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Soul Cake

E 'Sunday night it is too late. I'm in bed under the duvet, the two have gone da un pezzo ma non riesco a prendere sonno. Come sempre più spesso mi accade quando la domenica sera guardo “Report” su Rai Tre.

Dovrei fare come Luca e smettere di vedere la trasmissione della Gabanelli, una volta per tutte e non incazzarmi più di fronte alle porcherie che ogni settimana gli autori dei servizi portano alla luce. Ma ho commesso l’errore di guardare “Report” anche stasera e ora di fronte al senso di impotenza al cospetto della tracotanza senza ritegno dei potenti, per dirla alla Camilleri, “mi monta la raggia”: e mi giro e rigiro nel letto senza riuscire a prendere sonno.

It would take something to relax ... but hey the answer is right there on the glass shelf which crowns the low wall that divides the kitchen from the living room per day. And 'in fact there, in the aluminum container, which is the rest of the cake caprese Paul had brought to dinner tonight at my parents' house ...

Paola is the companion of my brother, thanks to God is not married are avoiding: the ceremony, lunch, entry, even if the photos live for many years. Now you need to know that Paula is a huge fan of cooking time to keep a blog on the Internet dedicated to his passion ( diary Cooking ). So when Saturday morning my mother called me to invite me to dinner, saying that there would also Sandro (my brother) and Paola, I did not hesitate a moment: I immediately called my brother and told him to beware Paola from standing to dinner without a dessert made with his holy hands. Paola knows I'm fond of their chocolate delicacies from the liquid core, chocolaty ... ... ... mmmmhh cute ... (sorry but that is the Homer Simpson in me took over) and it was precisely these sweet little bee that I carry. But Paul wanted to overdo it and he brought his legendary Capri cake.

And now the remains of the cake, if you want to read the recipe on the blog of Paola ( recipe) you will realize that five normal people can not bear to end this sublime storage of butter, chocolate, almonds, sugar and cocoa, are standing there in the kitchen and living room, just steps away from me. I read somewhere that chocolate contains a compound interest, the anandammide that binds to the same brain receptor used by the phenolic compound tetrahydrocannabinol (THC), the active ingredient in marijuana. And it is a substitute for marijuana that I need to relax and be able to sleep well. And so I get up and I use in the dark of the kitchen, a generous slice of cake caprese.

guys the experience was at the edge of mysticism. Every bite a series of suggestions that can not be the most rewarding! The breaking of the buttery crust covered with powdered sugar under the pressure of the incisors. The sinking fast in the heart most tender of black chocolate when you brake on the layer of ground almonds that gravity has thickened on the basis of the cake. Simply magnificent! And so after ten minutes, with the brain receptor gratified and stunned I'm going back to bed.

And I was going to sleep blessed as a child when others have dark thoughts clouded my mind again. But I knew what I had swallowed much sugar and cholesterol? And then my father has problems with diabetes and perhaps there is a familiarity in this condition ... I need to relax again! Maybe another slice of cake .... Maybe thin ...

But in the end my moral fiber than has prevailed and I are required to restrain and prohibit categories of the second slice of cake (ok, and considering the third one with whom I had breakfast, one made out after lunch does not count: it was practically a wafer). Indeed preso da un’enfasi salutista decido di portare quel che resta della torta l’indomani mattina in ufficio e dividerla con Stefania e Luca che lavorano con me.

Non ci crederete ma è proprio quello che ho fatto, a malincuore ma l’ho fatto. E ora mi ritrovo ad osservare, facendo buon viso a cattiva sorte, Luca e Stefania che divorano il mio tessoro.. povero il mio tessoro… Maledetti!

PS Lo so, lo so. La prossima volta vi finisco di raccontare del Mozambico.

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The End of the Earth

You might rightly expect to know how it ended the day of transfer to Mueda Quissanga, Mozambique. I ask you to wait another few days: I'm waiting for permission to use a picture that I think the epilogue emblematic of that day. authorization should not be long in coming, true Sara? In the meantime I want to bring to your attention a conversation that occurred between me and Alice just yesterday (the day before yesterday for you readers).

Alice is a girl six years or so: he attended first grade and is the daughter of a couple of my dearest friends. The more attentive readers of this blog may remember her for a design that has given me some time ago and I mentioned in a previous post (see IMAGINE ). The other day I was taking a walk along the path that winds along the slopes of Mount Soratte, not too far from Rome, together with friends with whom I had lunch together and their children. On the way back me and Alice preceded the rest of the group along the path surrounded by woods. We walked in silence, and when the wood is thinned out we stopped at the edge of the path to see the valley below the mountains and more distant horizon. It was at this point that I made such a request Alice and dry states: "When is the end of the earth?".

The request was received but not totally unexpected for me that have been found unprepared. Datos we were contemplating a scene that was spreading to the horizon had no doubts about the meaning of the question, I thought that with "the end of the Earth," Alice is a seienne, intended to limit the world. I thought that the baby had a conception prepitagorica o , se preferite, medievale della Terra: una Terra piatta che il fiume Oceano delimita dall'abisso. Pensavo cioè che ingenuamente si chiedesse se la Terra finisse oltre quei monti che cingevano il panorama che stavamo osservando. Al che, con la soddisfazione di dare nozioni così importanti ad una mente che si sta formando, ho cercato di spiegarle nella maniera più semplice possibile che la Terra non finisce, che è come una palla enorme, così grande che sembra piatta, che se uno cammina per tanto, tanto tempo, alla fine fa tutto il giro e si trova allo stesso punto di partenza. E per dare evidenza visiva a quanto andavo affermando mi aiutavo gesticolando con le mani: una a simulare una sfera l’altra ad indicare un immaginario percorso Equatorial. Glad to be able to give a sufficiently clear and simple explanation I looked to see if Alice had actually understood what I had tried to inculcate the roundness of our planet.

The perplexity of his serious expression I did not bode well. "No," she said, "I wanted to know when the world is that there will be no more." What a fool! I must say that I had not really thought of his words all'accezione eschatological. But, surely, Alice already knew that the Earth is round, maybe that is not perfect and that is a geoid (Christian, mother, is always generous with information and cultural stimuli to the children), I imagine. Alice wanted to know what it was when the Earth will cease to exist as we know, when it settles the human race.

At this point a welter of questions I flashed to mind. Why a six year old girl, serene and happy, he asks questions like that? I, too, at his age, I was pondering such deep questions? But first I had the answer. I then tried to strike up a plausible answer. Trying to avoid catastrophic releases at the end of the world impacts with meteorites wandering through space, Armageddon, the court Universal ... that might disturb it, I tried to find an explanation that can move further in time beyond the end of our planet and our species. I then opted for the version that requires the end of our world will be when the sun will exhaust its fuel, namely hydrogen, and shut down forever in an almost painless. "But this will happen in many years, Alice, when we are no more!" I tried to rassicurala. To which she looked at me very serious and said: "When I'm gone I and my fijoli?". His fijoli are the ultimate abstraction of time into the future to which his tender age can lead: "It will take place between Alice're quiet long, long time: we do not have to worry about."

It 's the second time I heard him say that word "fijoli" said children as I have heard many times to my grandmother who is Umbra (indeed even Alice passes all year, some Summer in Umbria). The first time was a question that hit me at point blank range, unexpected as a bolt from the blue, a few years ago: "Why you do not have the fijoli?" Demand more than legitimate: Alice see me as an older person and all older people with whom he has to do, they children. It 's a question I often ask are heard in Africa, with the same childlike wonder, where men often at my age have grandchildren.

I thought that I had those fijoli and reply to Alice that I did not know or did not want to answer. Meanwhile, Alice was distracted by something and thought now to travel far from leaving me alone with my thoughts ... unresolved

Blessed childhood!