Now with added tongue

Bonjour fiends

I almost called today's post "I like a bit of tongue", but in a rare moment of self control and maturity I decided against it. But what am I referring to, I psychically hear you think? Well, in the spirit of all good dramas you'll have to wait until the end of this instalment to find out, or if you have the patience of a child, scroll down now.

But first, here are the dramatic pictures of the mareggiata (sea storm)I teased you with last time around:

They're pretty cool, I think you'll agree.
I said last time that I had bought myself a Genoa scarf to ingratiate and infuriate in equal measures the Genoa and Sampdoria fans, respectively. On Thursday I joined the Fisia Genoa Supporters Club (they're one of the companies I teach at). Not only am I the first foreigner to join said club, which seemed to please them, I also have a nice wee membership card, a discount on Genoa tickets and one free game per season. Plus, I received another Genoa scarf! Now I can wrap up super warm in the cold nights and also have extra protection against any roaming vampires. I probably eat too much garlic to appeal to vampires, but one can never be to careful with one's mortal life.

On Thursday it was my partner-in-wine (get it?), Stevie's birthday, so we went out for a few beers to celebrate his ageing. We also saw Quantum of Solace, which was excellent. To be honest I didn't really get the plot, but my confusion was assuaged by lots of violence and the car chase in Italy at the start was cool. The strange thing is that, having been on the roads here, the driving didn't seem too reckless.
In the pub we were quietly having our Guinness' (Guinni?) when my eagle eyes spied some cash lying on the ground at the bar. After some careful positioning we collected a satisfying 35 Euros. In deference to the gods of luck, we toasted them several times with our windfall. I knew that returning the cash to the guy at the start of the week (see last post) would pay off. Who says karma doesn't exist? Stefano, aka Wolverine, the bar manager, treated us to some shooters in celebration of Stevie, which were really tasty. Needless to say, Friday was not my greatest day, but at least my students could get drunk of my fumes.

A couple of weeks ago me and the burd went to a castle to see a Buddhist art exhibition. The pictures were pretty cool, and a lot more fiery and scary than I imagined Buddhism to be. The owner of the castle lived about 100 years ago, and managed to plunder a surprising number of countries in his time. There was stuff from all over the world, with lots of pictures of him striking poses in front of bewildered natives. It was all rather interesting, and a welcome shot of kultcher.
To get to the castle you could walk, but as everyone here is lazy, they also have a public elevator. It's weird. You go in, and it trundles along a corridor. It gives the impression of a ghost ride at a theme park, so I half expected a witch/skeleton to drop from the ceiling with a tinny sound effect. You then stop and it starts going up, much like a regular lift. An ingenious, if strange, way to encourage public slothfulness.

And so, we reach the final act of today's blog.
I've had a couple of chats with students about eating tongue, so on Saturday I went out and bought one. It weighed in at a whopping kilo, so was a bit pricey, but thankfully it was real tasty. The trick is to boil it for hours with veg and then enjoy. I had it with some salsa verde which is a traditional sauce from Piemonte (the next region over), so thanks to Giovanni for the recipe.
Here are some pictures of it, both before the boiling. and then the serving:

I must admit, touching it was pretty awful as it was very texturey. Once it had been boiled I then had to peel it, which is as unpleasant as peeling a tongue sounds. But, the pay off was definitely in the eating. As I had so much of it, I've still got lots left, so made a soup from it and have also enjoyed one or two tongue sandwiches (pun intended).
I'm starting to feel pretty at home, but Stevie is packing his bags for the final time at Christmas and won't be coming back next year. This will obviously put a bit of a crimp on my stay, and certainly on my drinking. The latter might not be such a bad thing, but it won't be the same, as my social circle will be dramatically reduced. As my mind changes more regularly than Spurs managers, I don't know what I'm going to do in the coming year, but I'll certainly be coming back here for a few months at least.

That's me for now party people, until next time,
ciao.