After 2 weeks of driving the power of dreams, I am back driving the power to induce nightmare… Urrghhh
Anyway, to continue my trip down memory lane. This incident again happened in Florence. We stayed at the Holiday Inn, checking in on a Saturday afternoon after alighting from our train from Pisa. In Pisa Abang had his first ever taste of ice-cream, Hazelnut flavour, right in front of the leaning tower.
Anyway, on Sunday we woke up and joined the breakfast buffet. There were rows and rows and rows of bread in various shapes and sizes and colour and taste. I love bread and was in heaven.
But… the best thing was not the bread, but the presence of a cake stand with a beautiful gateau on it. I nudged Babah, open-mouthed and pointed at the cake. “Depa makan cake pagi-pagi, Babah !!” Kata orang Melayu yang perak ni.
The cake was delicious. Seriously, I have never tasted anything but delicious in Italy.
Biasalah, Babah and me. Little things can make our day, which is why the next day we woke up and thought about the luxury of eating cake for breakfast. It is not the cake really, but the novelty of it in the morning. I was picturing Italian mamas icing cakes at 7 am !
The journey from our room to the breakfast room was slow due to exchanges of Bonjorno and Ciao with the Italians and having to stop for them to admire Abang and pinch his cheeks and whatnots. But surprise, surprise… no cake ! Nada.
I thought we dreamt of the cake and Babah said maybe dah habis.
Okay.
But the next day and the day after, the cake was still missing which made me conclude that the Italians do not eat cakes during breakfast at all. Only on Sundays before church.
Or probably…It was yesterday’s cake and dah nak basi dah so bagi jelah makan for breakfast sebelum sempat basi tengahari. Dunno.
I was too segan to ask Ale (our friend, the loveliest, nicest person ever) about it though so it remained a mystery. Anybody knows ? (alah boleh aje kalau aku nak beli cake kat Concorde KL and belasah pagi Ahad ni… tapi tak best lah….)
Speaking of Ale, it reminded me of.. wow ! another food memory… He he… Our friend Tasren moved to Brighton for university after 2 years in Nottingham. That was where he met Ale. Anyway we missed him and he had been badgering us to come visit anyway. So one day, Babah and I packed our bags and off we went to Brighton, about 45 minutes from London.
Anyway, Brighton is lovely. I looooovvveee Brighton. The pebbly beaches, the cobbled streets with quaint shops lining it. I soooo love it. The houses were all built facing the sea and in perfect rows perching on top of hills.
I remember Brighton as sunny and bright and well, just plain lovely.
At the time of our visit, Ale had some friends from home with her, all with footballer’s name. Marco and Fabrizio and hmm…. Forgotten the other one. There was also Veronique who was French. That night, as a welcome to us, we had dinner at a nice Italian restaurant in town. The girls dolled up (I had to wear full make up because … well, I had to… keh keh) and off we went.
Actually, this incident should have better prepared us, Babah and myself, of what to expect when we go to Italy. At the restaurant we noticed that our new Italian friends (except for Ale) seemed to have ordered two plates of food each. One pasta and one meat or fish dish.
Babah and I checked out their impressive physiques and wondered where all the food will go. Tasren was baffled with the amount of food they asked for too. Since we were accustomed to the size of mat salleh’s food portion, as compared to ours, we just assumed the Italians have a bigger appetites than the Brits. But we still went, “Gila weii….” and “Boleh habih ka ?”
So when the pasta came, we were much surprised when the Italians were shocked to see their food. It was too much. Apparently, they were expecting the portion to be small, as an appetiser. Things are different in England though where pastas are strictly the main course.
(It appears that the pizzas are not the same either. We ordered some for lunch and Marco scrunched his face when he saw ours. He duly informed us that in Italy pizza toppings are usually tomatoes and mushrooms and pepperoni… Never chicken and pineapple…. Keh keh…. That man should try Pizza Express’ spinach and egg… Heaven..)
Watching them struggling to finish the veals and the fish was excruciating. But they did anyway. And ordered cappucino for afters. Amazing.
Anyway, to continue my trip down memory lane. This incident again happened in Florence. We stayed at the Holiday Inn, checking in on a Saturday afternoon after alighting from our train from Pisa. In Pisa Abang had his first ever taste of ice-cream, Hazelnut flavour, right in front of the leaning tower.
Anyway, on Sunday we woke up and joined the breakfast buffet. There were rows and rows and rows of bread in various shapes and sizes and colour and taste. I love bread and was in heaven.
But… the best thing was not the bread, but the presence of a cake stand with a beautiful gateau on it. I nudged Babah, open-mouthed and pointed at the cake. “Depa makan cake pagi-pagi, Babah !!” Kata orang Melayu yang perak ni.
The cake was delicious. Seriously, I have never tasted anything but delicious in Italy.
Biasalah, Babah and me. Little things can make our day, which is why the next day we woke up and thought about the luxury of eating cake for breakfast. It is not the cake really, but the novelty of it in the morning. I was picturing Italian mamas icing cakes at 7 am !
The journey from our room to the breakfast room was slow due to exchanges of Bonjorno and Ciao with the Italians and having to stop for them to admire Abang and pinch his cheeks and whatnots. But surprise, surprise… no cake ! Nada.
I thought we dreamt of the cake and Babah said maybe dah habis.
Okay.
But the next day and the day after, the cake was still missing which made me conclude that the Italians do not eat cakes during breakfast at all. Only on Sundays before church.
Or probably…It was yesterday’s cake and dah nak basi dah so bagi jelah makan for breakfast sebelum sempat basi tengahari. Dunno.
I was too segan to ask Ale (our friend, the loveliest, nicest person ever) about it though so it remained a mystery. Anybody knows ? (alah boleh aje kalau aku nak beli cake kat Concorde KL and belasah pagi Ahad ni… tapi tak best lah….)
Speaking of Ale, it reminded me of.. wow ! another food memory… He he… Our friend Tasren moved to Brighton for university after 2 years in Nottingham. That was where he met Ale. Anyway we missed him and he had been badgering us to come visit anyway. So one day, Babah and I packed our bags and off we went to Brighton, about 45 minutes from London.
Anyway, Brighton is lovely. I looooovvveee Brighton. The pebbly beaches, the cobbled streets with quaint shops lining it. I soooo love it. The houses were all built facing the sea and in perfect rows perching on top of hills.
I remember Brighton as sunny and bright and well, just plain lovely.
At the time of our visit, Ale had some friends from home with her, all with footballer’s name. Marco and Fabrizio and hmm…. Forgotten the other one. There was also Veronique who was French. That night, as a welcome to us, we had dinner at a nice Italian restaurant in town. The girls dolled up (I had to wear full make up because … well, I had to… keh keh) and off we went.
Actually, this incident should have better prepared us, Babah and myself, of what to expect when we go to Italy. At the restaurant we noticed that our new Italian friends (except for Ale) seemed to have ordered two plates of food each. One pasta and one meat or fish dish.
Babah and I checked out their impressive physiques and wondered where all the food will go. Tasren was baffled with the amount of food they asked for too. Since we were accustomed to the size of mat salleh’s food portion, as compared to ours, we just assumed the Italians have a bigger appetites than the Brits. But we still went, “Gila weii….” and “Boleh habih ka ?”
So when the pasta came, we were much surprised when the Italians were shocked to see their food. It was too much. Apparently, they were expecting the portion to be small, as an appetiser. Things are different in England though where pastas are strictly the main course.
(It appears that the pizzas are not the same either. We ordered some for lunch and Marco scrunched his face when he saw ours. He duly informed us that in Italy pizza toppings are usually tomatoes and mushrooms and pepperoni… Never chicken and pineapple…. Keh keh…. That man should try Pizza Express’ spinach and egg… Heaven..)
Watching them struggling to finish the veals and the fish was excruciating. But they did anyway. And ordered cappucino for afters. Amazing.
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