Inspired

2 boys, 1 Milan

There has been plenty of romping around town these days, in preparation for the moment when we practically leave for 2 months. Yes, our Milanese time is rather short, so we're bound to make the most of it while we can.


First and foremost, Tot T has turned into a thief. He first confessed to me to "never, ever getting over stealing a candy from a shop at the age of 6", when he was forced by mother Lynne to return it (half chewed?) and apologise to the slumping teenager who worked there during the afternoon slots. Then, as if by miracle (and thanks to the intervention of a few large G&Ts), upon stumbling home he eyed a row of green rococo pillows lining a barfront not far from la casa.

Needless to say, before I could even realise, he grabbed one, shoved it under his t-shirt and walked home with the grin of a mouse who's eaten all the cheese.


The pillow has been named Madonna (the Pillow) since she too has a tendency to snatch stuff, mainly babies. Only the following morning, did the full reality descend into Tot T's brain. Yet, after a few protests that sounded very much like Adam's recriminations against Eve after HE ate the apple, he decided to adopt Madonna the Pillow, which is now as inseparable from his bum as... well as... erhm...


Other remarkable events include going to the Mix LGBT Film Festival of Milan, conveniently located 200 yards from la casa. The homosexuals have been spilling onto the square opposite Il Piccolo, the main prose theatre in Italy, for days now, moving in synchronicity to the sound of thumping house music and ready to face muscle-crunching squeezes through the theatre's narrow doors in order to see the likes of Antartica by Yair Hochner


or The Way I See Things by Brian Pera.


We, however, were not so lucky in our choice. We believed the hype, ignored all those alluring pictures of semi-naked men (what were we thinkink?!?!) and chose to go see Sally Potter's new flick Rage.


I rarely regretted a cinematic decision so much. In just under 100 minutes, Sally and her accomplices Judy Dench, Jude Law, Dianne Wiest, John Leguizamo, Simon Abkarian and Steve Buscemi bore us to death through an infinite series of interviews to fashion people involved in an obscure and silly series of events, which may or may not represent a conceptual metaphor for the meaninglessness of life.


It was one of those circumstances when you know there are a lot of intelligent people who've given too much thought to producing something terribly obscure which makes them feel all terribly interesting, but which in fact is a load of rubbish. Next time, I am sticking with the films advertised with naked men on the front.

Finally, we're doing the rounds of our local restaurants, in search of the perfect meal. Our luck in this chapter took a sharp dive when we trusted Time Out's recommendations and ended up at Ol's under the false promise of candlelight and large platters of meat.


What we actually found were thousands of teenagers and tweens (pre-teens) running around in packs, and heavily sweating waiters and waitresses from India and Eastern Europe respectively struggling to contain their enthusiasm for the end of the school year. We were also seated next to what appeared at first a stag night, but later appeared to be a motorcycling club for boys in their 30s. Much beer was drunk. Many references were made about loose women. And so on.

What next? A real fashion show? Thank god it's Friday and we're off to Tuscany for the weekend... as Tot T's clan descends onto Italy. Expect many more stories...

Byzantine

If I were to write something about Italy today, I would write this article. Absolutely spot on. And - most importantly - containing the word I have now started using on a daily basis every time I slam my face into the reality of this topsy-turvy nation: Byzantine.


Indeed. Italy has now officially become the New Byzantium.

Everyone's Doing It

Yep. Apparently he's the hottest ticket in town. And he's still not shown his face in bloody Milan.

Eating holes

So far, my eating experience in Milan has been very sketchy. Not having much time - or will, to be fair - to discover the best eating holes in the city, I simply let myself be dragged from place to place by my Milanese friends. The experience has been mixed at best, although it did uncover what was my favourite restaurant so far: La Madonnina.


So far. Because tonight young E. took Tot T and me to a place literally next door: L'Osteria dei Poeti. There are several around Italy, it seems, but few sport such an exquisite selection of cross-regional delicacies.

It all started with a selection of affettati. One in particular caught our attention for the peculiarity of its name: coglioni di mulo, donkey's bollocks.


It came with squacquerone, a traditional fresh cheese from Romagna, which was served with figs mostarda from Cremona, which we incidentally discussed yesterday.


We then moved on to meats of various sorts, including a rather elaborate filet fold, stufffed with crescenza, radicchio and covered in quite a lot of cream. Not for the faint hearted. Something rather like this:


To finish things off, we opted for orange and chocolate sponge cake, and large glasses of grappa barricata.


In a word, excellent. But we barely scratched the surface of the long list, which included excellent cheeses from all over Italy and snails, my favourite small edible pet.

We'll be reserving table 9 for the next 3 months...

Small-town train stations

Cremona, apparently, is famous for 3 Ts, which is why I thought it would be the perfect place where to introduce Tot T to the pleasures of small-town Northern Italy. The three Ts are in fact the Torrazzo, the Torrone and the Tettone.


The first one is a large tower - the tallest in Italy and the second talles in the world, in fact - which we climbed effortlessly. From its top, we got to see many pleasants sights, but not a single large-breasted woman, or Tettona.




Torrone, it seems, is out of season, being a traditional Christmas pudding. So we settled on a large jar of Mostarda, a mustard and candied fruit based sauce which the Cremonesi add to boiled meats and cheese alike.


As we strolled aimlessly along the empty streets of the city, I had a sudden feeling of being plunged back into the 1970s, an era when glasses were larger and life simpler. A few old men sat around tables, discussing football and women. Children ran around the public square, which was being prepared for the evening's celebrations.

So, it is without surprise that I strolled back to the train station and found it immersed in that yellow tinge characteristic of 1970s polaroids. That's when I took a few snaps for a certain friend who, it seems, loves small-town train stations.

Happy bunny

Guess who just stepped off a plane to spend 3 months with me?

Indeed. Evil kitty fairy.

Am in heaven.