Automatic wine tasting

After a long night at Slowly, the day started in an appropriate way - not fast! It was throwing it down with rain, so as Terence picked his way through the puddles to the Uffizi, I chose the more domestic option of cleaning the apartment! After lunch at Yellow, a pizza joint downtown in Florence that is as American as they come butstill pretty appealing - its been there since the 70's and is something of an institution, we were encouraged by the sunshine and headed out to Greve-in-Chianti.
Once we had found a place to dump the car, we made our way through the village to the destination of today's tour - the Automatic Wine Tasting shop.
Le Cantine developed and patented a way to do automatic wine tasting that has now been adopted in other parts of the world (a google search mentioned Australia for a start). You get a stored value card, and a couple of glasses then make your way around the machines, selecting the samples by the glass that you want to try. We didn't have long, so in the photos we are trying the break-the-bank reserve samples at 4 euros a pop. Yum.

Terence in Tuscany: the wonders of technology

Through Facebook I have been in touch with many people that I have not seen or heard from for years and years, it has become a fairly common thing to log on and see an email from someone from my past who has added me as a friend - always a nice surprise.
But it was still pretty mind-blowing to see Terence, a guy that I was at school with in Hong Kong way back when, when we met at the taxi rank at Florence station. In Milan for work for 2 weeks, Terence took a few extra days to tour Italy, and started with a stint in Florence.

Despite the slightly soggy weather, we had a great trip around the city - starting with a panino at ino, then making our way up to Piazzale Michaelangelo, and San Miniato, then down again to the Palazzo Pitti and Eduardo's wine bar for a refreshment. The rain started to trickle down, so we went into the Palazzo Pitti museum. The rooms are staggering, OTT opulence, and at first you try to take everything in, later giving up and whisking through to the highlights.

After Palazzo Pitti, a quick stop on the Ponte Vecchio for the obligatory photo shoot, then to the Mercato by the golden pig - another Kodak moment.

We popped into Grom for a gelato near the Duomo, then off to Boccadama to meet Chiara, Kostantino and Goia for dinner. When the waiter brought over the vin santo 'on the house' Chiara said it was a bad sign in terms of the size of the bill - and she was right!
The night finished in Slowly, with mojitos and music - much like many nights in Hong Kong years ago!

The panda is in back in perfect shape

Finally the Panda is back to its former glory, with huge thanks to Leonardo who took her away while I was away, fixed her up, washed her inside and out, and returned her to my office car park so she was there when I got back from Indy. And I haven't paid a centisimo. However much the insurance was, it was worth it!

Indianapolis - its a long, long way from home

Indy is far from Florence. I had to look it up on the map, but its in the middle bit of the states, not so so far from Chicago (about 3 hours in a car).
To get to Indy from Florence there are a few routes to take, but no easy solution. Our plane from Italy to Paris was a little late, and as we got off, we had to take a U-turn through customs and then wait on a bus to get over to the next door terminal. Then again through hand luggage control and finally to the gate.
Where the plane had just closed its doors, without there being an announcement of any kind, despite the fact that we arrived with Air France, and were flying on with Air France to our next destination.
Despite the frustration at having missed our plane, we were lucky. It seems that there are a number of flights between Paris and Detroit (who knew it was so popular?!) so we were put on the next plane, and managed to negotiate lounge passes on the back of Maurizio's (expired) elite card for the 3 hour wait.
We worked throughout the flight, and, on arrival in Detroit, were all exhausted. You have to identify your luggage (collect it, and then rescan it) and we also went over to the NorthWest desk, as instructed in Paris, to ask whether our boarding passes were OK, or whether we needed a printed ticket as well.
I approached the desk, already thinking that the bloke sitting in the Northwest uniform behind it, looked less than authoratative. 'Are these alright, these boarding passes?' I asked him.
'Hmmmmm', he said, peering at them through squinted eyes. 'Well no, there seems to be a problem' he added. 'They are in French - where did you get them from?'
'Errrr, Paris...' I said.
'Oh. No, its OK - there is English on them too!' he added.
Not so tired though that we could not appreciate the parade of Monopoly games in the various shops in the airport - with Micheganmania sporting Michiganopoly, next door to the chocolate shop with its own version Chocolateopoly, then Dogopoly, Catopoly - and no, I am not making this up! Needless to say, we resisted the temptation to buy anything.
Hours passed in Detroit, and further plane problems (late crew, a mechanical fault)before we finally headed off to Indy. It certainly seems a long long way from Italy so far!

The news says...

... that 12 million Italians were on the roads tonight coming back from the break. No wonder there was traffic! That'a a lot of blown kisses for my friends in the Suzuki...

Latin Lovers in the Traffic

The stories of Italian men tour the world, but often the reality here is that guys are the same as they are anywhere else.
There are times though, when being here really makes me smile.
Today sitting in interminable traffic, there was a Suzuki Swift on the outside lane. As we crawled along, I looked out of the window at the vineyards on the other side of the autostrada, when a sudden movement caught my eye. The guys in the Suzuki were waving furiously.
I gave them a smile back and they both blew me a kiss!
Hilarious, and a very welcome break from the jam.
(5 hours after I left, I finally returned home, many waves later, and still laughing!)

High class cooking

Marchigiana fare tends to be pretty standard - you can count on great antipasti, especially the prosciutto, and normally a nice piece of meat thrown on the wood-burning fire for afterwards, with a mixed salad. A coffee, maybe a digestivo, and everyone is happy.
The food in Marche is generally excellent, even given its simplicity. This is still farming country, so the veggies were in the fields minutes before arriving on the plates, and the same, I suspect is true of the animals, although I would rather not think about that.
But basically it is not messed around with, very few herbs and spices, and seasoned mainly with lemon.
One exception to this simplicity of flavour is truffles. Marche is truffle country, and whilst in other places they cost the earth, here they are both reasonable and fresh. That is to say, they can be, but one of the reasons why truffles are so pricey I guess, is that they are famously fragile - i bought one in the winter and, despite following all instructions to the letter, it had no taste at all.
There are a lot of great pasta dishes with truffles in here, Ai Pini in Sarnano does the most lip-lickingly fabulous tortellini with cream and truffles - totally decadent, but worth the calories.
But Il Colle, a turn or two off the SS78 at Gabella Nuova, just out of Sarnano towards Macerata, is one of the few places I have seen around here that flavours meat with anything. The results last night when I went for dinner, were fantastic. We ordered fillet steak, cooked on the fire, and seasoned with a sauce flavoured with grated fresh black truffle, and fresh parmigiano cheese. The steak melted in the mouth, and the truffle sauce was so good we chased it around the plate with chips to try to mop up every last drop, washing it down with a Rosso Piceno Superiore called Notturno from the producers Cherri, from down at the coast near San Benedetto del Tronto. Highly recommended!

Country Living

After many years in Hong Kong, I am a city girl at heart. I love the energy of a city, the bright lights and the rhythm, the restaurants, bars and shops. But every now and again, there is also a real joy in coming to my house in the country and doing something totally different.
When I am in Florence, I work for hours and hours in the office, staring at the computer screen, or in meetings, talking endlessly about various things. Often when I arrive at work it is dark, and when I leave, dark again. It is not much of an outdoor lifestyle.
But when I come to Marche, everything changes. The country speed is totally different, and, very enjoyable at times!
My days here start with the sun coming through the curtains to wake me up. I deliberately turn off the alarm and leave the shutters open so that it is the warmth and the light that stir me, and not the electronic cuckoo that has that pleasure the rest of the time.
I stroll up to town for breakfast, and a natter with the baker and the man in the bar who makes a cappuccino without even asking for me. And then ponder about how to fill the day.
When I reflect when I am here in the mountains, I realise that there are some things in life that I have missed out learning about, and they seem to be things that are difficult to understand if you do not have the inside track.
I am not a golfer for example, although I can whack a hockey ball, so how different can it be? But it is not a world that I am a part of, or have an access into.
I am not a computer gamer - I am guessing Guitar Hero doesn't count (I love it! but don't own it. But who can resist the chance to make like a rock star with the riff from Stairway to Heaven - its air guitar for techies!)
Nor am I a gardener. Although the difference about gardening is that a) I own a garden so I really need to learn and b) I actually really enjoy it - even though many of the things I buy die within a few months.
I planted a row of rose trees on the edge of the garden some years ago, and from 6, was down to 4. What was once a solid line looked more like perforations. There was a need to fill in the gaps.
With this in mind, yesterday I set off to the garden centre. I can spend hours in the garden centre, hoping that another turn around the plants will help me to absorb some knowledge so that when I get back it is slightly easier to know what I have to do. I found one of the garden centre employees for advice. A man in his 60s with few teeth, gnarled hands and a baseball cap not only looked the part, but was smiling at everyone, so seemed a good bet to ask. "Rose trees" I asked him. At which he indicated the golf cart parked nearby (unnecessary- it wasn't far - but very fun, especially as the driver, on request, went the long way round up and down the hills). On arrival at the trees, we debated the ideal choice for me to take away. In the end I settled on 2 yellow rose trees, which are already in bloom so bring some much needed colour to the side of the garden. The man explained that I needed to make sure that I removed all the roots of the dead trees, or the new ones would be affected from the roots upwards.
So on getting home, I changed into my best gardening gear, and went out in the sunshine to start digging.
The soil here is solid clay, and quite revolting. The roses seem to like it, but it is almost impossible to shift as the spade gets clogged with gloop as soon as it hits the ground.
About 2 hours later, I had successfully dug one hole, and was well on my way with the next when I saw a shadow pass in front of the sun. Someone had come to have a look.
I looked up and pushed the hair out of my eyes (at the same time leaving a smear of grey clay over my cheek) and saw the priest from the church on the corner. "Did you do this?" he asked me, gesturing at the hole.
At this moment, I had one foot down it, so was up to mid calf in mud and clay, the spade was in my hand, I had a recent smear of clay on my cheek and a large blob on my t-shirt (still not sure how that got there!)
"err, yes" i replied.
I was expecting at this point the lesson. The townspeople here in Marche are lovely. They think me rather eccentric I imagine, as I come here on my own and do unfeminine things like dig in the garden, but nonetheless they are always ready to share advice. Normally when someone stops when I am mid-chore, it is to tell me that I am not doing it the right way.
So I was a little surprised when the priest just said "Brava" (like well done) and smiled and moved along.
By the end of the day my face was pink from the sun (the first real sun I have been out in this year) and I was aching all over from the digging. But there are two small yellow rose trees brightening up the side of the garden that make the effort all seem worthwhile.
Now if only I can get them to live....

In gamba

May 1st is celebrated as the festival of workers in many parts of the world, with places from China to France having a day off. Last night, after an eventful day in the office, Chiara, my friend from work, and I went for dinner at a place called Il Santo Bevitore. On the Oltrarno, I went there once before on the occasion of the first book club. Its a great place, large but still friendly and we sat at the bar and tucked into aged proscuitto, pecorino from Sardinia with fig chutney and some delicious bread, followed by Pappa al Pomodoro - a tomato soup-type concoction, with bread in it.
Inside the menus there is a phrase written "Ecco quello che sono veramente, sbronzo, cattiva, ma in gamba." I wanted to translate it, but a direct translation won't capture it.
In literal terms, the phrase says 'This is what I really am, drunk, wicked, but ...' it is then that I hit the difficulty.
Gamba is the word for leg. When I have heard the expression used in the past, it is used in the context of when someone is a good person to know - he's in gamba - a compliment. I looked it up in various online dictionaries and the translations that are used indicate 'on the ball' ' no flies on them', but basically its a good thing.
After a bottle of wine and dinner we went over to Santa Spirito. It is a real sign that summer is on the way, as when I have passed the Piazza in the winter it has been totally deserted. Now though there are a few stragglers sitting around the fountain, and many more huddled onto the church steps. Come the summer, when an enterprising soul parks a shipping container and turns it into a bar, and there is live music every night at 9, the place is heaving. Still at this time of the year, you can meet people, and we had a long chat with 2 Tuscan guys who were out for a quiet drink like us. One was from Florence, but did stress that this didn't mean he wasn't 'in gamba'.

Florence - A fine city

In Singapore, where there are fines for everything from chewing gum to jaywalking, there are 1000 naff souvenirs that you can get saying Singapore - a fine city.
I am learning that the phrase applies here in Florence too.
Having a car is pretty much essential in Italy. The public transport is not bad at linking the main cities, but to really see the place, you need to have wheels to get around.
But in the cities, this is not always an advantage.
Friday I received a racomandata (registered letter) at work from the Municipal Police, containing a fine for 84 Euros for passing in front of the station on a forbidden stretch of road (about 50 metres in length.) It is true, guilty as charged, that I used this road, because honestly I had no idea how to reach the other side of the station without crossing this little bit. Of course, there are no signs to the station that let you avoid this bit of road.
The issue is that the penalty was from 11am on December 21st 2007. We are now half way through April. And, in all ignorance, I have used this little stretch many times since then. I am expecting that a large chunk of money could be heading the way of the Florentine local authorities.
Yesterday, following a relaxing day that ended with a stroll in the city with my friend Chiara, I remembered that I needed to move my car from its parking spot as it was street washing night. (This means that if your car is parked in an inopportune spot at an inopportune moment, it is towed away, leaving you carless, with a bill of 150-odd euros to shell out for).
I went off to get the car, parked in its blue line parking. A bit of background at this point. Blue lines mean pay and display here in Italy, but, in theory, if you have a residents permit for that area you do not have to pay.
Residents permits are based on the zone in which you live. I am in zone 3 (dark blue permit) which stretches from my road to Piazza della Libertà, some 10 minutes on foot away. Its a reasonably big area, and very residential, so parking is not normally a huge issue.
But my flat is right on the edge of zone 3. One cross street over and the same road turns into zone 4, meaning I have no right to park there.
But as the place where I had left the car was parallel to my street, I assumed that the Zone 3 pass would still cover me.
Either I was wrong, or given that the parking label is the same colour as the car, the ticket inspector didn't see the permit, as when I went back to the car, I saw the telltale green slip that means you have a fine. This time 36 euros.
Yesterday whilst strolling around the shops, I saw a lovely pair of shoes that I was keen to buy. But at 115 euros, I will have to put them on the list for next month, as I have already spent their equivalent in fines for the car.

What a difference the sun makes

It's an incredible day in Florence today, with bright sunshine that has finally shed the chills of winter, and the whole city looks different.
This morning started as my Florentine Saturdays often start with a trip to the San Ambrodgio market. Less touristy than the Central Market, and much nearer to my house, its a small building, in a piazza, surrounded on a Saturday morning by fruit and veg vendors, calling out the highlights of their wares. This morning the Maremma artichokes were getting a big push, but given that I am never entirely sure what to do with them, and have no desire in this sunshine to be inside studying cookbooks, I plumped for foodstuffs that I was a lot more familiar with.
Having bumped into a colleague and having a natter (for a city, this place is really a village) I wandered home and made myself a salad. The mixed lettuce looks like it was in someone's garden this morning, and mixed with feta, yellow pepper, and ox heart tomatoes, with some lemon juice and olive oil from a frantoio in Marche, it was a delicious lunch on the balcony in the sunshine.
In the height of the summer, the city groans with the weight of tourists struggling in the 40 degree heat in lines behind their umbrella/flag/sunflower-toting guide, red-faced and with inappropriate footwear for Florence's broken and beat-up roads and pavements. But they are not here yet. Right now Florence more or less belongs to those of us who live here.
And the sunshine in the city reminds us of the reasons why we do.

Incredible but true

If the exit polls are correct, Berlusconi has won the election. My colleagues are now sharing tales of woe about the last time he was in power ( 3 consecutive years of 0% growth.....)
Giulio, who is here at the Company doing an internship was spouting statistics like a fountain - all of them terrible.
It appears that, whilst popular with housewives and those who appreciate his charisma and ageless looks, Silvio has some work to do with the working professionals of Sesto Fiorentino.

The polling stations are open

Voting has begun for Italy's 62nd Parliamentary election in 63 years. Polling stations are open as I type, and will close at 10 tonight and be open again tomorrow morning until they close mid-afternoon.
There seems to be moderate interest in the outcome. I have not seen the papers today, but I do have the radio on at home, and figured I would listen into the 6pm news to see what the updates were.
The leading item on the news was that Kate Moss's bags have been lost in transit...
Perhaps the interest in the next government is less than I thought!

Book Club and Blisters

Wednesday was bookclub night. Normally the first Wednesday of every month I meet for dinner with a bunch of girls and we discuss the book we have selected and read the month before. This week the dinner was at a place called Finastaere, tucked behind the Santa Croce church, and the topic for discussion was the classic Pride and Prejudice. And who cannot enjoy Pride and Prejudice with such strong images of Colin Firth in the BBC series emerging from the lake with his wet shirt - what's not to love!
I go down to Santa Croce fairly often, but normally on foot from my house, so I had no idea where to park the car. The riverbank, all along the Lungarno is pretty much restricted to cars, and there are video cameras that take a pic of your licence plate number if you transgress, and the next thing you know there is an 80Euro fine winging its way to you in the mail. So wishing to avoid that, I parked up at the far end of the riverside, near to the place where I do my wine course. And I set out on foot towards Santa Croce.
I had, however, totally underestimated the distance from the car to the restaurant - especially given the high and painful shoes I was wearing at the time. A good 20 minutes later, freezing cold, I hobbled into the restaurant.
The place is nice, and, refreshingly, serves kind of watered down middle eastern cuisine. We had a mix of spanakopita, pita, humous and other dips to start, followed by a chat about the book and Austen, and the changed, or otherwise, role of women in the world today compared to that in Ms Austen's time, during a second course of tagine or moussaka.
Apart from me, all the other book club-ees are married, most to Italians, and one to a Brit. There are mainly Americans, with 2 or 3 Brits, and one French girl - its a nice mixture of people and its good to be out with different people once in a while.
It was late when I tottered back down the lungarno to the car, whilst making a mental note to myself to keep some ballet slippers in the car, or buy a GPS that will indicate better parking spots.
The next book is On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan, that I picked, at the restaurant that I picked, although I have never been there, the Lebanese place also near Santa Croce. This time parking will not be a problem however, as I will be away in Indianapolis when the discussion takes place.

Heading for the polls

Italy is poised to vote. The common opinion seems to be regret, but resigned, that we will, once again, be in the hands of Mr Berlusconi.
It will be interesting to see the effect of this resignation. Will people vote Veltroni or Casini to keep Berlusconi out? Or will the ones that don't feel their candidates have a chance, not vote at all, and as a result Berlusconi will win?
The walls, billboards, lampposts and buses are decorated with the variety of parties on offer. With the charismatic Berlusconi telling Italy to get up again, contrasted by Veltroni's much more sober campaign, at the end of the day the elections, and the results are likely to be complicated.
The voting process, and the structure of the political system is so complex that many attempts are being made to render everything more simple for poll-goers. This includes filmed classroom sessions on MTV in which the VJs explain everything from what the President of the Republic does, to how you need to make sure your vote is counted and what bureaucratic processes you need to go to to be able to vote at all.
I will, with some of the rest of Italy, be watching the results with interest.
May the best, and not necessarily the most charismatic, person win.

Florence Apartment

After spending many weekends, and a great deal of effort with the screwdriver building stuff, my apartment in Florence is almost finished. There are still no pics on the walls, but the rest of the place is getting there. I still have not organised the housewarming, but I do now have a parking permit for residents, and managed to pay the rent online with my Italian bank account - a much bigger achievement than it sounds!
Here are a few pics, to tempt visitors..... The apartment is - by about 180 years, the oldest apartment I have ever lived in, and I feel at home already!

Picnic in Florence

Saturday lunchtime and I headed to Luci's house in Antella for a picnic for her husband Mario's birthday.
It's not so easy to find the house at first, as its outside Florence, and I am still without a GPS device, which means I have to use the entirely disfunctional built-in version and the scribbled instructions from our call earlier in the day.
I didn't want to turn up empty-handed, and my recent workload has meant that the domestic goddess in me has taken early retirement, so I was in need of good cakes, and fast.
Luckily, it turns out that there are at least 3 good cakeshops between my house and Piazza Libertà which is a few blocks away. I wandered down the road and came across the Napolitan pasticceria.
Most cake shops that I have seen in Italy are really bars that also sell cakes and other things. The Napolitan shop is different, it is a tiny place, with the area for selling things much smaller than that for baking out the back.
As I entered, the lady serving said that I must be hungry (she had seen me outside talking on the phone for a while to Mum and Dad in Hong Kong.) As a result of my presumed hunger, she suggested a try a little pizza - deep and filled with capers and tomato - delicious.
Next up she offered me a small cheese straw, made of light pastry (texture, not calories!) and parmesan cheese.
Once we got to the third sample, it took quite some convincing that I really hadn't been that hungry to begin with.
I left clutching an apple tart, and some cheese straws, and made my way to Antella The picture shows the amazing view from the equally amazing garden, and Iacopo and Mario, just before the cork was popped on the chilled Bolinger.

Friuli Weekend

Back in Friuli for Easter, and a few reminders of the good old days.
A lovely Easter lunch at Luca's house with his family, gave me a chance to learn some Friulano - thanks to Ale, Luca's sister for translating into Italian for me! Friulano is a language, not a dialect, and bears more similarity to French than Italian from the words that I heard.
After lunch - at around 4 - we went to the station to pick up the surprise guest for the weekend, Percy had flown in from Costa Rica to see us all for Easter. In the end there were not many of us, but it was anyway fabulous to see him, looking relaxed and tanned in comparison to the rest of us who have enjoyed the European winter.
Easter Sunday was absolutely freezing, with scattered snow and hail, so it must have been surprising to Massi when we told him that we would meet him in the gelateria near Luca' s house. When he arrived, we were drinking hot chocolates with rum - for purely medicinal purposes!
With a brief stop for wine and ham in San Daniele - where the ham is so fresh it seems unrecognisable from the packaged stuff in my local Esselunga - we went off to Celante, Massi's family house in the countryside. Long-term readers will remember that we have been there once before, after VinItaly last year.
On a freezing night, we played Jenga and sat around the fireplace catching up.
The fireplace - called a Fogolar - was the centre point of every Friulano household. It is an open-sided fireplace - in the case of the Celante house, circular, which the family used to sit around to cook, eat and stay warm. Its a convivial spot, with benches surrounding the flames, meaning that all the occupants can warm their hands/feet/both as they eat and chat. Friuli used to be a very poor region - now is one of the richest in Italy - but in old times the families would have snuggled close to the flames eating their daily staple food of polenta.
Easter Monday and after a very slow start, Massimiliano and Barbara arrived and took up their spots with the rest of us near to the fire. And there we stayed until it was time to get back on the road, Luca and Massi to Udine and Percy and I to Trieste.

At the hairdressers

I have been to the hairdressers finally, to have a trim.
This is the first visit to the hairdressers in Italy for me - I have been going either in Hong Kong when I go back, or in London if I am there on business. But I could not put it off any longer, so I asked around for tips from the gals at work.
Saturday morning saw me along the Lungarno (the street that runs along the river bank) at Ciro's hair salon.
I walked in and Ciro, in his black turtleneck looked me up and down with disdain.
"And who sent you?" he asked
"Alessia" I replied, forgetting the surname of my colleague in my discomfort at his withering glances, at me in general, not just the hair.
He smiled for a second.
"Ah, Alessia Antinori?" (The Antinoris, of wine fame, are Florentine royalty).
"Errr, no" I replied, giving him instead the name of my colleague and telling him the name of the company I work for. It clearly did not leave him inspired.
At this he whisked me into the middle of the salon, and started pawing disparagingly at my locks, which were unwashed for 2 days so that I could maximise the return on my hairdresser expenditure.
"LOOK!" he shrieked in Italian.
At which all of the women in the place turned slowly in my direction, to do as he suggested.
"These Americans, their hair is SO CLEAN!" he yelled. The other clients nodded knowingly at each other. "They get up every morning and think to themselves, I have to get in a hot shower immediately and wash my hair. Terrible!"
All the ladies seemed in agreement with this too.
I cleared my throat and said
"Errrrm, but I am English, not American. And actually for 2 days...."
"ENOUGH: we can't wash your hair, its too clean. We will just wet it. Go." And that was that discussion over with.
Some time later I left the salon with my new haircut (essentially the same, but a little shorter) and went to have a glass of wine to recover!

Busy days in Florence

It has been all quiet on the blog of late. No pictures and no posts.
Apologies, but life has been pretty hectic.
I am over the honeymoon period at work and now have a things to do list that stretches from here to my house in Marche. As yet, I also do not have the internet at home, and when I am at work, clearly, I need to work! So no chance to write on the blog.
I should also say that with the amount of time I am spending behind the desk / in front of a computer screen these days, I have not got a massive desire to find a screen to perch behind somewhere else to update the blog.
But a few people have requested that I get going again on the writing, and also, I miss having an outlet for my scribbles about life here, so expect a few updates in the days to come.