Day 2 and out to dinner after another trawl through the centre of town looking at the shops (the kids are not keen on shopping thank God whereas if it was their mother hmm ..). We are determined to have an authentic Italian meal before our departure, after having endured a Macmeal and the hotel restaurant buffet, and so it is that we are pointed in the direction of a lovely restaurant not too far from the hotel. When we enter it is one of those places where you immediately feel comfortable. There are a lot of occupied tables, everybody is yapping away and there is just a good vibe in the place. We are duly seated and the waiter comes to take our order. This is when the palaver starts. The kids have very strong views on what they will ingest. I am not saying that I am not the same but let’s just say that my list of non edible foods is not as strict as theirs.
So Ed would like a Pizza, MD would like Pasta/ pesto and grilled chicken and I would like everything on the menu but decide to go for lasagne. However it turns out they do not serve Pizza. Whaaat? And you call yourself an Italian restaurant? Oh and also they do not have Pesto. “This is something you get out of a bottle isn’t it?” sneers the waiter looking at me as if I had just ordered a McChicken and chips. “We do not serve things out of the bottle here. Everything is made fresh”. Okay, can she have fresh pesto. No. And why? Because we only serve fresh tomato sauce. So no Pizza and no pesto? Correct. Hmmm. He then suggests that across the courtyard is another restaurant which is less formal and might be able to provide us with the foods we need.
So now after a few minutes we are getting up to go and of course all the Oyinbos are looking at me like Oh that poor dudu man, he has seen the prices on the menu and he has realised that he is in the wrong restaurant. He was probably looking for like a Dominos pizza. Pele oh. Oma she. I felt like opening up my wallet and flashing them all the cash I was carrying (okay most of it is Naira and other dodgy currencies from my trips but they were not to know that!).
Bizarrely the same scenario takes place across the road. They do pizza (which MD will not eat) but not pasta. AAARGH. Kids. Who needs them? Especially at 9.30 at night when all you want is lasagne and Italian ice cream. Now you all know how much I love my kids and will do anything to please them. This is why I suggested to MD that she either have what was on offer or she could go hungry and I was sure there was a packet of peanuts in the mini bar in the room she could have when we got back but in the meantime ED and I were going to stuff ourselves with original Italian pizza. Needless to say, after some moistening of the eyes, she came around to my way of thinking and agreed to have a pizza with just ham and tomato sauce (she hates cheese as well!!!). I had a beef pizza and ED had a ham, cheese, pepperoni pizza. Tough love. It works everytime. Especially where my stomach is involved.
Now see the thing is that if you are used to Dominos and Papa Johns the pizza here is going to come as a bit of a shock being that is basically served on like a flat bread with fresh tomato sauce and other fresh ingredients. I mean it is not great to look at and when it first arrived my heart sank but a couple of mouthfuls later I was as happy as Larry. Or Guiseppe (to keep with the theme of being in Italy and all). We also had orange juice which again was freshly squeezed but was red. On arrival I recalled the waiter to say look my friend I asked for Orange juice, not tomato juice. Who do you think you are playing with? Do you realise I am an original Yoruba man from Lagos? I beg bring me a glass with something orange in it.
Oh you should have seen the look of pity. He was now looking at me like hmm the immigration laws in this country are getting too lax. This is why this moron is here troubling my life.” The girls then explained to me in muted tones that it was orange juice but from red oranges. Wth is a red orange and how come I have never come across it before? Has my life been that sheltered? Obviously the girls were not embarrassed at all (although they did start pretending that we had come in separately) but somehow I think their next break will be spent away with their mother. She apparently is more civilised and worldly. Imagine the insult.
Unfortunately it was time to leave Milan. My impression of Milan is that it is a relatively small town (from what I could see on the tours) and I was a bit disappointed I did not get to see more models on the streets (so I could check out their fashion sense of course). I would say it is a weekend break kind of place rather than somewhere you would want to go for a longer period. But definitely the Castle and the cathedral should be top of the list. One final tourist hint. If you are planning to go it is wise to book in advance to see Leonardo Da Vinci’s “The Last Supper”(pictured above) at the S.ta Maria delle Grazie church (pictured above) as the waiting list generally runs to about a week so we missed out.
And so it was back to London where uncharacteristically – it was raining!!
So Ed would like a Pizza, MD would like Pasta/ pesto and grilled chicken and I would like everything on the menu but decide to go for lasagne. However it turns out they do not serve Pizza. Whaaat? And you call yourself an Italian restaurant? Oh and also they do not have Pesto. “This is something you get out of a bottle isn’t it?” sneers the waiter looking at me as if I had just ordered a McChicken and chips. “We do not serve things out of the bottle here. Everything is made fresh”. Okay, can she have fresh pesto. No. And why? Because we only serve fresh tomato sauce. So no Pizza and no pesto? Correct. Hmmm. He then suggests that across the courtyard is another restaurant which is less formal and might be able to provide us with the foods we need.
So now after a few minutes we are getting up to go and of course all the Oyinbos are looking at me like Oh that poor dudu man, he has seen the prices on the menu and he has realised that he is in the wrong restaurant. He was probably looking for like a Dominos pizza. Pele oh. Oma she. I felt like opening up my wallet and flashing them all the cash I was carrying (okay most of it is Naira and other dodgy currencies from my trips but they were not to know that!).
Bizarrely the same scenario takes place across the road. They do pizza (which MD will not eat) but not pasta. AAARGH. Kids. Who needs them? Especially at 9.30 at night when all you want is lasagne and Italian ice cream. Now you all know how much I love my kids and will do anything to please them. This is why I suggested to MD that she either have what was on offer or she could go hungry and I was sure there was a packet of peanuts in the mini bar in the room she could have when we got back but in the meantime ED and I were going to stuff ourselves with original Italian pizza. Needless to say, after some moistening of the eyes, she came around to my way of thinking and agreed to have a pizza with just ham and tomato sauce (she hates cheese as well!!!). I had a beef pizza and ED had a ham, cheese, pepperoni pizza. Tough love. It works everytime. Especially where my stomach is involved.
Now see the thing is that if you are used to Dominos and Papa Johns the pizza here is going to come as a bit of a shock being that is basically served on like a flat bread with fresh tomato sauce and other fresh ingredients. I mean it is not great to look at and when it first arrived my heart sank but a couple of mouthfuls later I was as happy as Larry. Or Guiseppe (to keep with the theme of being in Italy and all). We also had orange juice which again was freshly squeezed but was red. On arrival I recalled the waiter to say look my friend I asked for Orange juice, not tomato juice. Who do you think you are playing with? Do you realise I am an original Yoruba man from Lagos? I beg bring me a glass with something orange in it.
Oh you should have seen the look of pity. He was now looking at me like hmm the immigration laws in this country are getting too lax. This is why this moron is here troubling my life.” The girls then explained to me in muted tones that it was orange juice but from red oranges. Wth is a red orange and how come I have never come across it before? Has my life been that sheltered? Obviously the girls were not embarrassed at all (although they did start pretending that we had come in separately) but somehow I think their next break will be spent away with their mother. She apparently is more civilised and worldly. Imagine the insult.
Unfortunately it was time to leave Milan. My impression of Milan is that it is a relatively small town (from what I could see on the tours) and I was a bit disappointed I did not get to see more models on the streets (so I could check out their fashion sense of course). I would say it is a weekend break kind of place rather than somewhere you would want to go for a longer period. But definitely the Castle and the cathedral should be top of the list. One final tourist hint. If you are planning to go it is wise to book in advance to see Leonardo Da Vinci’s “The Last Supper”(pictured above) at the S.ta Maria delle Grazie church (pictured above) as the waiting list generally runs to about a week so we missed out.
And so it was back to London where uncharacteristically – it was raining!!
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5 comments:
Lol! Welcome back (or is it 'Bentornato' or something along those lines?).
April - Thanks. As you can probably tell Ciao Bella is the extent of my Italian.!!
E ku gbadun sir
Yes, that red orange juice thing also happened to me in Venice. I never see the thing before in my life!
Ahh you remind me of one of the best restaurant experiences of my life. I was alone in Rome. I walked to one of the suburbs which had a good write-up in the guide book. Down a side street, I found a local restaurant. There was only one space left so I took it. Everyone else there was in extended family groups of ten or so, so I felt a bit of a pillock being on my own. But the pizza and the wine was the best ever... A truly authentic Italian culinary experience.
By the way, our British image of 'Italian' food is often as mangled as our image of 'Indian' food (most of the time in your average Indian it is Punjabi food being served up - and of course the word 'curry' has no meaning in India). Both countries have strongly varied regional cuisines - some parts of Italy are not big on pizza etc. Which reminds me of one of my worst food experiences - realising that the black pasta I had been eating in an Umbrian restaurant was squid-ink based. Yugh!
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