28 June 2010
25 June 2010
20 June 2010
19 June 2010
High summer
And it was 12 degrees today. Goodness knows where this odd cold front has come from but it's not doing my bloody vegetables any good. It's bad enough the slugs and birds are stripping the more succulent salads and legumes to the stalk, but with the weather as odd as it is the beans aren't getting anywhere either! Grrr. Have resorted to plastic implements to protect the new salads as I really, really want some sorrel to cook with.
We've also just come back from a holiday in Orta San Giulio, slightly north of Milan, in case the pictures below haven't alerted you to that. It was lovely. A beautiful little town, right on the lake of the same name, with a view of the island in the middle of the lake.
I'd seen pictures of the apartment and pictures of the view from the apartment but it still took several days to believe such a thing could exist.
We went with my brother and Kim and the extra two hands made all the difference on the holiday. Particularly Kim's, as she was as well-provisioned as my mother normally is, down to having packets of tissue paper to spare, as well as zip-lock bags which came in handy for various things - bringing crumbly biscuits back to the UK, keeping Izzy's lake flotsam in.
Both girls took to the holiday pretty immediately. The gelato played a big part but probably so did the lovely pastas and paninos and hot chocolate present each day. Never having tried hot chocolate in Italy before, we found it's similar to Spanish hot chocolate - almost thick enough to stand up a spoon in - and superior in that it had more serious chocolate in it. Sadly though their breakfast pastries do not include churros.
Izzy was all grumpy before we went, as usual, saying she would miss her nursery friends. I finally won her over by pointing out that Italy had a lot - A LOT - of good ice-cream. 'Can I eat ice-cream every day?' she asked. 'Well, I'm planning to, so I suppose you can.' 'OK.'
So we had gelato at least once a day. I'm quite sure it was frequently twice. And there were definitely not odd occasions of thrice. And I'm not sorry because, darn it, while it is possible to get fantastic gelato in London, it's only at one or two outlets.
In Italy it's everywhere! OK maybe that's because we made beelines for known gelato shops in Milan but really - Orta San Giulio is a tourist hot spot, but there are nine - nine! - shops or stalls (and I didn't count the ones selling branded ice-cream products) - in a main street about 200m long, four of which said they were home-made.
We kind of stuck to one in the end as it had superb lemon granita and my flavour of the holiday - cioccolato azteco, ie dark chocolate flavoured with cinammon and chilli. And not the wishy-washy, fragrant-only chilli of many overpriced chocolate bars. This was chilli with a warm and long-lasting burn.
It was so good that Roz, on tasting the first cone of it I had, hijacked my cone and refused to let go. I attempted several times to get it back, because she was dripping ice-cream all over herself and I was afraid that some would get in her eyes but she screamed so vehemently each time I tried to wrest it back that I gave up in the end and we amused many, many people walking through the town back to the apartment.
Yeah I also thought the burn of the chilli would put her off. Let's just say that when the gelato finally ran low, there were definitely moments of contemplation on Roz's part. But nothing that stopped her from going back for another lick of the cone, and certainly nothing that stopped her wailing like a banshee when I finally distracted her and ate the last of the cone out of her hand.
Izzy has come back from the holiday decidedly spoilt. I think all the hot chocolate, gelato and various treats went to her head. To make up for dragging her to hot Milan and on a long car and train ride to Locarno in Switzerland and back, she was bribed mightily with sweets and toys.
Not always obviously. In Milan we allowed her to choose a toy from the Leonardo da Vinci Museum because the part of the museum where children would apparently be allowed to manipulate some of the machines he designed (we were looking for components featured in some Little Einsteins episode, which they called The Birthday Machine) was closed! We'd all been looking forward to that.
And signposting was a bit lamentable because according to everything up there the room should have been open.
We only stumbled upon another bit of the museum we'd been aiming for by chance - a kind of laboratory experience for children. When we first walked past the room it was chained off. But later we wandered by and there was a group of children listening to a man explain something. So I wandered up, and Izzy confidently walked to the middle of the group. When one of the parents there patted her and waved her forward, she suddenly got all shy.
I tried asking a member of staff nearby what it was all about because the man who'd patted her was encouraging her to follow the children into the room and I was all 'but to do what?' Anyway the attendant said she'd find out if we could join in and it turned out that was fine, so the both of us just trooped into a classroom to see what would happen.
I could barely follow what the demonstrator was saying at first - something to do with making stuff, colours and things you can find in the kitchen. But once we started the activity it was easy enough.
We were given mortars and pestles and various materials to grind - rose petals, dried violets (I think), and turmeric. Then we added water and then 'what do you think you can add to make paint?' Turns out it was condensed milk. Izzy loved it. The kids all made pots of paint and used them to paint postcards to take home.
Um where was I? Ah that was the one highlight for her in an otherwise very hot and bothersome troop through Milan and its Duomo. So we let her buy a box of playmais (v cool! Am considering buying a massive box of the stuff now).
The trip to Locarno though was always going to have needed help. One hour in the car to the train station in Domodossola, then two hours on the train to Locarno, for a mooch around another lake (thank god we found a playground), then the same journey back.
Alex told Izzy that if she asked the birds nicely they'd bring her jelly babies. So many times there and back, whenever she heard a bird, she'd close her eyes and go 'Tweet tweet, per favore!' (Becasue Italian birds need to be spoken to in Italian of course. She was also mightily amused by the fact that Italian chickens apparently go ki-ki-ree-ki.) And Alex would magic a jelly baby into her waiting hand.
The upshot of all this is that she's become quite demanding. One evening this week I came out of the kitchen, having made dinner to her specifications ("Can we have rice, steamed egg and fried onions?") to be greeted with "Mummy, I'm hungry and I'm cold, and I've been waiting such a long time for dinner!"
I ignored that one, except to tell her she was the one who'd chosen to wear a skirt today and could always go and change into trousers if she wanted. But then last night we had a hilarious display of tiredness masquerading as temper.
She had some tiny scrape on her hand and insisted on putting a plaster on it. One fell off after dinner and after the second fell off after her bath I refused to give her a third.
"Well then I won't love you any more."
"Fine."
"I won't love you any more, mummy."
First I tried the sympathy card.
"Oh Roz, I'm so sad. Izzy doesn't love me. Boo hoo hooo."
"Well... I'll still like you, I just won't love you.
That made me laugh so I went back to ignoring her strop as I was changing Roz as well.
"I won't love you."
"Fine. Tomorrow you can stay at home and I'll take Roz to nursery."
"But I want to go to nursery, you can take me."
"No no I won't take you because you won't love me. You can stay at home."
"But mummy..."
"No that's fine, you stay at home."
"OK mummy. OK I'll love you if you pay me."
"What?"
"If you pay me a lot of money then I'll love you."
Tchah!
And it was 12 degrees today. Goodness knows where this odd cold front has come from but it's not doing my bloody vegetables any good. It's bad enough the slugs and birds are stripping the more succulent salads and legumes to the stalk, but with the weather as odd as it is the beans aren't getting anywhere either! Grrr. Have resorted to plastic implements to protect the new salads as I really, really want some sorrel to cook with.
We've also just come back from a holiday in Orta San Giulio, slightly north of Milan, in case the pictures below haven't alerted you to that. It was lovely. A beautiful little town, right on the lake of the same name, with a view of the island in the middle of the lake.
I'd seen pictures of the apartment and pictures of the view from the apartment but it still took several days to believe such a thing could exist.
We went with my brother and Kim and the extra two hands made all the difference on the holiday. Particularly Kim's, as she was as well-provisioned as my mother normally is, down to having packets of tissue paper to spare, as well as zip-lock bags which came in handy for various things - bringing crumbly biscuits back to the UK, keeping Izzy's lake flotsam in.
Both girls took to the holiday pretty immediately. The gelato played a big part but probably so did the lovely pastas and paninos and hot chocolate present each day. Never having tried hot chocolate in Italy before, we found it's similar to Spanish hot chocolate - almost thick enough to stand up a spoon in - and superior in that it had more serious chocolate in it. Sadly though their breakfast pastries do not include churros.
Izzy was all grumpy before we went, as usual, saying she would miss her nursery friends. I finally won her over by pointing out that Italy had a lot - A LOT - of good ice-cream. 'Can I eat ice-cream every day?' she asked. 'Well, I'm planning to, so I suppose you can.' 'OK.'
So we had gelato at least once a day. I'm quite sure it was frequently twice. And there were definitely not odd occasions of thrice. And I'm not sorry because, darn it, while it is possible to get fantastic gelato in London, it's only at one or two outlets.
In Italy it's everywhere! OK maybe that's because we made beelines for known gelato shops in Milan but really - Orta San Giulio is a tourist hot spot, but there are nine - nine! - shops or stalls (and I didn't count the ones selling branded ice-cream products) - in a main street about 200m long, four of which said they were home-made.
We kind of stuck to one in the end as it had superb lemon granita and my flavour of the holiday - cioccolato azteco, ie dark chocolate flavoured with cinammon and chilli. And not the wishy-washy, fragrant-only chilli of many overpriced chocolate bars. This was chilli with a warm and long-lasting burn.
It was so good that Roz, on tasting the first cone of it I had, hijacked my cone and refused to let go. I attempted several times to get it back, because she was dripping ice-cream all over herself and I was afraid that some would get in her eyes but she screamed so vehemently each time I tried to wrest it back that I gave up in the end and we amused many, many people walking through the town back to the apartment.
Yeah I also thought the burn of the chilli would put her off. Let's just say that when the gelato finally ran low, there were definitely moments of contemplation on Roz's part. But nothing that stopped her from going back for another lick of the cone, and certainly nothing that stopped her wailing like a banshee when I finally distracted her and ate the last of the cone out of her hand.
Izzy has come back from the holiday decidedly spoilt. I think all the hot chocolate, gelato and various treats went to her head. To make up for dragging her to hot Milan and on a long car and train ride to Locarno in Switzerland and back, she was bribed mightily with sweets and toys.
Not always obviously. In Milan we allowed her to choose a toy from the Leonardo da Vinci Museum because the part of the museum where children would apparently be allowed to manipulate some of the machines he designed (we were looking for components featured in some Little Einsteins episode, which they called The Birthday Machine) was closed! We'd all been looking forward to that.
And signposting was a bit lamentable because according to everything up there the room should have been open.
We only stumbled upon another bit of the museum we'd been aiming for by chance - a kind of laboratory experience for children. When we first walked past the room it was chained off. But later we wandered by and there was a group of children listening to a man explain something. So I wandered up, and Izzy confidently walked to the middle of the group. When one of the parents there patted her and waved her forward, she suddenly got all shy.
I tried asking a member of staff nearby what it was all about because the man who'd patted her was encouraging her to follow the children into the room and I was all 'but to do what?' Anyway the attendant said she'd find out if we could join in and it turned out that was fine, so the both of us just trooped into a classroom to see what would happen.
I could barely follow what the demonstrator was saying at first - something to do with making stuff, colours and things you can find in the kitchen. But once we started the activity it was easy enough.
We were given mortars and pestles and various materials to grind - rose petals, dried violets (I think), and turmeric. Then we added water and then 'what do you think you can add to make paint?' Turns out it was condensed milk. Izzy loved it. The kids all made pots of paint and used them to paint postcards to take home.
Um where was I? Ah that was the one highlight for her in an otherwise very hot and bothersome troop through Milan and its Duomo. So we let her buy a box of playmais (v cool! Am considering buying a massive box of the stuff now).
The trip to Locarno though was always going to have needed help. One hour in the car to the train station in Domodossola, then two hours on the train to Locarno, for a mooch around another lake (thank god we found a playground), then the same journey back.
Alex told Izzy that if she asked the birds nicely they'd bring her jelly babies. So many times there and back, whenever she heard a bird, she'd close her eyes and go 'Tweet tweet, per favore!' (Becasue Italian birds need to be spoken to in Italian of course. She was also mightily amused by the fact that Italian chickens apparently go ki-ki-ree-ki.) And Alex would magic a jelly baby into her waiting hand.
The upshot of all this is that she's become quite demanding. One evening this week I came out of the kitchen, having made dinner to her specifications ("Can we have rice, steamed egg and fried onions?") to be greeted with "Mummy, I'm hungry and I'm cold, and I've been waiting such a long time for dinner!"
I ignored that one, except to tell her she was the one who'd chosen to wear a skirt today and could always go and change into trousers if she wanted. But then last night we had a hilarious display of tiredness masquerading as temper.
She had some tiny scrape on her hand and insisted on putting a plaster on it. One fell off after dinner and after the second fell off after her bath I refused to give her a third.
"Well then I won't love you any more."
"Fine."
"I won't love you any more, mummy."
First I tried the sympathy card.
"Oh Roz, I'm so sad. Izzy doesn't love me. Boo hoo hooo."
"Well... I'll still like you, I just won't love you.
That made me laugh so I went back to ignoring her strop as I was changing Roz as well.
"I won't love you."
"Fine. Tomorrow you can stay at home and I'll take Roz to nursery."
"But I want to go to nursery, you can take me."
"No no I won't take you because you won't love me. You can stay at home."
"But mummy..."
"No that's fine, you stay at home."
"OK mummy. OK I'll love you if you pay me."
"What?"
"If you pay me a lot of money then I'll love you."
Tchah!
17 June 2010
Artwork summarising what I would have done the whole holiday
That is, had I not had two munchkins constantly demanding attention.
Keep expecting Peter Mayle to appear
Some of the lovely restaurants and cafes that make up the town square
Izzy doing a bit of fishing on the beach
Yang later got her to catch several petals, leaves and god knows what other debris to bring back to cook for dinner. When she started asking if he'd help her cook though if wisely feigned sleep.
Last cono on the way to the airport
At least she can now say 'uno cono cioccolato/fragola/vaniglia per favore'.
07 June 2010
05 June 2010
04 June 2010
Over the Solent
And here is proof, if needed, of the arsey phase Roz is going through.
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