I realize that I have not written in almost a week, and really I have no excuse. I guess it's just cause nothing has really been going on.

Last Wednesday I made ajvar, the spicy Serbian red pepper spread. I broiled halved red and yellow bell peppers and spicy chilies till their skins where black, then let them steam in a covered bowl. The roasted eggplant was so soft that I could scoop it out of it's rubbery skin like avocado, and I tweaked the recipe just a bit to include sweet, chewy roasted garlic instead of fresh, the cloves popping, steaming and golden, right out of their husky paper. Fresh basil, a little apple cider vinegar, salt and a secret pinch of definitely-not-recipe-regulation cilantro went in the food processor with the meaty vegetables, and the result was absolutely blissful. I hopped about on one foot stealing ajvar from the jar by the spoonful, waiting for FL to come home and see how miraculous I am in the kitchen. He was beyond impressed, said that it was hands-down the best ajvar he's ever had, and insisted that we take it to the opening night party at Porchis.

Cut to, then, Thursday night. I had arrived earlier than FL with my friend Nadia, the witty blond bombshell and co-owner of Porchis that I crushed relentlessly on for the entirety of last summer. She has recently given birth to her second baby girl, also blond and gorgeous, with huge, laughing blue eyes like her mama. Poor Nadia now has a new born and a 2 year old, and between the colic and the teething her sleep schedule is out of whack, if not nonexistent, and she finds the late afternoons the only possible time that both of her little bundles are in any condition to leave the house. So, a couple of afternoons a week, I ride my bike over there, we pack the kiddies up in their strollers, and take them out for some fresh air. Nadia! What a champ! She has never yet missed a Porchis opening/closing party before, and the hell-stations of post-childbirth and the imminent threat of rain were not about to stop her this time. She squeezed herself gallantly into the same damned jeans she was wearing in high school, ran her fingers through her golden locks, pinched her cheeks for some color, and we loaded the little girls into the car, the new born riding in my arms (soooooooo Britney Spears, it cracked me up). We drove the 1 mile down the road at 4 miles an hour, being passed on both sides by elderly Italian grandpas out for their evening stroll, and arrived at Porchis to find the party already in full swing.

FL came in after a bit, jar of ajvar in his hand, and, as we often do, we took a seat at the table by the window, and reenacted the scene in which we first met. Basically, the point of this is to be cutesy while discussing what to drink, and it never fails, we always take the same route: Sauvignon for me, a Lasko for him. It is as though not a day went by, Porchis is just the same. The opening night party is a kick-off for autumn, the grill outside cooking sausages and thick slices of pancetta, polenta and pounded breasts of veal. Pasta with ragu' is cooked in a giant pot and handed over to the people to devour communally. There are fresh olives and loaves of bread, cheese and all the cured ham one could ever want or need, house wine and imported beer. As far as I am concerned, one could not ask for more in a good party. The ajvar was devoured, slathered over grilled meats, and requests for more were made by anyone who could stand the heat.

The weekend was quiet. We took a date night to Udine Saturday, to see the new Sophia Coppola and have dinner. In bed by midnight.

Yesterday afternoon I got a call from a lady who asked for English lessons, and I rode over to her house to chat and figure out a good time to make a real appointment. She started off by explaining that she needs to speak English for her job, which is some sort of import/export thing having to do with vitamin supplements. One thing led to another, and she invited me to go to a conference with her and her family this weekend in Venice. There would be people from all over the world, she explained, including America, and it would be a good opportunity for me to meet some of the Italians who would in future need help with translating. She would get me a hotel room, she said, and there would be a wonderful black tie dinner on Friday night, what fun! Also, my compensation would be 500 euro, the standard, she said, for a weekend conference. My mind started to spin with the mathematical reality of 500 euro, $700 US, for attending a black tie dinner Friday night, sleeping at a hotel in Venice, walking about with this lady on Saturday, doing whatever it is that people at Corporate Conferences do (seminars, product demonstrations, lectures, etc?) and translating back and forth between her and the Americans, and then having brunch Sunday before heading back to Cormons. Seemed like a good gig to me, so I told her sure, I'd be happy to go.

Who knows who I'll meet? Or where this will lead. At least for now it takes some of the stress of not having the cash to get my camera repaired away. And it'll give me a little bounce for my trip to Sicily next week.

So la la la, I am skilled and jobs abound!