So he called a mate and explained.  With much disgust on their part they responded...

“What do you mean you can’t come?”

“Well, the wife said she was cooking me birthday dinner so training is out”

“Oh, under the thumb are we?”

“Is it any different in your house?”

The sound of crickets greeted him…

“Thought so – well, enjoy training, see you on Saturday”

Truffled fadge, bacon and eggs

But enough about Himself, back to me.  I decided that for something really fun I’d made a teeny tiny Ulster Fry to start with, truffled fadge (Irish potato bread – usually not truffled but if you can’t improve on perfection what’s the point of cooking?), soft boiled quail eggs and Flying Pig maple bacon.  To make fadge you start with mashed potato, mix in butter (or in my case truffle oil), salt and flour until your mix becomes soft dough.  Knead and roll out into little rounds.  Cut the rounds into six or eight pie shaped pieces, depending on how big (or small) they are and then cook in some oil in a frypan until golden.  Here’s the trick though.  You have to let them cool down completely and then they need to be re-fried again just before serving.  Apparently it’s just not the same otherwise.  As I wanted to lean the bacon across the fadge at a jaunty angle I needed it to be flat, SO in the interests of attractiveness I cooked the bacon in the oven between two baking sheets until they were crispy (and flat).  I cooked the quail eggs for 2 min 30 seconds (for a soft boil) and put them straight into cold water so they stopped cooking.  Fried up the fadge then placed it all artfully on a plate with dots of HP Sauce down the side.  It was a huge winner – Himself loved the fadge (I have had fadge failures in the past, so high praise indeed) and it made for a quirky starter.

Brown and remove the lamb

For the main, a simple slow cooked lamb was on the cards, maximum flavour for minimal effort.  A big family favourite is a Gordon Ramsey Slow Cooked Lamb Shanks recipe, but as lamb shanks appear to be the ‘new black’ the cost has shot up along with demand.  So I decided to be sneaky and use neck instead.  It cooks up exactly the same, and while you don’t get the nice white bone for show, if you slip the meat off the bone when it’s cooked and serve it in its syrupy sauce no-one’s the wiser ;-) tastes the same and half the price.

Cook up the vegies then return the lamb
with wine and stock - cook 3 hours

So I cooked up the meat and served it with a white bean mash.  I think, on reflection, that some crusty bread would have been a great crunchy, textural addition but in the interests of eating three courses I didn’t think we needed the extra filler.  Of course the family agreed about the lack of texture (great, Greg and John are back) but were also very interested in scoffing dessert so didn’t complain too loudly.

Macerating the strawberries

Dessert was Himself’s favourite – pavlova! And a simple pavlova indeed, individual nests with macerated strawberries and cream. Devine and deceptively simple – make up your meringue mix (I have a secret ingredient to make mine uber delicious – don’t ask, it’s my secret and the guarantee of a long and happy marriage) and bake.  Quarter the strawberries and macerate in lemon juice and caster suger for several hours.  Just before serving add a slosh of red wine (I left the wine out for the Wee Girl’s – not that you can taste it but she’s a bit of a nanna when it comes to things like that) and some freshly whipped cream.  I’ve stopped buying thickened cream now, I only go with the single cream, it doesn’t take long to whip and doesn’t contain weird stuff like gelatine – just saying.

Anyhoo, huge success, they all loved it - yet another home run by Team FBJ.

Stop Being so Spineless!

I hate jointing chickies.  When I use chicken shears it makes my hands hurt.  I think I suffer from mild carpal tunnel syndrome or RSI or harden the f**k up or something, so the cutting action hurts me.  But I also don’t like only buying chicken joints as a. they’re more expensive and b. it’s that whole ‘use the whole animal’ issue I’ve got going on.  So I ordered two chickies from F&B and asked if they’d joint them into breasts and marylands for me.  Due to my unhappy jointing history I also know that when you joint a chickie you’re left with almost the entire back unused.  So I asked them to keep this for me thinking I’d use it for stock or to give to the doggies as a treat.

Too good to give away...

When I picked up my order and brought it home I noticed HOW MUCH delicious meat was left on the chickies’ spines! I couldn’t waste it by giving it to the doggies or using it for stock (besides, I already had lots of stock from a roast chickie the week before) so I decided to channel my inner Indian and use it to make a delicious Biryani.  Indians use meat with bones a lot in their cooking (so Pushpesh Pant tells me) not the sanitized, boneless bits of meat for them, like we get in the local Indian takeaway.

For the doggies!

When I weighed up the left overs there was over a kilo there! So I set to cutting the actual meatless bones off (and giving those to the doggies – they didn’t complain) and chopping up the rest into bits of meat with the bones still intact, this also included the wings, which had been cut off the breast (will have to ask them to leave them on next time).  I’m not sure how many of you are privy to the oysters which lurk on the back of the chicken, like little nuggets of chicken goodness, to be dug out of a roast when no-one’s looking, but they’re there and they’re delicious.

So, with the meat cut up I used Pushpesh’s Lucknow Biryani recipe which was rich with cardamom, cinnamon, cloves and cumin.  Made up the chickie curry mixture, cooked up some rice then layered it in a large pot pouring over milk soaked saffron as I went.  In the oven for half an hour then I took it out to rest while I fed the family mussels for a starter.  Himself declared he didn’t like mussels, but I told him to eat them anyway, and he did, and decided he liked them.

After a wee while I served up the Biryani with yoghurt and pickles.  It was delicious! The fam were not sold on the bones but humoured me and said they enjoyed it bones and all.  To be honest, picking bits of bone out before I can eat isn’t high on my list either, so I did it all before I started eating, which made it easier.  After we’d cleaned up and I was ready to serve lunches Himself asked me to pick the chicken off the bones for his lunchbox (for ease of office eating) I told him he was dreaming if he thought I would and didn’t.

The Biryani was duly taken for lunch, apparently lots of office and school comments on aroma and taste (aroma from the office – “ooh that smells delicious!” and taste from the Wee Girls friends – sharers are carers).

So use a little backbone in your life. You won’t regret it (and you’ll smugly feel the smugness of not wasting a bit of your chick.)

Tip Top Taxi Tours (Seatbelt Not Required)

“You want a tour of Vesuvius? Only 20 euro per adult and 10 euro for child, a minibus will pick you up here at 9:30am, it’s a 2 hour round trip” The Wee Girl and I looked at each other, sounds good we thought. 

So the next morning we trotted back and paid our cash.  We didn’t have much left in the kitty and the Wee Girl pointed out we might have to pay extra to get into the park (even though this was not mentioned when they sold us the tickets).  We got back to the meeting point at 9:30am sharp… Half an hour later a battered taxi wheezed to a halt in front of us with enough seating for 7 people… really? A taxi? In we all piled and the Wee Girl whispered to me “there’s no seatbelts” sure enough we were living life on the edge. 

The Englishman in front went to put on his belt and the taxi driver waved him into seatbeltless submission.  So off we sped through the dirty streets of Modern Pompei.  That in itself is an adventure, the driving is so much more exciting than up north (and that’s saying something).  The driver had an interesting driving technique, one elbow perched out the window, hand hanging down and the other hand on the wheel.  With regularity his phone would ring with a jaunty tune, at this event his hand would come off the wheel to pick up the phone.  Eventually he would grab the wheel with the hand that had been hanging out the window and he would proceed to have a loud conversation in the local lingo with whoever called.  This happened every 5 minutes or so much to the horror of the passengers.

Past vacant blocks filled with rubbish and balconies decorated with Astroturf (that’s Astroturf around the outside of the rails, sometimes with jaunty patterns woven into it) we thought it definitely added a touch of class to the moldy plasterwork… and onto the autostrada briefly and off again to start weaving our way up the mountain.  There are so many derelict buildings near Napoli, covered in graffiti, windows smashed and old curtains hanging forlornly in the background. 

Part way up the taxi driver pulled over and pointed toward the view across the mountains and grunted “Napoli” and indicated we should all take some photos which we duly did.  Then back into the taxi to wheeze our way up the mountain.  After a few hair-raising turns (with cars squeezing past in the opposite direction) we reached the car park.  He pointed to the ticket booth.  Sure enough an extra 30 euro was required to get into the park.  As suspected one of the other couples had not reckoned on this and started arguing with the taxi driver (who was in no way affiliated with the Dodgy Brothers Tourism Group) He was clearly used to this though, and pointed out the microscopic script in Italian and English on the flyer saying the fee did not cover entry to the mountain.  “Española” she yelled at him, he shrugged and gave her the stink-eye.  Defeated she went to pay their entry fee.

Of the walk up and down Vesuvius what can I say? Of course it was awesome, luckily the Wee Girl and I had plenty of training on the streets of Assisi and Todi so we were hardened to uphill slogs (though the lava scree on the path made for slippery going).  Past several tacky tourist huts full of lava carvings and overpriced bits of rock in boxes and onto the lip of the crater.  A lot of photos later we decided to head back down.  We past 2 other couples also on our premium tour on the way back down and with a few words of encouragement marched past the American tourists bouncing up like Energiser Bunnies. 

Even more slippery on the way back down, we snickered at women tottering past in thongs and sandals while trying not to slide down on our backsides.  We enjoyed a magnum whilst waiting for everyone else then back to the taxi of death for the trip back home.  As we walked up to the cabbie I said a jaunty “Ciao” he clearly did not recognise us as it was only once we stopped with our other intrepid travelers he managed to squeeze a weak “ciao” out the side of his mouth.

The trip back was much the same, more garbage, graffiti and Astroturfed balconies.  He made a random stop to pick up some fags and a sparkplug‽ For a moment we though he was going to try to change it while driving but clearly it was our lucky day.  He refrained and dropped us off on the other side of the road from the drop off point so we slunk down to the restaurant we had chosen for lunch before Dodgy Brothers could sell us an overpriced tour of the Amalfi Coast (“only 200 euro for the day with your own private driver!”)  I think we’ll take a train…

 

Our Mate Frank the Environmental Warrior

Since I last checked in we’ve been to Firenze and Assisi.  In Firenze I was lucky enough to catch up with an old school friend, Dr A, who showed us around and pointed out fantastic frescoes, carvings and building decorations we would have never noticed otherwise.  As she has studied art for years we learned lots of interesting stuff.  In one church she told us that the bodies in the grave yard (which was in a court-yard surrounded by frescoes) had all be exhumed as apparently decomposing bodies, while great for the soil, are terrible for frescoes.  She gave us an excellent piece of advice which I will pass onto you, for the next time you’re in Italy.  Visit the churches – the art is beautiful and FREE! As long as you’re respectful, quiet and don’t walk in with a boom box on your shoulder playing ‘My Lovely Lady Lumps’ or ‘Boom Boom Boom (let’s go back to my room)’ you should be fine.

The prize Chianina

We saw the replica of David (he has very big hands – something to do with perspective, he was meant to be a lot higher up) and without planning managed to be in Firenze on their patron saint’s day (St John the Baptist) where they paraded through the streets in medieval gear, leading a Chianina (pronounced keya-nina in Firenze) followed by a two football teams.  The parade ended with a football game. Not sure if the winning team gets the Chianina.  Afterwards, as all that beef made us hungry, we shared a bistecca for dinner while we watched the fireworks across the river.  In the restaurant we met some American families (one family with two sons who were pro-guns) one said “I shoot guns for relaxation” I replied “Oh really? I do yoga”…  Funnily enough their mother was anti…

The remains of the bistecca a la florentina

 Then it was time to leave Firenze for Assisi – the birthplace and general hangout of St Francis – patron saint of animals and the environment.  We found out lots of interesting stuff about him.  For instance, he was the first person to do a nativity scene.  Assisi is very old and very beautiful (if you like hills, we’re kinda sick of hills now).   Their thing is pottery, so lots of beautiful hand-painted stuff.  One guy reckoned his family had been doing it for 1000 years (he could have just been spinning us a tourist line though). 

Lots of churches (seriously) nuns and priests rockin’ the streets in their Jesus sandals.  I haven’t seen so many God botherers in one place ever.  There I was thinking taking the vows was dying out.  Not in Italy.  There were nun-tourists with cameras, priest-tourists buying new Jesus sandals, ministers doing tours... We had to watch our blaspheming, in case we were smote.

In the main piazza there’s an old Roman Temple dating back to 1 AD – It used to be Minerva’s joint but it’s been consecrated and generally taken over by the Catholics.  It took us a while to figure out why there were so many owl figurines in Assisi – apparently Minerva could turn herself into an owl.  Which is funny because in all the literature they keep referring to the ‘The so called temple of Minerva’ – I’m surprised the owls have slipped under the radar – sneaky Minerva…

We found a tiny osteria (tavern) down in a valley; it was fantastic - eating pasta for lunch looking over the olive groves with a chickie coop in the foreground.  We’d decided to do the walk down as there was an old church to check out.  As we were walking through the fields we found wild fennel, juniper and oregano.  It all smells so much stronger here. Amazeballs.

happy chickies in a beaut coop

We ate twice in the restaurant which was attached to our hotel.  The owner was crazy (in a nice way) so as well as the food being delicious; watching the staff and the crazy owner interact was worth the price of food in itself.   There was yelling, bumbling, food grabbed back on its way out of the kitchen three times in a row because she wanted to add “one more thing”.  We think anyway.  The Wee Girl couldn’t understand a word she said.

Off to Todi now - catch ya!

You say Mirano, I say Marano, you say Murano, I say Burano…

Marano, Mirano, Murano, Burano – let’s call the whole thing off. I know, lame.  But that’s the town names around here.  Mirano is where we’re staying; Marano is near the train station. Murano is the famous glass place and Burano is gorgeous and the home of colourful houses and lace.  Our days are punctuated by church bells; which is divine*.

*See what I did there?

On our first night we rode into Mirano and had a delicious dinner where I had a zucchini carbonara epiphany (the Wee Girl had dinner envy even though her gnocchi was delicious).  The hosts were great and everyone is complimenting the Wee Girl on her pronunciation – she’s very handy to have around.

We’ve enjoyed Venice although I’m getting very footsore; walking 5 hours a day is a tough gig! And no cars or bikes in Venice, only walking and boating.  Alas Mr T we didn’t have a gondola ride – and not because of expense, we didn’t actually find out how much.  Just because it was too hot during the day and there were gondola-jams at night.  We did however take a ferry ride the entire length of the Grand Canal which was grouse.

We’re doing lots of bike riding which is excellent for my arse (although I’m also getting bum-weary).  The food has been good on the whole, although we had a fairy ordinary pizza experience in Mirano – and it was recommended by where we are staying!  Clearly they thought we were your average tourists, not the impeccably well-eaten tourists that we actually are.

The first day we decided to stroll down the streets of Venice sans map. This may have been a mistake, after feeling like rats in a maze we ended up somewhere near the fish markets (nowhere near the piazza San Marco). All the buildings are at least 3 storeys so you have no idea where you’re heading.  We finally caved and bought a map which took us to the piazza, which was amazing. By then we could hardly walk so we hobbled to the ferry which took us back to the train station.

The next day we decided we needed more of a plan so we studied our map and agreed on a visit to Murano and Burano.  Both islands a ferry ride away from Venice.  So onto the ferry past the jostling pusher-inerer tourists (bastards!) and finally to Murano.  Who knew that much glass in once place would just end up looking tacky and OTT, but there were some fantastic glass sculptures around the island. We did the tourist thing and took lots of photos and the Wee Girl bought microscopic glass figurines for her friends back home.  There was lots of things we would have loved to purchase but 2 more weeks with suitcases full of glass didn’t seem like the best idea in the world.

The night before the Wee Girl had looked up Burano on the interweb and it is apparently the place of many beautifully coloured houses.  So onto the next ferry (fighting off more pusher-inerers) and cruising over.  Talk about beautiful.  We found out that if you want to paint your house you have to apply to the town council and they will give you a list of colours you may use.  The place looks like a painting of how an Italian town should look.

They had a Leaning Belltower of Burano (see below) which had a significant list – we admired it whilst enjoying in lunch at the Gatto Nero restaurant (fantastic fish risotto).  So afterwards we followed our noses past the rainbow of houses to the church, laughed at the tower and visited a lace museum.  So far it’s the only museum we’ve gone to as they wanted 40 euro per person for the Leonardo Di Vinci museum ! – and the others were similarly priced (ouch!)

On our final day we cruised on our bikes back to Mirano (after a quick side trip to Venice as the Wee Girl had decided that two of the small glass gifts she’d bought for friends could not be parted with).  We found an excellent restaurant (after a brief scare when it appeared the only restaurant open for lunch was the dodgy pizza one). The owner had lived in Australia for years as a youth (surfing at Bells Beach) so when he talked English it was in an Australian surfer accent, hilarious. We had a scallop and olive gnocchi – yum!  We’re going to try his other restaurant for dinner.  It’s 20 minutes in the other direction (using the deadly treadlys) in Mira.  He reckons his pizzas are second to none.  We’ll be the judge of that…**

**We just got back – it was no brag. Best pizza we’ve had so far.

Sweating it out in Verona

For the first leg of our stay the Wee Girl chose Vicenza.  Her Host Family were teasing her saying it was awful and we should have stayed in Verona. So glad we didn’t. Vecenza is lovely, it’s quiet and pretty, the food has been fantastic and the old city is old and stuff. It’s been really hot, apparently unseasonable so (happy days) so we’ve been sweating it out, happily the hotel room is air conditioned.  The Wee Girl was just having a panic about Umbria “What??? The hotel rooms aren’t air conditioned????” and frantically looking up the weather, Umbria is fine, a seasonable 25.  That’s when we found out how hot it’s really been here for the last few days (37 degrees), glad I bought a hat.

We spent the first afternoon wandering the streets and eating gelato.  I’ve been going Italian with the Wee Girl; breakfast is a tea and biscuits (2 or 3) then nothing until about 2 which is a big lunch.  Dinner is at about 8.  For lunch we stopped in a café and had pasta with tomato, olives and capers.  It’s very enjoyable having the Wee Girl being able to speak Italian, she was telling me the man next to us (who had the same thing) was telling the owner that there was not enough sauce, not enough salt and the pasta was over cooked.  He was not impressed (and got given more wine).   I tended to agree with him about the sauce and salt, but as I’m Australian I’m used to ‘over cooked’ pasta cause that’s how we have it. 

It was a Monday night so lots of the restaurants were closed for dinner, but we found one near the piazza which was a little touristy but open.  The Wee Girl had truffled gnocci which was delicious and I chose the spaghetti vongoli (which was way too salty!)

The plan was to do Verona the next day after lunch so we got up late (we’re on holidays! Hooray!) and had a leisurely lunch at a lovely Taverna we’d wanted to go to the night before (but it had been closed). For starters I had buffalo mozzarella with tomatoes and Wee Girl had burrata instead of mozzarella (it’s like mozzarella but runny on the inside, she’s acquired a taste for it).  They were both fresh and amazing.  Our mains were hand-made ravioli which was yum too.  Then we trotted down to the station.

After an hour on the train we arrived at this fabled, romantic town… romantic? No. Packed to the rafters with tourists? Si.  I hated it, the Wee Girl kept telling me to ignore the tourists (as I tripped over another loud American) and enjoy the buildings.  They were nice, we finally after some searching found Juliette’s balcony and the wall where you’re meant to leave your love lorn letters.  Ha! It is so far from ‘Letters to Juliette’ it’s not funny.  You could hardly move, there were people scribbling on the walls leading into it and one wall was covered in old gum (some weird romantic thing I guess – here! Have my gum! I love you!) Two souvenir shops and a portcullis covered in romantically inclined padlocks (5 euro each).  I may have bought one, I felt like I had to fit in.

We had a bit more of a sweaty wander then left in disgust, Verona was not for us.  We headed back to the lovely Vicenza for a quiet dinner in.  We had earlier found a secret ‘locals’ deli and purchased delicious meats and cheeses.  Also some strawberries from the greengrocer round the corner.

Here’s a picture of our deliciousness – tomorrow off to Venice!