Blond-haired Dutch boy celebrating his fifth birthday.
I first spotted Pape “Nene” Ndiaye climbing up a perillous ridge on his way back to his bunker/studio with a bucket of fresh fish and mussels.
On top of the bunker — actually a gun emplacement from early colonial times — was daubed, “Fucking forbidden”. It would have been quite an experience nonetheless, overlooking a 200 foot drop to the surf-smashed rocks below.
Inside the bunker, I met Pape crouching over a little fire, cooking large mussels in a covered pan. The space was full of smoke and the ceiling was blackened, but I was immediately drawn to the large paintings on the cement walls … (to be posted when I have some free time)
My three-hour ragù joined the risotto base at 5 pm, sat cooling while I made today’s dinner (pork and apple stew). Once the little ones were abed, I set up a super supplì production line, trying to recapture the memory of our years in Rome.
Can’t wait to hear the reactions tomorrow, at our four-team, twelve-tapas Xmas dinner.
I’m entering my supplì in the “Best Italian starter with rice” category
We were woken by the sound of horse hooves early this morning, as ring riders from the surrounding villages brought their horses to town for the second Folkloric Day of the year: the Regional Ringriding Championship.
Competitors ride bareback on huge draft horses at full gallop, while attempting to spear a tiny ring suspended above the sand track. There are 30 rounds, with the size of the ring decreasing progressively, down to only 2 cm diameter at the end of the day.