3am and its raining in Plymouth. The sort of relentless downpour that makes you think the gods have been angered, their fury cascading in bucketloads from the dark and brooding sky. We are soaked through by the time we arrive at the airport -bleary-eyes and overtired but excited to be jetting off to Venice this morning – Italy’s floating city.
A few short hours and we are descending over The Dolomites, their snow-dusted jagged tops casting great angular shadows into deep ravines and crevasses, playing tricks on my eyes. We touch down on time in Marco Polo Airport, where the local climate reveals winter sunshine and clear blue skies; it’s not necessarily warmer than home but thankfully a whole lot drier and brighter. We make our way down to Alilaguna – the public water transport service – heading for the orange line which will take us into central Venice.
The other day I had a craving for the humble aubergine. In a ‘first world problems’ scenario my local supermarket was bereft, so I called and asked my father to grab me a couple since we were due to meet up after work anyhow. Continue reading “The importance of being Aubergine.”
I’ve always been a massive fan of the avocado. Growing up, I would watch my mother prepare this delicious and exotic snack for me. I would gaze with burgeoning delight as she scooped it’s green flesh from it’s tough bruise-purple skin; rippled and hard like a crocodile, or the folds on a tortoise’s neck. It was such a treat, and I would anticipate it’s arrival with impatience; eager to devour it’s creamy flesh, slick with oil and peppery vinaigrette. Continue reading “The Avocado, baby.”