The Girl Who Ate Everything

GO trains

Kat and I woke up somewhat late (which is when we naturally wake up without the use of alarm clocks) last Thursday, meaning that we ended up in Toronto...eh, closer to dinner time than lunch time. Which meant one less meal to enjoy in Toronto. But don't worry; we still ate more than we should've. Where'd we go first?

Rehab

...Um, not Toronto Rehab...

[Preface something or other: To all the people who didn't know I was in Toronto, possibly by your doorstep, I'm sorry I didn't make it a bigger announcement. I kind of just squeezed it in at the end of the Arizona entries so I could tell myself that I HAD mentioned it. In passing. Which is rather sneaky, I suppose.

[...And lastly, I'm going to Bologna in a week and will be staying there from the 11th to the 27th with little trips in between to other parts of Italy, if all goes well. I highly doubt any of my readers live in Bologna, but if you do then this is just a head's up. I AM WARNING YOU NOW, I AM A COMING, TOOT TOOT GOES THE ROBYN TRAIN, yeah okay.]

Last Friday Kat and I met up with my Internet friend (made through music, not food) Michelle at the Eglinton subway stop. At a scheduled time. Meaning that we arrived in Toronto before 4 PM, unlike the previous day. Most importantly, this means we had more time to eat stuff.

Nothing says "first meal of the day" like gelato. In fact, gelato has many meanings—"last meal of the day," "second meal of the day," "midnight snack," "breakfast," "reward for running on the treadmill for 30 minutes," etc.

GELATO!

Which is how we ended up at Il Gelatiere. Or maybe that was because of my incessant pleas of, "LET'S GET GELATO YOU GUYZ!" It could've been a combination of the two, you know. Not all fooding happens just because I order my friends to give into my demands by verbally poking them. Over and over again. IN CAPS.

Kat and I arrived in Toronto on Saturday around 5PM. Or...a little bit later, probably. While waiting in the Sheridan bus shelter to head to the GO station we weren't even sure if it was worth going in so late, but without any planning it ended up being the most interesting day of the week. Things turn out that way sometimes.

Crazy car

I directed us to Kensington Market, an area just west of Chinatown known for food and shops and pot. ...Probably more for food, but there are stores there that you definitely won't find in NYC. It vaguely reminded me of Camden Town in London, a colorful mishmash of...lots of stuff that you don't usually find elsewhere.

Unfortunately for us, this area is kind of dead on a cloudy Saturday afternoon. Oops. Well, we still had a nice quiet stroll around the area.

[Intro: Today I welcome The Amateur Gourmet as he stops by on his virtual book tour! Canada isn't over yet—I still have a final entry, which will go up this weekend.]

Nothing is more frustrating, more anger-inducing than laboring over a dinner that explodes in your oven, that mocks your goodwill and your hunger, that makes you never want to cook again.

Yeah. Hell yeah. YEEAAAHHH! [shoots a virtual pistol into virtual space, killing a virtual bird]

Adam Roberts, aka The Amateur Gourmet, knows what he's talking about in the introduction to his new book, The Amateur Gourmet: How to Shop, Chop, and Table Hop Like a Pro (Almost). I can't tell you how many times I've cooked something, taken a bite of the offensive result after an hour of labor and thought, "Well, this tastes like crap. But I will swallow my pride and eat this tasteless atrocity borne forth from my untrained hands. ...After which I will sit in that corner over there and sob a little while pondering the uselessness of my life."

Of course, Adam doesn't end there. Or else his book would've been really short and depressing.

"Happy birthday!" said Kat as she looked over to me from her bed.

I did what now...oh, that!

"Thanks. I FORGOT."

I've forgotten my birthday before. These things happen when you're prostrated on an inflato-bed. I also think birthdays cease to be sources of happy-fun-joy once you leave the shackles of compulsory education. Up until then you were young, but after you hit the mark of 18 years old everything goes downhill. There might be a grace period, some kind of plateau between the major stages of your life in the form of sleeping and watching TV excessively, but it tends to happen pretty quickly. When I was 18 turning 22 seemed so far away—now that I'm 22 I feel like I'll be 28 in no time. And then 30. And then wondering where my unborn children are.

My birthday was only mildly exciting. A part of me thinks, "Who cares that I am counting off another year to my death?" while another part thinks, "This is the only day of the year when it's all about YOU...and the millions of other people with the same birthday." The actual day of my birthday was uneventful since I spent its entirety on the train back to New York, a trip that took something like 14 hours. Sure, it was comfortable and productive, but...no. I learned an important lesson during the trip—going through customs will always take longer than you think it will. And it's all just to piss you off since, really, what dangerous stuff is being transferred between the US and Canada? Don't answer that—I'd rather be ignorant.

So Kat and I celebrated my birthday the day before my real birthday (which is August 27th). How did we celebrate?

UPDATE: I MIGHT NOT HAVE A PROBLEM WITH THE POWER THING! It depended on whether my macbook adapter was dual voltage and...um, I dont think it is. I dont have a grounded power adapter thing, just the ungrounded kind. One guy told me I dont need the grounded while another woman said it might fry the adapter. Im leaning towards the unfrying option, or thats what I want to believe, so..um, ill let you know if that happens and ah crap i have 4 minutes of internet left on this card, okay bye, and thanks so much if you emailed me with advice, YAYAYA OKAY GOTTA GO TOODS

Just so you know I'm not dead, this is a note to tell you that I'm here. But...

1. No wifi.

But worse...

2. I forgot my three prong to two prong converter. Meaning that I can't really use my computer unless I want the battery to die now. Meaning that I'm hardly using my computer except to dump my photos onto. Meaning that I probably won't blog for a while unless someone can tell me where in Bologna I can get one of those converters or an Apple travel power kit. There's an Apple reseller store here but they closed before I could check it out today. (Most shops close on Thursday here.) And there's no guarantee they would even have the thing I'm looking for. I actually went there the other day to ask if they had a European power cord and they do...for about 90 euros. I want to know if they have just the plug bit, which is cheaper. Kind of a long shot, but whatever.

I did look into getting my mum to mail me the converter from home but it would cost about $60. Probably not worth it. I may as well buy the super pricey European thing and resell it later.

If I were in the US I'd go to Radioshack. ...Of course they don't exist here, so I'm out of ideas and I kind of doubt I can find something meant for North American consumers anyway.

So yeah. Don't ask how I could be so dumb as to forgot the converter. I have a gazillion of the regular two prong to European converters, which are pretty useless now.

If you have any suggestions on where I can procure magic converter thingy please email me. Otherwise I'm kinda stuck for now. Thank god I at least found a nice Internet cafe.

OH, I've had gelato three times so far and each time was wonderful. Today Diana, Morten and I are meeting up with Kåre and shall continue having happy fun times.

But it would be happier if I could TYPE BLOG ENTRIES! Which you will not see for a while.

Thanks for listening to my dumb rant. I'm glad to be here safe and sound, of course. :D The buildings are beautiful and the weather is almost perfect (a little on the hot and sweaty side) and there's lots of gelato and prettiness and you have to use plastic gloves when you pick fruit at the supermarket, which is interesting, or makes the US feel oh so dirty.

Oh, if anyone wants Compeeds (those European foot blister preventing things that I have yet to find in the US) let me know and I'll get ye some. I plan on hoarding a few.

Somewhere in Bologna

So I'm here. YEAH. Okay, you knew that already.

Thanks to Sara, who is currently being the best host ever to Diana, Morten, Kare and me in Milan, I got to upload some photos. You must LOOK AT THEM, YES?

This won't be a post about much except that I'm alive and that there's photographic evidence of that. Check out Morten's photos of more Bologna action.

So, about the plug thing. I was going to write this long post about how I'm a moron to save you and anyone else from pointing it out to me, but basically I'm a moron and I thought my MacBook power adapter would explode out of its ass (aka "assplode") if I used the wrong plug thinger. After a failed attempt to find said plug thinger, I checked out the adapter's specifications online and saw that it had variable voltage and would thus probably not assplode with my two prong thingy. Yadda yadda yadda Robyn is a moron haha point and laugh and stuff okay.

BLAH BLAH BLAH OKAY let's forget this. Maybe. My friends are really nice so they've kinda joked about me dragging them throughout Bologna for a plug adapter that didn't exist (or that I didn't need, more like) but I know deep down inside they're thinking, "OMG ROBYN, DUMBASS!" I'm saying it for them so they don't have to feel bad about saying it to my face.

Anyhoo, thanks again to those who gave me advice! I knew you'd pull through. Thank you for acting non-crazy when I can't help to act...crazy.

Okay, we gotta go to sleep now. Morten and Kåre are sleeping on the same little air mattress and it's one of the funniest things I've ever seen. I'm quite certain that neither of them will be on the mattress in the morning having given into the "laws of air displacement of air mattresses when slept on by two full grown weegies."

UPDATE (9/28): Thanks for...uh, more comments and recs and whatnot! Unfortunately the Florence recommendations were too late. :[ I didn't really go to Florence to stuff myself though, so I don't feel like I missed out on too much. Much happiness was had when Morten, Kåre and I got our juicy chunk-o Florentine steak. Too bad the Uffizi Gallery was closed. Haha! Ha!

There shall be a next time—I can feel it.

Oh, I didn't go to Grom. I had loads of chances. Hell, I didn't even know they had one in Bologna. But I went to the one in NYC and I figured that even though the one in Italy may taste a little better, I would rather go to gelaterias I could only go to in Italy. Makes sense?

I don't think I did well with the "bringing stuff back home from Italy" thing. Kinda overlooked all the olive oil. And other good things. Uh...I failed.

I'm home now. Kinda sucks. Sucks because I'm not in Italy and because I think I've only edited less than half of my photos and...oh god, don't get me started on the blog entries. I have about four completed out of a bucketload. I should have the first "real" entry up soon.

UPDATE (9/24): Thanks for your prompt replies! Damn, you're all awesome. Right now I'm in Florence killing time before Morten, Kare and I eat some DELICIOUS FAMOUS STEAK or something. Yeah. It'll be all kinds of awesome. You'll probably read about it in a month at the rate that I'm blogging. (I've so far written ONE complete entry. Kid you not. Just don't have the time, unfortunately, besides that I've edited less than half of my photos since there are piles and piles of them.)

I don't think I'll risk my lump of mortadella being seized; I'll just...eat more while I'm here. Yesterday I had a pizza with mortadella, mozzarella, mushrooms and rocket on it. Sweet jesus, that was good. And then I had flan. And gelato. And a tiny stomach explosion.

But you can read more about that laterrr. To sum up everyone's advice, meat is definitely not allowed but if you hide it well you might be able to sneak it in. Hard cheeses and wines are okay. I think I'll bring back chocolates, cookies, things in jars and the like (non-meats). I quite like the chocolate Stella cookie things I got at the grocery store. Yes...shall buy more of that...

Tina pointed out a very useful Chowhound thread about what you can or cannot bring into the US. Take a gander at it if this subject concerns you at all. YOU DON'T WANT TO INFECT US AGRICULTURE, DO YEW? Don't let the terrorists win.

As for mailing things to the US that you can't bring on the plane, you may be able to do this but I've heard that the Italian post office ships things just a hair faster than the Pony Express. This disturbs me, but I guess that's what UPS is for.

Okay, I have about 10 minutes left in this Internet center so I'm gonna skedaddle now. Thanks so much again for your advice!

------ORIGINAL ENTRY------

Still here!

Does anyone know what kind of food I can or cannot bring back from Italy? Like if I want to, can I bring back a huge thing of mortadella? :D :D :D Or...um...yeah.

Thanks for any info you guys can give me. NOW I MUST GO EAT PIZZA.

[Note: This entry is about September 11th. I'm back home now. Yay.]

Sweat. Lots of sweat.

Bolognan rooftop

That's what Diana and I were covered in (our own respective bodily emissions, that is) after dragging our belongings from the main train station in Bologna to Hotel Panorama, where we would spend one night before meeting up with Morten the following day and moving into a short-term rental apartment. We were supposed to get off at a stop on Via Ugo Bassi, the main road that slices through the middle of the city center, but I assumed that other people from the airport would get off there, thus giving us the cue to exit the bus and until then allowing me to stare blankly out the window.

Of course, they didn't do that. Just about everyone got off at the train station, which is at the northwest corner of the city. The bus driver told me it would take about 10 minutes to walk to our hotel from there, which in Robyn-time translates to 30 minutes while slowly dragging my luggage over cobbly sidewalks and under the neverending arcades, or portici. My luggage came with some kind of "Leg Brusing" function so that because of it short handle the bottom of the luggage kept knocking into my leg, giving me the sensation that I was being followed by a partially blind dog who was adept at keeping my leg in view but couldn't see where "space" ended and "calf muscle" began. Trying to escape the wrath of my luggage as it attempted to roll me over while constantly switching the luggage handle from right to left hand in order to prevent blister formation probably contributed to the extended walking time.

First stop: Gelateria Gianni.

Unfortunately, it was closed. Apparently most people don't eat gelato before noon. Dammit. I suppose that if gelato were meant to be part of a balanced breakfast it would've squeezed its way into the world of "Stuff That's Marketed As Breakfast Foods For Kids But Is More Likely To Give Them ADD Than Any Real Nutrition."

Still, dammit. I'm not a kid anymore. I can make adult decisions, such as how to nutritionally unbalance my day.

Yay, gelato!

Walking around

Diana and I wandered around the little streets just north of the center, not looking for anything in particular, when we came across Gelateria Delle Moline. And it was...open. I expressed my gratitude by sharply sucking in air, followed by a gasp of, "OMG GELATO," whilst my eyes went through the motions of "bugging out." Apparently this gelateria thought gelato was part of a balanced breakfast. I concur.

Actually, I wasn't very hungry at the moment. Not having grown up eating breakfast, my stomach tends to squirm funnily and change from "vessel of frothy digestion" to "empty vacuum that fails to desire food" at the thought of eating before lunchtime (something that changed over the course of the vacation while being surrounded by breakfast lovers, those metabolically unchallenged bastards). I thought I would just take note of the gelateria as a place to revisit later, but Diana (yeah, that Diana!) nudged me into gelato submission.

...Not that it took much nudging or anything.

Tortellini, everywhere!

The bulbous tortellini babies in the window of Paolo Atti e Figli called out to me in a chorus of high, squeaky voices not unlike those of Alvin and the Chipmunks. "We are great in number! Only you can save us from overpopulation! YOU MUST DESTROY US! With your mouth."

I considered saving them from a future of starvation brought upon by overcrowding, but...I couldn't. For one thing, tortellini can't speak; I don't know what the hell I was hearing. More importantly, my tummy rumbled for something else. And that something was...