More ridiculousness

Tom has a fever. Immense comic relief is coming in spades from the next room however. Oliver and Jack are singing "I'm so glad that Shabbat is here" but arguing over the words. We are not Jewish and it is not Shabbat so the argument is particularly absurd. They are such good little brothers and so funny. I do wish they would get the eff to sleep though.

It's a family affair...

The ludicrous contagion persists. Now my dad is sick. Isn't this ridiculous? I've not left the apartment today; heck, I've rarely left the bed. Thanks to my dad's early bravado, my amazing hubby, and my dear mom, the boys had a great day: the secret passages tour, the Ponte Vecchio, pastries, a long walk around the city, a major bubble bath after coming home from all those activities looking and smelling like Dickensian street urchins, and now a completely age-inappropriate movie -as far as I can tell from what I'm hearing- Percy Jackson and the Olympians. Ah well. While out and about, T went by my favorite panificcio, La Pagnotta, and brought me a mess of coccoli, "little balls" of bread. They are perfectly buttery, perfectly salty and all-around addictive. I got a few down and was happy they stayed there.

Have you read Blood, Bones and Butter, by Gabrielle Hamilton? She's the chef/owner of Prune, a NYC spot that opened more than a decade ago. Anyway, if you need a good read, it's a "can't be put down" sort of book. She is wildly, searingly open and honest, and I'm glad we're not in the same family. Her work ethic is beyond reproach and you've got to hand it to her in that regard. Really engaging book- I finished it on the plane ride to Venice, and as there is much in the book about her time spent in Puglia, it was a good way to get excited about Italian food and cooking. Hopefully I can enjoy more of both soon!

S-T-ruggling

Last night was not the way I'd envisioned my first evening in Florence would be spent. I am serious y'all, I threw up every hour on the hour until 4a; I feel totally wiped out right now, have not yet managed to get out of bed (it's noon), and as such, had to miss the Secret Passages tour we'd scheduled. It would have been really cool but I'm glad that Tom and the boys still went and that my dad took my place. Can you believe I've eaten nothing in Florence yet except the frutti di bosco yogurt I'm slowly, carefully consuming now? This feels rather tragic, but as one friend noted, it seems clear that all Venetian excesses have been voided. Dio mio. I hope whatever's going on soon says arrivederci because right now, the thought or view of most everything is totally vile.