Back to traditions
Walking under the arches in Bologna, it is not uncommon to spot, here and there, behind a store window, women dressed in white, bent over large wooden boards, making pasta by hand. We call them “sfogline” (from “sfoglia”, the name of fresh pasta before it gets cut). It’s a dying breed but one that I hope will endure a little while longer. My mother is a master of sfoglia and her tortellini are unsurpassed: tiny and flavourful, cooked in a rick chicken broth, they are our Christmas staple. A few days ago, the friend whose catering company I occasionally work for, engaged me for a round of tortellini. We were so pleased with the end result, I decided to make them for Christmas myself, according to my mother’s secret recipe…which, selfishly, I can’t bring myself to share…..just yet. And if you are ever in Bologna, and can’t score an invitation at my mother’s table, the best tortellini can be bought at La Baita.
Back to the ‘60s
Although I was a child of the 60s, I was too young to comprehend the legacy that decade would have left and certainly too young to enjoy its fashion revolution. But there are some items from the era I adore, like this jumpsuit I bought a while ago and wrote about. I finally got to wear it and I glammed myself up with proper hair and make-up. Getting ready ended up being more fun than the party.
Back to what matters
The author behind the blog “Africa Far and Wide”, a South African who has lived in a smattering of African countries and now resides in Malawi, has published a beautiful photographic and narrative piece dedicated to the elderly, and the unexpected stories behind their faces. Fellow humans can be very generous when we take the time to ask to share their stories.
Californians are mercilessly teased that we don’t know seasons. We can’t drive a couple of hours out of town and experience the turning of the leaves, or admire the Fall colors walking around Central Park. Well, here are our Fall colors, served right on our table (and a good reminder that today is a good day to make a beeline for that gym).
I am spending the week-end in Palm Springs, the desert town just a couple of hours from Los Angeles. I have now seen three deserts, on two continents (the Sinai, the Karoo and the Mojave) and what they all have in common is how the light hits the rocks at dawn and sunset, making for a melancholy and gently rose tinted hue that surprises me every time.