How to bake a cake.

Before you begin I suggest you make a coffee… or two as this might take a while… and join me for a cake baking adventure.  Cake is always better with coffee don't you agree? Or a nip of whiskey perhaps?

Challenge Number One

An Italian bachelor’s pad does not have a well equipped kitchen.  So my first task is to buy a cake tin.  No hang on go back a step… before that I have to try to explain what I want to Giorgio. His English is constantly improving but some English words he has had no need to learn and he would never have used a cake tin before or even seen his mother use one. Cooking is not one of her talents.  His expertise is in Italian basics such as pasta and risotto. Any cakes that cross this threshold are ready made and most likely what we would call a jam tart.  I tried to find cake tins at the supermarket and several other shops without success. Even in Ikea I could not find one. After a  2 hour train journey  to visit my Australian friend Kaye in Orvieto I am the owner of a beautiful non-stick cake tin and a slice tray.


 I photocopied a few of my favorite recipes and brought  with me. Now I am ready to  bake Linda's delicious whiskey sultana cake to share with friends that are coming for a chestnut roast.  I think I have all the ingredients on hand.  Keep in mind that the nearest alimentary (grocery shop) is at least 30mins drive away so these days it's impossible to pop down to the IGA for another ingredient.

Challenge number two

Recipe in hand, final check.  How am I going to measure 5oz of sugar and 6oz of flour?  May be the Italian woman living next door will have kitchen scales, Giorgio says Annalisa is a good cook and often mouth watering smells come from her kitchen.  She speaks no English so I explained to Giorgio so he could ask her for me. He suggested I could just use the bathroom scales!!   But after further explaining the need for accurate weighing of small amounts  he went across the hall to ask Annalisa … without success.

I was not going to be beaten so I got onto Google and found a weights and measures conversion site. In case you ever need to know - 1 oz is approximately 30 grams is approximately ¼ cup of flour and sugar.

Challenge number three

A bachelor’s pad does not have measuring cups or measuring spoons. In fact tablespoons do not seem to exist in Italy. But I am sure I can estimate all of this well enough. I make use of  a small food processor and it's wand gadget that was gathering dust in a far corner of a cupboard  and in no time the  butter and sugar is creamed and egg added.


Challenge four

I can’t add anything else as I have run out of room in the food processor bowl… so I move it into a glass bowl.  In this kitchen to reach plates, bowls, and most of the food I need to stand on a chair. I figure I am burning more calories doing step ups numerous times each day and can therefore eat more cake later.

Standing on my toes and those plates are still out of reach, that's the draining cupboard with the glass door.

The bowl I need is in a cupboard above the fridge and I can only reach it standing on a chair, and the fridge door comes open with the cupboard door. 

Challenge number five 

… Actually read that as 'stuff up' rather than challenge. It is only possible to buy plain flour and little sachets of a raising agent which I presume might be baking powder.  I had to estimate the amount to add as the instructions were in Italian and not easy to translate - it think it says the whole packet of 'levante' is for 500grams of flour... more arithmetic... and I stir it thoroughly through the flour...  Then back to the recipe for the next stage. Oops it needed bicarb soda not baking powder. Tip that lot in the bin and mix a new batch.

Challenge number six

No citrus juicer for the lemon… no problem I can muster up a good squeeze… but a strainer for the pips would have been handy. Fish them out with a teaspoon – lucky I am patient.

Now it’s all going well and beginning to look like a cake mix… it's ready for the sultanas that have been simmered in water  (how will I strain them?)  The colander for the pasta has such large holes, phew, they never went through.

Challenge number seven

All of this is not going to fit into that glass bowl… and there are no larger bowls in the house…. A saucepan converts beautifully into a mixing bowl.

Challenge number eight

Magnificent!  It’s all in the oven and looking as it should. Now how will I test if it is cooked ?  No skewer to be found. Is a tooth pick long enough?  … Yes.  No rack for cooling. A plate it will have to be. (Climb onto the chair again) 

Challenge number nine … the icing.

Can you put light brown fine-ish sugar into a food processor and turn it into icing sugar? NO!  If I add the butter that it needs to be creamed with will it all those gritty bits sort of dissolve? NO!  What if I add the lemon juice and whiskey? NO! It’s still gritty and not icing texture at all.  But it is finger licking good now.

I've lost count of how many bowls and pots and swapping between occurred in the making of this cake ... and the dishwasher is not working at present :o(

Contingency plan ... aka 'make it up as you go' 

 Put it into a small saucepan and stir it over a low heat. Well it has sort of thickened but it is still gritty.  Tastes good so I give up and spread it over the cooled cake. As you can see it looks okay.

About now I have a giggling fit over how challenging a task can be in a foreign environment. The ingredients all have unfamiliar names, are often packaged really differently, or are not available. 

As we are eating it and I am talking about the problems of getting some ingredients I like to use here.  I explained that I needed to use a really fine zucchero  - and Dario tells me you can get it in Italy. 

It’s only then I remember that I do have some in the cupboard under the TV (The other food cupboard had no more room in it, in fact the entire kitchen, no apartment is tiny - in these photos you see almost all of it except the bathroom) It is called zucchero al velo and comes in 125 gram sachets only.  I was not brave enough to tell Giorgio after he had watched my extraordinary efforts to make beautiful icing.  It is castor sugar that is unavailable here.

YUM, it passed my taste test despite being a little crumbly and my Italian friends either enjoyed it or were too polite to say otherwise.

Then add seasoning to taste...

One of the less know pleasures I am enjoying in Italy is forest walks most days, and I have been fascinated to watch the rapid changes autumn brings with it's plummeting temperatures. In fact this week we have had the first frosts. And I can assure you that the sunny day that follows  brings little warmth with tops lately of 12 degrees. Italians seem to be real sooks about the weather and already they have there neck to knee coats, woolly scarves and gloves brandished like armour before they venture outdoors. They also have a strong aversion to getting a few drops of rain on them, at the first sign of a shower brollies go up or they run for shelter. Many seem convinced that a few drops of rain will cause a life threatening illness. On cool days motor bike riders can be seen with knee rugs... true!

Come and have a peep at some of  the beauty of the changing season.

A few weeks ago the chestnuts began falling from those still bright green trees.

In a few weeks those same trees are yellow, then brown , and now almost naked as the leaves wither from the top down.

There has been much less rain than usual this year but the last rainy day tempted  some fungi out of hibernation. None look familiar to me so I've not been brave enough to eat them. I bought some called porcini that are the tastiest I have ever eaten. They are rather large and look like horse shit. I've not seen any of these in our forest yet.

The abandoned restaurant in the valley has some beautiful vines in pots that have changed to deep red.

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Chestnuts  are sold roasted in the streets but I am not fond of the taste or texture... however I have discovered that one in each pocket makes excellent hand warmers!

This spectacular cluster of fungi was growing from small stump.

Last time I walked this was this vine had lost all of those beautiful leaves, I picked a few sprigs to arrange in a vase and add colour to our home.

This photo was saved up the right way but its toppled side ways  as I transfered it to the blog ... computers always plotting new ways to frustrate me.

Looking across the valley from that restaurant.  At first glance they look like a fire has singed all off the leaves on the trees ... and then I remember its a deciduous forest.

Our home is on Cercingoli Mountain which is almost 1000 metres high. Some days we are above the clouds  which lazily rest in the valley below,  occaissionally until midday or so.  Florence city can be shrouded in clouds  or fog while we savour sunshine up here. You needed that neck exercise didn't you?   And do the purple flowers look familiar?

The cure for Homesickness

A batch of Anzac biscuits and...

For a few days I was feeling really home sick and isolated here in the beautiful forest, but for now my yearning for people and places familiar has been quelled.  It is hard to stay homesick when the weekend arrives and there are beautiful places to explore and marvel at.  

...a Challenge..

I am proud to announce that I bravely drove from our mountain home to the edge of the city of Florence for the first time as we made our way towards Siena. That was far enough for one day… or more accurately stressful enough.  Giorgio would like me to become confident enough to drive to his office, but probably the nearest train station at  Candine will be my limit… I’ll see. I might need to invest in a GPS to help me navigate.

...and Tasmanians!!!

The drive through Tuscan countryside to Siena was beautiful even though the day was overcast, film set views across the rolling hills. You would have seen it in movies.  With absolute delight I met with a Tasmanian friend and her family in Siena. They had walked 20km to get here today as they are walking the Via Francigena pilgrim path to Rome. The opportunity to talk at normal pace and with a wider vocab was totally delicious.  Giorgio did not seem to mind the rapid chatter that he could not keep up with too much. He and Tim talked of politics, history and much more while Sophie, Merran and I covered many topics and shared stories of our experiences in  Italia.

After some brief stops at Siena’s highlights including the first hence oldest bank in the world we treked through the city centre  via that amazing piazza to a restaurant  as lunch was high on the priority list of the pilgrims.  I was surprised to discover that Giorgio had chosen to return to the  restaurant where we had eaten our first meal together 2 years ago on the day we first met. (He likes to pretend he is not romantic.) The restaurant specialises in typical food of the area including truffle fungi and wild boar. Other patrons seemed intrigued by 4 Australians and one Italian man dining together. Several asked Giorgio for an explanation then generously shared their desert of almond biscotti which are dipped into sweet wine.  

The main piazza in Siena is one of the most beautiful I have seen and is famous for hosting horse races .  Horses racing on  cobble stones sounds treacherous and  I have visions of injuries for riders, horses and spectators.

Tasmanian pilgrims in Siena's famous piazza.

We stopped talking long enough to smile for the camera.

And a posh party...

Later we returned to Florence to the birthday party of a close friend of Giorgio, held in a private home in the city centre.  The party was in a style I am not accustomed to… a trio playing a viola and guitars entertained us with jazz and manouche, a gypsy jazzish music popular in France. Later one of the guests who is an accomplished opera singer impressed us with her powerful voice,  awesome in the confined space. Many of the 40 people knew a little English which they dusted off for my benefit. I find I can now recognise enough Italian words to understand some conversation but the level of concentration I need is tiring and I can't maintain it all night.

Photos!!!

And now for some photo posting practice... training wheels are in place. Hold on tight and I will give you a peek at Biennale in Venice....

Take 2  ... much later  cause it never worked...

Some deconstructed pottery perched on a massive structure that could be walked into and was pyramid like with multiple angles and blocks..



 This photo is not a mistake... this mess is part of an 'art' installation.

This fascinated me... that clay really looks knitted.

May be  this was inspired by that unravelling feeling you get on  those  really stressful days.

These bras are made from razor blades. I would love to hear your theories of what this art work intends to signify.





Silk banners  with patterns made with bleach. They looked irredescent.

 Remember,  this is Venice so here is some water to prove it.


Venice is the kind of place that makes you wonder if people really live there. And this is proof that they do, and they have to do their laundry and hang it out to dry. Hills hoists are scarce in this part of the world though.

And finally a piece of Venice's art that has stood the test of time. I wonder if any of the exhibits from Biennale 2011 will be attracting visitors and pigeons in a few hundred years time?

What's in a name?

Jen and Jenny are common names in Australia but this has not been straight forward here. Italian ears don't tune into Jen well at all, often it became Jane.  Jenny was not much better. Spelling it to them was no help as in Italian the alphabet  contains no J or Y. 

 I'd talked this over with Giorgio and thought perhaps they would cope better if I used my 'real' name Jennifer... and they do. It was a few weeks  later that he told me that Jennifer is not a 'nice' name here. It's the name always used for the girl that's the butt of jokes.  I  wished he had told me sooner ... As all Italian female names end in the letter 'a' and males names end in 'o' perhaps I should have chosen Jenna, spelt Genna?  Or  I could adapt my middle name Marie and join the multitudes of Maria's?  

How many Maria's would be in this crowd outside the Duomo in Florence. The  city centre is always crawling with people, many on organised tours.

Ponte Vecchio is another 'must see' location for tourists and I thought I could fill in some time there taking photos for all the people that are doing the 'arm stretch and hope I line myself up properly' self portrait.

Jumping In at the Deep End.

Jumping in at the deep end...

Other than reading a blog this is a new adventure for me... so any tips appreciated ... and having considered it for weeks I've now gone all speechless at the thought of it... well my fingers have become paralysed it seems! (or my brain??) Deep breath. Jump in at the deep end in Venice. With all that water there are plenty of bridges and canal banks to leap from.

Venice has been hosting the amazing biennale international art exhibition at present so it's oozing people and amazing art.

We spent Saturday in Faenza after driving through mountains that were a kaleidoscope of autumn colours. Over some delicious pasatelle I enjoyed reuniting with friends made last visit. These included Mirta, the ceramic master I learned a great deal from and had incredible adventures with. Mirta introduced me to Giorgio 2 years ago, so in a roundabout way she is responsible for me falling in love and returning to Italy.

Sunday morning after a leisurely breakfast and, to my surprise, without taking advantage of the change back from summer time, 6 of us piled into 2 cars and headed for Venice... along with hundreds of other cars which created a massive parking dilemma on the edge of the city. Of course cars can't go into Venice proper, all transport is via water or on foot. We joined the long cue and cued and cued and cued, and eventually achieved a parking spot.

We raced across Venice over bridges, under arches, up narrow alleys and through the beautiful St Marks Square. Our destination was 'Arsenale', one of the Biennale's main venues.

Art oozed everywhere... sometimes literally! Just the logistics of getting all of it there by water astonished me. Some of the installations were huge. (My next goal is to learn to post photos so you will be able to see some of it.) Some of the exhibits really challenged my thoughts about what is art as opposed to crap, others made a thought provoking statement about the state of this world. In the few short hours spent there I saw so little and will endeavour to set aside more time here another year.

"GET OUT! GET OUT!"

Our final venue for the day was Giardini and the venue was closing as we left. After being ushered out the door our friend Mirta joined the long cue at the outdoor toilet and the rest of us sat on a wall to wait, enjoying the setting sun. The man who was herding us out upon noticing the toilet cue shouted loudly  " Get out. Get out. Go and piss at your own house." My friends chuckled their way out the gate saying this was how you would expect a Venetian to behave. The part of Italy a person originates from is often used as an explanation or excuse for their behaviour or personality.