korte pauze.

Oof, what's happening? Just coming up for air after living at the studio for a couple weeks (I just checked, actually it's only been one week, which is just crazy). Looking for pictures to illustrate what I've been up to, I realized that I need to be taking more of them. Here's what I've got: above, the Tele; below, post-run debrief; below, a very delicious lasagna with pesto and potatoes from the Milan airport, not something I would usually order, but all the Italians were ordering it, and they obviously knew what they were doing cause it was super.

parma & co. / osteria dei poeti.

The most important thing to know here is that there's a picture of strozzapretti with 'nduja below. And I ate all of it.

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darkroom.

Here's how we spent our Saturday night in Milan...and someone finally took some photos of us (ok, well of HBF) that seem to reflect something of the piece's spirit: these lovely shots are by Valentina Bianchi. I mean, yes, you can't quite tell that the iteration shooting herself in the face above (with booze, OK?) is a pregnant majorette, so you miss a layer or two, but the images themselves are buonissimi.

domenica.

After our show Saturday night, which found us drinking enormous beers and less-so glasses of grappa in the not-so-cool TV room of our hotel while a terrrrrrible-looking Samuel L. Jackson movie (dubbed into Italian of course) played nearly silently in front of us, we decided that we'd meet for lunch on Sunday in the heart of Milan. Since HBF had a master class to teach at 10:30am (snicker snicker), the deal was that Floriaan and I would research a good vegetarian-friendly place that was open on Sunday and she'd meet us there after her class.

 Frankly, Floriaan and I ended up delivering a master class of our own, a master class in how not to research your lunch destination. We showed up with a couple of addresses and hoped they'd be open. They were not open, in fact every street that didn't lead directly to the Duomo looked like this:

Clock ticking, we just followed our manly instincts and ended up at what must have been one of the best possible places near the Duomo, called Pizzeria Al 50-Da Geggio. The place was full of Italians, the waiters were friendly, the prices were reasonable, my pappardelle with a ragu of San Daniele prosciutto was perfect, and the finocchiona/parmesan plate beforehand was also super.

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airport.

I love Italy. I love Italians. I love Italian. I've re-realized all of this this weekend. I've also realized that one of the smartest things I've ever done was to not move to Italy.

If last week's bureaucratic runaround didn't convince me, my visit to the post office just did. 37 minutes to mail a postcard. There were 6 people in line. Nothing is easy at an Italian post office. When I finally got to the counter, the guy was all like "where's the stamp, I can't mail this without a stamp, etc". I'm like why the fuck do you think I've been standing in line for 37 minutes? I don't have a stamp. etc.

I'm totally not complaining. I'm hurrahing myself for not ruining another thing I love by becoming over-familiar with it, which is what moving to Italy as planned would've been. I've had a great time over the past few days, despite almost zero sleep.

mi piacerebbe un gelato.

Off to Milano tomorrow, hopefully. It's been a long long week of furious work and even more furious Italian bureaucracy...we'll know if we had any success with either this afternoon.

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masterburger.

Cellphone pic of a mini trio from Burgermeester, whose burgers have gotten really good, at least at the Plantage Kerklaan location. This is salmon/asparagus/creme fraiche/chives, Spanish lamb + chorizo + jalapenos, and beef/pancetta/truffled egg salad.

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