For me, eating pizza is a lot like going on “vacation” to my parents’ house. The dynamic around the two processes looks virtually the same. First, I think about it – Hey! Why don’t I go get me some lovely pizza? It’s been so long since I ate pizza! Mmmmm, pizza! – which every time sounds like the best fucking idea, because pizza is so awesome! Everyone loves pizza, few things in the world are tastier and more comforting than good pizza, one of those made with the heartiest ingredients and baked in a real wood-oven like they do in the country I come from – Italy. Pizza is warm and soft, it smells like yeasty roasted heaven, and it tastes even better, that simple yet perfect combination of tomato sauce and melted cheese, topped to perfection by fistfuls of what your palate loves most – olives? rucola? grilled aubergines? salami?
Just please no canned pineapple. Canned pineapple on a pizza is some strange brand of heresy.
The problem between pizza and me, though, is in the mozzarella. I shouldn’t eat real, juicy mozzarella because I’m Continue reading →
It’s strange. Whenever I return from any trip lasting longer than a few days, my home shifts. I walk in, tired after being shaken by one plane, two buses and a train, I drag the backpack, cabin trolley and duty free purchases across my threshold and… the ceiling feels somewhat higher. The living room smells different, the plants are a bit wilder, and I find myself being a bit scared of what I’ll see under the toilet’s lid. In the fridge there is a bunch of lemons cuddled in a fluff of absinthe-colored mold. It’s almost as if my home wants to warn me that time passes even when I’m not around and that things can happen in the emptiness. And the time I did not spend in these four walls, these two weeks I’ve been away, I didn’t freeze-frame them, they are gone. I chose to be elsewhere, the loss is mine.
At the beginning of the Seventies my parents bought a villa by the sea on the Italian island of Sardinia. It was one of those low white buildings you see on Mediterranean postcards, with a flat roof which served as a terrace, enclosed in a cocoon of raving bougainvillea. For the entirety of our childhood, every single summer, my mother and the three of us moved to that house from the early days of June till about a week into September. It was a raw paradise of rocks and secret beaches, everything was Continue reading →
So when it comes to co-sleeping, we know already how it ended. But there are quite a few other parenting matters that I feel strongly about, mistakes that I do NOT want to stain myself with as a mother and I think it could be interesting to see how these work out in the future, when confronted with the reality of things.
* NO SUGAR! * Call me a maniac, but I do silently believe that refined sugar is poison. And by that I mean a downright toxic substance, an addictive drug with no nutritional values whatsoever. Does this mean that I don’t do sugar? Yeah, this means that Continue reading →