I’ve been out a few times since arriving here. The first time was only 6 weeks after we arrived. I had been invited to an international group of one of my Mum’s who speaks English thanks to her marrying an Irishman. I’m not entirely sure what I’m going to but I know there are people from other countries there- there’s no fooling me with a title of Magenta della Monde. Courtesy of the World Cup even I know Monde is world.
So my first evening out in Magenta consists of me sitting mutely whilst 10 women and 1 man discuss many topics not connected to the purpose of the evening which turns out to be organising a food and music from your respective country. Having been separated from Anna who brought me, I sit next to a woman who translates for me. I assume she is English, also is another woman Rosy who also speaks English. Rosy has brought a warm Rice cake, which tastes much better than the description and I happily chomp and ‘Ummm’ in an Italian accent to show my appreciation. Tea is also produced by Marella and whilst everyone else supps politely from China cups I, as an English woman am given a mug, which is perfect.
It transpires that a festival is being organised at a church and this group will give a talk on food and music from our country. I am roped in very quickly to afternoon tea and suggest the song ‘Everything stops for tea’ a song I drag from goodness knows where in the back of my mind- I bet it was once sung at Gang Show. I offer to make scones and think I have done enough. Marella it turns out is an oracle of Magenta. There are few people she does not know and seems to have taught half of Magenta English. Her Mum is from Manchester, Am I willing to teach English? Do I want to come to an English lesson she runs? Thrilled to be actually speaking English I agree to anything. I give my email address say I will look up some history of afternoon tea and think I have done my bit.
Knowing Marella, as I thought when I first met her has transformed my life in Magenta. I am invited to one of her English lessons. It is the end of year lesson so there is a small lunch afterwards. I am plied with Prosecco and think that 8 weeks after arriving in Magenta sitting in the sunshine, in a garden drinking Prosecco, being fed by Italians, chatting in English with only the word bella to describe the beautiful countryside around the lakes cannot be bad. It’s a Wednesday lunchtime and I could be in work. After the lunch I wobble back home on my bike and drink lots of water prior to picking up the children from school.
As with any event there are many meetings to attend to organise it. The meetings don’t start until 9pm as we all have to eat beforehand. It’s a foolish person who would mess with an Italian’s mealtime. Each meeting lovely filling sweets and puddings are produced and as the newest least Italian person there I am (almost) force-fed every dish and am way to polite to refuse anything! The event planning usually starts at about 11.30 and I’m generally home by half midnight with a headache from not understanding anything being discussed.
I nervously decide to cook cake for the next meeting. My Apple and Brandy cake, my signature cake. Hugh is very miffed when he returns home and is not allowed to cut into it and at 9pm me and my wrapped cake head off to the meeting. My understanding is still very limited however I can say ‘Torta di Mela e Brandy’ which produces an appreciative umm when being dished out. As the cake is eaten a silence descends on the group, appreciative nods and full mouths of buono are muttered. This is close to one of the proudest moments of my life, I have impressed some Italians with my cooking. Only one dish, not a very difficult cake but nonetheless a good day’s work from the British. My pride increases at the end of the evening when the last 2 remaining slices are whisked away before the plate is returned to me.
I research Afternoon Tea, ‘Everything stops for Tea’. All very interesting and download lots of photo’s of tea, tea parties, mugs etc including 3 giggly women stood outside The Ritz after celebrating a 50th, a 40th and my impending departure to Italy. Then, a phone call. ‘How would you feel about doing some of the talk?’ I gulp. ‘I will translate the talk, so all you have to do is read it.’ Mamma mia. This was not what I was expecting, however Tudor had to talk during assembly after 1 month here, so I can hardly refuse.
I practise the talk to myself and make notes as to how some words sound to me. Then the day before the talk I practise to my Mums over coffee. I am corrected on a few words, but receive a general ‘va bene’.
The day of the Talk arrives. The scones are made. Due to the 9pm start all other family members are in their PJ’s as I leave. I wear heels to try and power dress slightly. I am needless to say very scared. There are 6 countries being represented, we have a 15minute each time limit and I am hoping against hope that not many people turn up.
9 o’clock arrives and the room is moderately full with about 50 people in, but more are flowing through the door. A journalist has arrived and despite my best efforts to avoid her I end up telling her about the scones and giving the recipe- in Italian. I know some of the audience - Tara’s teacher, my neighbour’s childminder, friends, which is worse as they will witness a massacre of what is generally acknowledged to be a beautiful language. By 9.30 the room is packed, the numbers of people who attended this event has grown and grown with each telling of this story but was between 150 and 200 people. Children are running about, babies are watching with interest, whole families have arrived and it looks like a standard Italian night which is already running late before we start.
Ecuador is first up with some beautifully banana leaf wrapped meats and sweets. Explanations of how to wrap then are started and the Papa in the audience is credited with the work. Applause. Then, Papa is invited up to explain more fully how to banana wrap food. He obviously is blissfully unaware of the 15 minute rule and describes it seems to me all the food available in Ecuador. A one point the whole family stood up to take a bow. More applause, and the song of the country. The next country came and went, complete with interruptions. Italy followed and the audience all sang along to the Rice song, a traditional Lombardian ditty.
The UK followed France and by now my feet were killing me. Afternoon Tea was introduced and the audience were told that I had only been in Italy for 6 months and this was my maiden speech. I put on my reading glasses to blur the room, and stood shaking whilst a potted history of Afternoon Tea was given. Then- my turn. I stared and spouted the words on my sheet. I have no idea what I said, but I stumbled over a few words. When I finished I got a tremendous round of applause which was based purely on the length of time I have been in this country. The rest of the evening passed in a haze and once the food was produced I was in my element handing out my scones and receiving the brava’s with humility and smiles.
This evening produced an invite to a celebratory meal out in a local trattoria. The chef wouldn’t cook a pudding so we were invited to bring our own. I have rarely seen so much food for 12 people, and being a Grant I can over cater with the best of them. The antipasti alone would have filled us all for the evening. Sausage Rolls, Spinach & Ricotta Omelette, Gristini, Hunks of Bread, Pickled Onions, Salami, boiled Haggis looking thing (my description of Italian food is coming on a treat!) Bean salad. Then Mushroom Risotto which was creamy, rich and full of local funghi. Lasagna, walnuts & squares of parmesan, followed by the 3 course sweet we had brought. I limited my alcohol as once again it was tutti in Italiano. The chef came to sit with us at the end of the evening to sample our puddings. All of a sudden the reason for not cooking pudding was clear. It took my stomach 2 days to recover.
We were also invited back to the parish to a meal I thought with the priests of the parish to sample all the food that had been on offer during the weekend of Festa della Monde. Somehow Google translate let me down and didn’t fully describe the event leaving me with the impression that about 30 of us would show up. The evening was set to start at 7.30 and I knew food was involved and I duly knocked up enough scones for us each to have one and having persuaded Tara that this would be fun (whilst fairly unconvinced myself) we set off at 7.30. We first had to stop off in Iper for a jar of jam for the last 3 scones that needed topping off and we arrived to a full car park, which for 30 seemed a bit much. ‘There may be another event on’ I ventured and strode confidently into the church Oratorio. As I turned the corner I stopped. A trellis table was set up in the corridor leading to the salon and 20 teenagers were sat chatting, texting and generally looking like kids. The noise from the salon indicated that there were more than 30 already present. I looked at Hugh, who knowing less than me about the event shrugged his shoulders and we kept on walking. 3 trellis tables stretched the length of the room and wine and water were already on the table. Food was laid out around the corners of the room and about 60 people were settling into eat and make merry for the rest of the evening. I found our friends, Tara disappeared to the other end of the table having found her friends and after grace was said we went to as politely but as firmly as possible scav as much food as possible. I was sat next to my friend’s Mum who speaks no English. This proved no barrier for our conversation and limited to the words, ‘Mamma, a vero, and Dai’ we got on fabulously. Hugh was sat next to the priest. The wine flowed and just as pudding was being handed out one man walked up and down the tables dispensing Homemade Grappa, which cleared the palate quite spectacularly. Tudor kept an eye on the scones and as soon as he could was up for 2 scones. The priest took the last one. As the meal finished people moved around to chat and grab the bottom of the wine jugs before they disappeared off. Hugh spent much of the time describing his misspent youth in snooker halls in N. Ireland whilst I tried to convince a friend’s brother that he would like nothing more than to teach me how to cook Gnocchi. We had to drag Tara away as she had found a victim she could play Uno with and Tudor spent the evening trying to get me to let him drink Grappa.
A fun evening was had by all.
I quite like church here- there seems to much more food and wine involved.
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