appy belated Easter chullos, or Buona Pasqua. My delay in writing today’s post was due to a night that will forever haunt me during moments of extended sunshine. You see, the Saturday before Easter Megs and I headed east for some much needed surf and sun. The waves were pumping, the water was just warm enough to go sans-suit (unlike the pansy locals in their full suits), and the sky was perfectly cluttered with foamy clouds as to deter direct sunlight.
Problem: You can still get your ass burnt in overcast weather. I’m not prone to getting sun burned, thanks to my olive oil complexion, but being the first trip of the year and waiting until late afternoon to apply had sever consequences…oh dear god.
Monday night, after a great Easter feast with Megs fam (as you’ll see below), I had the worst night of my quarter-century life. I’ll spare you the convulsing details, but what can only be described as excruciating torture was my 3rd case of Sun Poisoning, but by far the worst. After trying my hardest to power through the pain for 7 hours I broke and was forced to visit the ER where I “patiently” awaited heavy medication in the form of head-warming narcotics.
Long story short: I’m better, itchy, but better and I’ve got some great photos from Sunday before the storm, so enjoy:
Pizza Rustica, a family tradition, is a meat pie filled with various cuts of pork, salumi, ricotta, eggs, all wrapped in a pork-infused pastry crust. My favorite part of Easter, hands down.
Big P, Megs pops, asked me to roll out some gnocchi this year which we started working on around 12 that afternoon. We followed all the traditional steps, tho it’s not a tradition for either of our families (yet).
We boiled, riced, mixed, rolled, and rerolled to form hundreds of little gnocchi for the day’s primo course using the washer and dryer as a surplus station.
They looked perfect, rolled perfect, and boiled perfect but upon retrieval from their bubbling bath they were soggy, ultra soft, and tasted more of salted water than creamy potato…womp womp.
It was the wrong day to wiff on a recipe, and tho the famiglia assured me they were fine, I knew deep down they were damn terrible. I had chosen to follow a Calabrese recipe from a recently purchase cookbook, but I felt I had used enough flour to pull the dough together. Let this be a lesson – follow recipes that include flour quantities carefully! I’m not including the busted recipe I used because it sucked balls, but I’ll get it right – promise.
Luckily, Kathaloons, Megs ma, had prepared her usual Sagra of edibles including baked ham, grilled pineapple, grilled vegetables, sweet potatoes, etc.
Megs finished it off with a succulent wine cake, drunk and moist as a sailor on leave.
The pain is gone, the meal is over, and I’m going to bathe in sun block before paddling out next time…stupid sun with your harmful rays and flamboyant shininess.