OMG The Food

No Go Once More

We should have purchased our train tickets in advance, because when we got to the station this morning, the early trains were completely booked, and the earliest we could catch a train was at 4:06 pm. Not a big deal, it just meant we had additional time to explore Rome rather than Bari. We had spent four days in Rome previously, so we thought we might go see the Coliseum which we did not see on the last trip. However, once more, the line-ups were miles long, and we just did not feel like spending our morning standing in a line. 

Great Italian Food

Instead we decided to walk around, and find the restaurant suggested by the host at the Dreamstation (our hotel), and sample some more delicious Italian food. Last night we found the place too late, and had to enjoy a meal across the street. So, instead of reading about a tumble-down Roman ruin, you get to hear about some of the amazing Italian food we have found. 

Beer in a wine glass - an Italian thing?

Last night I had spaghetti, but it was unlike any spaghetti I have ever had. This was sea bream fish with tomato and zucchini in a light sauce. I do not know what they call sea bream on our side of the Atlantic, because I have never seen it available in the stores, but it was one of my favourite fish when we visited Portugal. I was not expecting to see it mixed with pasta however, but my adventurous side prevailed and I ordered it. Absolutely amazing; the best pasta dish I have had in a long time. Little chunks of the fish, mixed with halved cherry tomatoes and shredded zucchini. I allowed Regis to sample it, although it was not a dish I wanted to share.

Regis' Ravioli

Today, Regis pasta dish was the amazing one. She decided to order the ravioli, but did not even ask what was in it. Served with a light basil and tomato sauce, the ravioli was stuffed with another fish, this time grouper, but again she started raving about it on the first bite. My delicious pasta with meat sauce paled in comparison with her ravioli. 

I think she liked it.

Today, as we had time to spare until our train, we ordered an appetizer, and it was equally delicious. Imagine battered deep fried stuffed olives, artichoke blossoms in tempura, and fried vanilla cream. Oh, there was also a couple of pieces of an Italian salami, and this was one occasion where I had to say that the meat was completely overshadowed by the vegetables. 

I cannot wait to see what other surprises the Italian chefs have for me. 

What is 'Haircut' in Hungarian?

When I knew I was going to be away for a month touring the capitals of Europe, I arranged to get my haircut a day or so before leaving. Joking with my barber, I suggested that since I’d be in Europe, he might want to give me an “European” cut. “Art,” he replied, “I’m Italian, I’ve been giving you an European cut for the last 40 years.”

Don't take my picture, my hair needs cutting!

Regis is not so lucky, she has been searching for 40 years to find a hairdresser she likes, and the search is not over. As a result, she is normally trying to get an appointment anywhere just before we leave to get her hair cut. She is not usually very happy, and this time, after examining her cut in the mirror made the girl go at it again to make it short enough and thin enough to last a month. It didn’t matter; two weeks into the trip she was Marge Simpson every morning and her hair was driving her crazy, so she was again using English to explain to someone who does not speak English how she wanted it cut. This is always the situation, and it has made for some interesting stories, so when she came back yesterday, I felt a Blog Post coming on . . .

Don't know why the cut matters, she always wears her hat.

There was the time on the cruise ship, crossing the equator in the Atlantic Ocean on our way to Brazil, when she decided her hair was annoying enough she was willing to pay the cruise ship spa prices. As she chatted with the hairdresser, she commented about her accent, and asked where she was from. OMG, she was from Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, and Regis got the employee discount.

Then there was the scary punk-biker-tattoo-pierced hair cutter in Vancouver who turned out to be a real sweetheart, and actually did a pretty good job. The Portuguese Hairdresser had no one at all who could understand a word of English and she still went ahead with that cut and was almost pleased with it.

 

Don't look at my hair, look at the scenery.

Of course the best haircut story is the drop-dead-gorgeous 85 year old in Ottawa (Many of you have already heard this story, so you can tune out now). Needing a cut while visiting the children in Ottawa one Christmas, it was suggested she try a popular shop close to Ryan’s house. After several failed attempts to get in, she was told the only person available was the “Senior Stylist”, but “he was 85” she was warned. She said she did not care, and was given an appointment in 30 minutes. “Imagine”, she exclaimed to me, “that is blatant ageism – I don’t care if he is 85 and a “Senior” so long as he can cut my hair. 30 minutes later she was shocked to have a handsome young fellow working on her head, but was a little worried about what happened to her 85 year old stylist. Enjoying the expert attention and the attractive hairdresser, it all became clear when she got to the desk to pay and was informed that the bill was $85.00. Sometimes you need a translator even when speaking the same language . . . .

Love my new cut!

You know the really sad thing? It makes no difference; I usually can’t tell the difference between one cut and another, and I always get into trouble for not complimenting her on her lovely new haircut. Of course when I do make a favorable comment it is invariably when she really does not like the results of the cut. Oh, I think the Hungarian cut yesterday slipped into the top 10 best . . . .