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  • Live from Scotland, where Rhona is Rhona and never has a D in it

    In a scene which I am sure is distressingly familiar to Vista users everywhere I have sat in a Wifi cafe for the past 25 minutes watching my laptop’s battery life plummet even as the Network and Sharing Center’s evil icons show their red x and endlessly spinning circle while the Internet icon remains grey and soulless. Anyone still on XP thinking of taking the plunge… Don’t Do It. I will be reverting to XP as soon as I’m able. Let some other sucker live through the endless bugs in this system.

    Two weeks of reading and feeding, writing, walking, thinking, talking. Scottish weather has not been all bad. A little rain, some wind, enough blue sky. Not freezing, for the most part, though a frost on the grass today and a clear chill on Princes Street as I wander around Edinburgh. Tea has helped, and the odd evening dram. Out to a movie last weekend: Into the Wild, a good enough diversion for the cabin-fevered.

    “Applause whilst thou livest, serveth to make thee that fair mark against which envy and malice direct their arrows, and when thou art wounded, all eyes are turned towards thee (like the sun, which is most gazed on in an eclipse), not for pity or praise, but detraction.” — William Drummond, A Cypress Grove (1623)

    I don’t know, is that supposed to make us feel better or worse about not getting acclaim in our lifetime?

    Other reading I’ve done includes: Auden, Larkin, Hughes; Sean O’Brien, Colette Bryce, Susan Tichy, Sandra McPherson, Leslie Adrienne Miller, Thomas Lux. Wandered into a little prose as well, the Drummond above, also Thomas de Quincey, Confessions of an English Opium Eater, and Joan Didion’s Year of Magical Thinking.

    And had a lovely trip to the Rosslyn Chapel, which I was for some reason slightly shocked to learn Dan Brown never visited, though they are certainly awash with visitors now, so at least the chapel is reaping some of the benefits which it can put into its restoration fund. It seems they have some bad problems with damp getting inside the stonework, caused by some well intentioned restoration work in the 1950s. Anyway it’s an amazing place and I’m happy to have had the chance to see it.

  • In transit

    An interim posting while I stop briefly in London en route to Scotland… Have now left Parma after a week of turmoil and transition.

    Yesterday was tiring. I had a couple more parcels to send, one 10kg and the other 5kg. I put the larger one in my suitcase and trundled heavily off with the smaller one perched on top, which occasionally flung itself off into the road from the sheer joy of cobblestones. I got to my destination, the post office on Tommasini, where I took my place in line and after a little wait was told that they were out of the forms to send things superficie, and that it would cost 95 euros to send the smaller package by the much speedier method dictated by the forms they did have.

    So off I trundled to the main post office where I took a number, joined a queue and waited my turn. Only to find that they too were out of superficie forms.

    Off I trundled to the third post office on via Verdi, where I joined a queue, waited my turn… and they had the forms! So that was that.

    I found some tasty treats for lunch, washed them down with a little lingering Barolo (from dear Michele Chiarlo) and commenced packing the giant suitcase. Alas, it was too heavy for my friends at Ryanair, so I decanted a bag of surplus and set off for the only other post office open in the afternoon, way on the other side of town, which I very much hoped could supply me with both a box and a superficie form. And indeed it was so.

    Meanwhile, my phone had died and I expended some time and effort cruising Nokia support forums for a diagnosis. Which was no answer at all once I realised that in my zeal for postal services the receipt I would need in order to get anything fixed under warranty was probably in a box of paperwork winging its way to Canada.

    So I enter the communications void: no phone, no internet for the next month. I’m sure I’ll be sneaking away to the library from time to time, but if things go quiet here in the caff, don’t be alarmed.

    I had, over the previous couple of days, discovered that for reasons I have either forgotten or never intended, I’d booked my travel to Edinburgh for Saturday instead of Sunday, when the residency actually begins. Which meant either changing the el cheapo ticket (which was not all that cheap, at least not in dollars) or spending about the same on overnight accommodations. But an emergency call to Scottish cousins yielded happy results and I’m one less problem to solve and looking forward to minor family reunion tomorrow afternoon.

    This morning was just a quiet time of packing and discarding. I got myself a taxi to the airport when the driver asked if I knew there was a sciopero. I did, I said, my Italian skills growing ever more marginal, but I can still fly to London, no? He wasn’t sure, he said, as it affected trains and planes. Perfect. Just what I wanted to hear, having cleared out of my apartment, left the keys behind, arranged travel and accoms for the following day.

    But he pressed on to the airport where all was, thankfully, as usual, and I stepped up to the check-in. The attendant looked distressed: it’s over weight! I know, I said, the tyranny of Ryanair’s 15kg limit never more acute than to someone leaving town after a year. She was as generous as she could be, but I had to cough up a few more euros before I could collect my boarding pass. Then I discovered (with the help of the security guys) that I still had the forbici that I’d taken to the post office yesterday stuck in a side pocket of my purse. And my belt and boots set off the alarms. And I’d forgotten to take the plastic bag of liquids out of the other bag. And I nearly left my laptop behind. But other than that… a piece of cake!

    So, after a mercifully uneventful flight, landing and trip across London, I am packing and re-packing with post-Bonfire Night fireworks crackling around the neighbourhood, and there’s still too damned much stuff to take for a month in the castle. But I will get there. Ciao for now!

  • Masters of Food Culture

    So: we’ve done it, and here’s the proof… with the sad exceptions of Marta, Louisa and Donghyun who could not join us, being in the other three of the four corners of the world.

    We’d caught that Colorno bus – here crossing Ponte Caprazucca just for us – one last time yesterday morning…

    Climbed the stairs to our second floor hang-out…

    And then had a subdued graduation ceremony, probably due to the late night revelries that preceded this particular morning after. There were speeches, from absent friends – Carlo Petrini was in Mexico warming up for the Slow Food world congress…

    Unisg’s director Carlo Catani, and Slow Food Italy president Roberto Burdese

    After some frolicking in the garden with our diplomas, taking pictures

    and being taken,

    we returned to enjoy a Spigaroli buffet –

    all our old friends were there, the king of culatello, Massimo Spigaroli himself

    and lots of lardo,

    a veritable blizzard of that puffy and insubstantial bread of Emilia Romagna…

    a complete dearth of vegetable matter… ah, Italia.

    So, thus fortified, dispersed to various napping venues where we readied ourselves for the last night party which I left around 1.30 I think, the dancing queens showing how it is possible to keep trim and limber over a year of food studies.

    And now it’s all done, and we’ll spend the next few days securing the profitability of Poste Italiane before disappearing into new lives out there in the four corners of the food world.

    On the way home this morning from another expensive trip to the post office, I had a farewell visit to my favourite Pugliese specialities shop where I have been buying quantities of taralli over the past few months. It was gratifying to realise I was able, after a year! to exchange a few Italian pleasantries with the shopkeeper. She was thunderstruck when I told her I would miss taralli when I was back in Canada – it hadn’t occurred to her these weren’t a staple food everywhere, I guess. Hers are particularly good so even if I do find a version elsewhere, well, it certainly won’t be the same. There’s the inescapable fact that food just tastes different in different settings: so here, with foodie classmates, in a land with well established food traditions, everything will taste quite different than it might on the most carefully-provisioned table in London or Victoria.

    So, I prepare to leave with the sadness I’d feel leaving anywhere I’ve lived for a year. Lots to miss in the new food habits I’ve been cultivating. We’ve all noticed dramatic increases in the quantity of olive oil we consume. I’ve developed quite an Acacia honey habit. The fresh buffalo mozzarella, oh what can compare? And here’s one of my absolute delights: Visner di Pergola:

    We had something like this in Le Marche, called Visciolato, a dark cherry wine made from the local sour cherries, Visciole. I would love the chance to taste that wine side-by-side with this one, which is absolutely delicious. It tastes like pure cherry juice, with a little kick of alcohol to warm it all the way down. Oh my my my my my.

    And, yes, the taralli, oh the taralli.

Book cover of Rhona McAdam's book Larder with still life painting of lemons and lemon branches with blossoms in a ceramic bowl. One of the lemons has a beed on it.

“…A beautiful, filling collection, Larder is a set of poems to read at the change of the seasons, to appreciate alongside a good meal, and to remind yourself of the beauty in everything, even the things you may not appreciate before opening McAdam’s collection….”

Alison Manley

Rhona McAdam is a writer, poet, editor, and Registered Holistic Nutritionist with a Master’s in Food Culture from Italy and a deep-rooted passion for ecology and urban agriculture. Her work spans corporate and technical writing to poetry and creative nonfiction, often exploring the vital links between what we eat and how we live. Based in Victoria, BC, and available via Zoom, Rhona is always open to new writing commissions, readings, or workshops on nutrition and the culinary arts.