Anyway, I must try and look forward. Mrs Combo has a cousin who is a real peasant (in the nicest sense of the word). They are virtually self-sufficient, living a truly bucolic existence, seemingly unaware that their house is falling down around them. I had a 'phone call this morning telling me to pop by as they had gone mushrooming yesterday. These little beauties were duly thrust into my hands; they have a name in local dialect, something like pinerung. Whilst there hasn't been the rain followed by a hot spell that is needed for a classic mushroom season, apparently if you know where to go, then they can be found.
Italy. An interesting, infuriating place to live as a gin-raddled expat. Some notes and observations.
Thursday, 16 October 2008
Good grub
Anyway, I must try and look forward. Mrs Combo has a cousin who is a real peasant (in the nicest sense of the word). They are virtually self-sufficient, living a truly bucolic existence, seemingly unaware that their house is falling down around them. I had a 'phone call this morning telling me to pop by as they had gone mushrooming yesterday. These little beauties were duly thrust into my hands; they have a name in local dialect, something like pinerung. Whilst there hasn't been the rain followed by a hot spell that is needed for a classic mushroom season, apparently if you know where to go, then they can be found.
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8 comments:
Had I known of your skill with a dodgy mushroom, would have sent Mrs F-A 2 to visit you, and for you to practise upon.......
Oh Ron, welcome to dodgy fungiland. I give you about two days.
An admirable approach to marriage.
Thud, did you see that? Cab franc :)
The fungi sound fab. Just finished dinner myself...a pasta dish (in the best Anglo/American tradition) with plum tomatoes, squash and basil right out of my garden. Paired with a home made Syrah...it worked :)
Affer and Thud: could be the perfect crime, eh?
Lord Ashley: still alive
Vinogirl: I just love Cab Franc; this one is from Smooth Tony (posts passim) in Veneto
Still sunny then? Winter here. Central heating on, windows firmly shut, wine warmed on the radiator.
Canto, canto, canto! Funghi, funghi, funghi!
I'm off to Martin's Wine Bar downstairs. Martin's long gone, replaced by George. He may like mushrooms, he may not. He knows how to serve a mojita, and that's all that matters on the first week's anniversary of Friday Night Fred and the Fibonacci Five (that's quite enough effs. Ed.)
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