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Toothpaste and testicle crushers…

Dear diary…


Will my toothpaste for 7 to 13 year olds maintain my pearly whites through an excessive onslaught of cheap red wine these coming weeks? And will using fabric softener to wash my clothes cause long term damage? Just a tad of supermarket confusion, it will pass won’t it?

Does smirking while watching a tourist laboring to fork spaghetti into his mouth before resorting to sucking directly from the plate mean I’m not the nice person I thought I was? And why didn’t his wife offer to cut it up?

A local in the Village beckoned me over today, introduced his friends, poured glasses of Prosecco all round then launched into a rapid fire Italian conversation. It was really hard to keep up but do you think he might have been welcoming me into the fold? I’m pretty sure he meant me, not the bloke walking behind?

And would you 20130712-113148.jpgput the hot frothy milk and two sugars his crusty old friend, the one with the blood red eyes and shock of white hair, was drinking into the ‘baby-chino’ category? Or should I have kept my mouth shut?

Why are songs sung in languages other than English just not resonating yet that song coming from the fellow standing on top of the Colosseum video clip, who incidentally looks just like Dr Gregory House, sounds positively sexy?

Will finally getting the gist of an Italian soap plot because there’s Italian subtitles as well as voice mean I’m finally learning the language? And should I also get a trout pout, bright yellow tan and testicle crushing kick ass platform shoes too? No wait! It’s in Spanish!

Dear Diary…does this mean I’m finally a local?
Oh! And one more thing…do you think I will ever find a Limoncello I’ll like? How many bloody brands are there? Surely that would ‘complete’ my transition?

Meanwhile, some nice photos of Riomaggiore.

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Pesto pesto quando?

Hello fellow wannabe chefs, before you think to yourself – ‘dunnit before, too easy’  as I verbally did or – ‘that’s what a deli’s for’ which I secretly did, try this recipe. Fellow ponces you’ll love the tactile pleasure of plucking leaves one by one, the sensory immersion in the heady fragrances of fresh basil and Pecorino and the simple pleasure of saying ‘Oh yes darling, I made it from scratch, a recipe I secured from a dear little Cucina in Liguria, Genovese you understand’, accompanied by a well deserved discreetly smug smile. The recipe beats store bought hands down and it doesn’t separate.

Need:
• 100 g fresh basil
• 50 g Parmesan (or Pecorino)
• 30 g pine nuts (or walnuts)
• 1/2 cup good quality olive oil
• 1 clove of garlic
• Healthy dose of salt

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Do:
• Pluck the basil leaves one by one onto a board taking care to remove the stalks from the bigger leaves.
• Rinse and spin dry in a lettuce spinner
• Roughly chop the leaves
• Peel and roughly chop the garlic clove
• Grate the cheese using a fine plain

Then:
• Throw half the basil, half the parmesan, a little oil, the garlic, pine nuts and the salt into a food processor.
• Turn on and slowly drizzle half the oil into the mix via the Shute as the mix macerates
• Stop, scrape down the sides, throw the remaining basil leaves and Parmesan in and continue blending while drizzling the remaining oil until a smooth paste forms
• Stop taste for salt, add if necessary and finish blending until creamy

Assemble:
• Stir through freshly cooked al dente pasta, garnish with a basil sprig and serve immediately
N.B: I love ‘Trofiette’, a short tight little twist of pasta for this dish as it ‘grabs’ the sauce and lends a certain authenticity to the dish however any curvy pasta will do.

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Or
• Smear on crisp bruschetta

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Or
• Pop in a cute jar, label it ‘Pesto made by me’ or whatever, top the lid with a small square of fabric held in place with an elastic band (just because it lends a certain panache to your creation) and give as treats to Auntie Bertha, that nice Neighbor or simply squirrel away for yourself. Lasts well in the fridge, you be the judge of expiration date.

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Recipe kindly provided by:
Restaurant Il Ciliegio, Monterosso
Cinque Terre

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DT’s and a few other disturbances…

Uh oh! lovely readers, I’m a tad disturbed! Male tourists are strolling through the Villages wearing just their DTs.* Here I am I’m sitting in a breezy little beachside restaurant sipping my Aperol when I hear the Scot at the adjoining table muttering ‘Walk doon beach leck dat e’ oome’nye’d be knifed ye wooud!’ to the back of his girlfriend’s head. She didn’t hear; too busy eyeing up a package in a pink pair, her expression vacillating between repulsion, curiosity and lust. Oh! and hey you! Yes you, stud over there proudly sporting the white ones? It’s not cold today my friend, not cold at all.

I’m also disturbed to see every female on the beach regardless of nationality, shape, size, age or original gender sporting a bikini. The ones that don’t entirely cover the butt cheeks. Clearly ‘de rigueur’ on the Italian Riviera. My elegant one-piece suddenly non ‘de-rigueur’  – my butt screaming otherwise.

And I’m particularly disturbed that, aside from the harsh disregard for ‘slip, slop, slap,’** I’ll need to hand over €20 for a ragged deck chair, a folded umbrella and the privilege of sitting on the grey pebbly beach in very close proximity to all that DT/bikini clad slow roasting flesh. Too cosy by far.

It’s all just too disturbing so I’ve poured another wine. Today I will think about the prospect of Australia clearing the national deficit in just one week by adopting a similar ‘pay for privilege’ beach plan. Tomorrow I will start a diet consisting of a single strand of pasta and an expresso. Needs must if I’m to ‘fit in’. Meanwhile, a few snaps to put you in this distressing moment (‘cept for the DT loving men – privacy and all that)

20130704-101419.jpg(Monterosso main beach)

20130704-101135.jpg(Taken in Nice, the same scene in Monterosso – uncomfortable pebbles)

* Speedo swimming trunks, commonly known as ‘Dick Togs’ ‘budgie smugglers’, ‘junk trunks’ and ‘Tonys’. (in honour of Tony Abbot, leader of the AU opposition party, who has a propensity for red ones)

**Slip on a shirt, Slop on sunscreen and Slap on a hat – an Australian anti-skin cancer campaign.

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