I had a small pizza party with friends to celebrate my birthday on the weekend. Yes, it was all very casual, and yes, I've turned 36 (shhh!) and still can't cook to save myself.
Apparently pizza was first created in Naples, Italy, back in 1889, but we, ahem, just got ours at Hearts Pizzeria down the road.
Yes, too, the party was held in the shed. But as my sis says, Italians don't see just a shed but a possible 100-person reception venue. Yup, we clean our houses like maniacs then make people dine out amid the corrugated iron. Maybe I'm more Italian than I think, after all...
For a while now I've had a novel idea bubbling around in my head. One that involved my Italian ancestry and market gardening heritage. And this is the year I'm actually putting my fingers to the keyboard.
The research will be ongoing while I write the book. Like the heroine, I'm going to learn to cook traditional recipes, so that my specialties extend beyond two-minute noodles (my hubby's the chef in our casa!), and try to work out what my family's connection to the land is all about.
I've been laughed at before in Rome's airport for having such an Italian name and looks and barely speaking a word of the language. So this is my year to live up to my name!
The battered suitcase, above, which sits in our hallway, is meant to look like a trendy décor piece you might find in a home-wares shop, but it also has personal meaning. It's what my nonno brought with him on the boat from Italy when migrating to Australia - effectively changing the course of the generations to follow him. (Check out the snap of my grandparents being wed in war-torn Italy, below.)
My husband, James Elsby, will be taking the photos and videos along my journey. Hope you'll drop in every and now again and see how we're faring! Until next time xx (baci)
Finding my inner peasant...