Last night Lorenzo returned from Venice and we had squid stewed in pomodoro, riso and fagiolini (I stir-fried the french beans with garlic and the kickarse piccante chilli flakes). When I was washing the rice, Marco looked stunned and asked me what I was doing. I replied 'Err, I'm washing the rice?' - duh, wasn't it obvious? And he went 'Ahh'. And when i washed it the 2nd time, he gave me that bemused look again and left me at it. Later I found that apparently the italians don't cook rice like we asians do! When I measured the right level of water in the pot with my index finger like how my mamma does it, he looked incredulous again. A few days later, Lorenzo showed me how they boiled riso like pasta in a big pot of salted water and then sieved - molto interessante!
Anyway Marco and Anita left for a 4-day holiday in Elba, so it was just me, Lorenzo and Ciro (the dog) doing our mundane work and chilling on our own. For the second time on the trip, I played barber again at his request and razed down Lorenzo's hair with an old batty electric shaver. I was laughing hysterically the whole time because the shaver was shitty and I had to press it really hard against his skull while he was grimacing hilariously. I was no David Gan but he was pleased with the look. Haha. Brava me.
Back to work, the duties were non too demanding but it got a tad routine (me being the only Wwoofer) and the fu%king mosquitoes and heat were killing me! Yes, you'd think it would be damn bellisimo under the sole di Toscano but the army of zanzara and horseflies immediately wiped out all my romanticised notions. On my last count, I suffered 40 bites (20 alone on my left arm) and for some weird reasons, I had a breakout on my face. Porca put@na! I need a good facial, cucumber scrub and body wrap now. Argh. Ok I didn't want to sound like I was complaining. It had been a week here and each day I woke up feeling more alive, slapped some mosquitoes and pinched myself to remind me how blessed I was to be in Italia.
The food and vino were my constant pleasures; from the specialty dolci to simple homecooked pasta. I especially worshipped the juicy green figs plucked off the trees on the property and I would suck the sweet jammy flesh or mash them into a pulp for my original cocktail called Figitini (just add lemon juice, honey and Zivana, a 45% alcohol grappa-like liquor that Anita brought from Cyprus!). Otherwise, I'd make myself a Sangria or sip a glass of wine with every meal.
I also enjoyed the rides that Lorenzo and I took to nearby Montaione to pick up the groceries at COOP. I ogled at the range of salumi, including a solid thick chunk of cured fat which would be thinly sliced and eaten like ham. That evening, we tucked into farm-raised pollo (chicken which I marinated with our garden-fresh rosemary, sage, limone and honey) grilled over logfire with my homemade patate mash and a bottle of Chianti vino rosso. We had a good chat (he used to do gymnastics which explained the 6-pack) and I taught him lots of Chinese characters and tested him again and again...
Last night Lorenzo returned from Venice and we had squid stewed in pomodoro, riso and fagiolini (I stir-fried the french beans with garlic and the kickarse piccante chilli flakes). When I was washing the rice, Marco looked stunned and asked me what I was doing. I replied 'Err, I'm washing the rice?' - duh, wasn't it obvious? And he went 'Ahh'. And when i washed it the 2nd time, he gave me that bemused look again and left me at it. Later I found that apparently the italians don't cook rice like we asians do! When I measured the right level of water in the pot with my index finger like how my mamma does it, he looked incredulous again. A few days later, Lorenzo showed me how they boiled riso like pasta in a big pot of salted water and then sieved - molto interessante!
Anyway Marco and Anita left for a 4-day holiday in Elba, so it was just me, Lorenzo and Ciro (the dog) doing our mundane work and chilling on our own. For the second time on the trip, I played barber again at his request and razed down Lorenzo's hair with an old batty electric shaver. I was laughing hysterically the whole time because the shaver was shitty and I had to press it really hard against his skull while he was grimacing hilariously. I was no David Gan but he was pleased with the look. Haha. Brava me. 
Back to work, the duties were non too demanding but it got a tad routine (me being the only Wwoofer) and the fu%king mosquitoes and heat were killing me! Yes, you'd think it would be damn bellisimo under the sole di Toscano but the army of zanzara and horseflies immediately wiped out all my romanticised notions. On my last count, I suffered 40 bites (20 alone on my left arm) and for some weird reasons, I had a breakout on my face. Porca put@na! I need a good facial, cucumber scrub and body wrap now. Argh. Ok I didn't want to sound like I was complaining. It had been a week here and each day I woke up feeling more alive, slapped some mosquitoes and pinched myself to remind me how blessed I was to be in Italia. 
The food and vino were my constant pleasures; from the specialty dolci to simple homecooked pasta. I especially worshipped the juicy green figs plucked off the trees on the property and I would suck the sweet jammy flesh or mash them into a pulp for my original cocktail called Figitini (just add lemon juice, honey and Zivana, a 45% alcohol grappa-like liquor that Anita brought from Cyprus!). Otherwise, I'd make myself a Sangria or sip a glass of wine with every meal. 
I also enjoyed the rides that Lorenzo and I took to nearby Montaione to pick up the groceries at COOP. I ogled at the range of salumi, including a solid thick chunk of cured fat which would be thinly sliced and eaten like ham. That evening, we tucked into farm-raised pollo (chicken which I marinated with our garden-fresh rosemary, sage, limone and honey) grilled over logfire with my homemade patate mash and a bottle of Chianti vino rosso. We had a good chat (he used to do gymnastics which explained the 6-pack) and I taught him lots of Chinese characters and tested him again and again...
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