Homemade pavlova: in Italy!

This post goes out to my Auntie Heather who was generous enough to furnish me with a copy of a recipe for homemade pavlova, which in turn comes from the mother of my Uncle Mal. Proving that homemade pavlova is a family affair.

It turns out that my Auntie Heather is a very generous cook who shares some of her kitchen secrets with an admiring but ignorant niece. These secrets will not be published in this blog for questions of intellectual property should we ever decide to publish a family cookbook.

One thing my aunt didn’t tell me, though, was what the hell cream of tartar is. An entire Google research project ensued, before I decided that Italians wouldn’t know what it is either, not having the baking tradition we’ve got, that I’d never find it here, and that it wasn’t essential to the recipe anyway (an arrogant assumption but that’s what I do when I find myself stuck; I decided not to substitute with white vinegar, though , a result of a second Google search “cream of tartar substitute”).

In the absence of passion fruit, which again the Italians have discovered only recently but are happy to mention and adopt in cocktails as a sign of being more cultured, I covered our pavlova with seasonal strawberries which this year have been marvellously sweet.

The homemade Aussie pavlova in Italy was a winner, despite it’s contorted shape (my aunt did a much better job in spreading it out over the oven tray than what I did) and I reckon this could be a crowd pleaser in the future as a quiet way of showing a foreign wife can do just as well in the kitchen as the locals. All thanks to the mother of my Uncle Mal and my Aunt Heather ;-)

As an aside, we managed to polish off all the bottles of moscato at our wedding (and we had overcatered!), but if you're looking for a sweet wine match, this is what you want - light, fragrant and fruity. Don't go with anything heavy or with botytris or you'll drown the delicate pavlova flavours.

Photo | Flickr

My slice of the Dolce Vita

Living in Italy is hard. You can forget all your stereotypes of Tuscan villas and the Dolce Vita, because most of us living like Italians don’t enjoy many of the ideas people have about Italian life.

This is my protest post to all of those who think I’m a stuck-up expat living a European dream. You’re no longer welcome at home, and you’re not wanted in your new adopted country either; and you yourself start to wonder where you belong, fiercely creating a home for yourself while questioning how you come across to others.

I have found, once again, the reality of being a foreigner a tough one to deal with, and the future will never be as prosperous as “back home”. Australia is the lucky country, and most Australians have no idea just how fortunate they are. Many of my friends, rather than expanding their own world, do nothing but bitch about my supposed snooty bitching about my fantastic new life.

Aside from the riches we’ll never have, you find racism around every corner, self justification becomes a daily activity and you constantly struggle with communities that lack variety and hope and prosperity. You’re faced with the world’s worst television and sending your kids to inferior high schools.

It would be exaggerated to say I grimly married knowing this reality, but you do wonder what kind of love brings you to live in a place that makes life hard for you. And you hope you didn’t do it so you can eternally indulge in self-pity in the future.

It’s not all bad, of course. Some of the mono-cultural habits of Italy are just why I like being here. We also have a beautiful landscape (although that doesn’t get you a job and food on the table). And I sometimes feel like the struggle means that I’m making more of a home for myself and getting back to some values that I may have lost along the way in a life too easy.

Talking to an American colleague of mine last week, we wisely decided to turn these things to our advantage. In fact, she taught me a very good lesson, saying that dwelling on the tough things about Italy only makes it more painful for her to be here and not there. I talked of getting away from our capitalist tendencies and accumulation of wealth for wealth’s sake, and she mentioned just making your nest and sitting on it. However small that might be.

So here’s to my new married life and those kind of values – ragù on Sundays and attempting Aussie recipes at home with a lack of ingredients. Perhaps I should introduce myself to the not-so-mono-cultural ethnic grocery store in town....

Photo | The view from our flat at dusk in winter