Wielki, miedzynarodowy przeboj! Ponad 8 milionow sprzedanych kopii! Musisz miec! Koniecznie przeczytaj! I... coz - kupilam. Na szczescie tanio, bo na e-bay.
Jakie wrazenia? Powiem tak: srednio czytam ksiazke 2 do 3 dni. Niezaleznie od okolicznosci, zajec i stanu ducha, czy kieszeni (wplywajacego, nawiasem mowiac, dosc znaczaco na ducha:)). 'Eat pray love' czytalam ponad 2 miesiace... I nie moglam skonczyc. I nie moglam sie przekonac... Sama nie wiem dlaczego? Moze to zawiedzione oczekiwania? Bo jesli ktos, w tym ja, spodziewa sie czegos w rodzaju sagi 'Nad rozlewiskiem' Malgorzaty Kalicinskiej, z wtraconymi tu i owdzie przepisami i pomyslami, to sie, jak ja, rozczaruje. Ksiazka jest przyjemna. Zawiera duzo zyciowych prawd. Takich dotyczacych dnia codziennego i kryzysow, ktore teoretycznie moga znalezc sie w zyciu kazdego. Albo raczej kazdej :) Ale... Coz, odkladalam i nie mialam motywacji, zeby wrocic.
O samym jedzeniu? Niewiele tak naprawde:
''I need to make some friends. So I got busy with it, and now it is October and I have nice assortment of them. I know two Elizabeths in Rome now, besides myself. Both are American, both are writers. The first Elizabeth is a novelist and the second Elizabeth is a food writer. With an apartment in Rome, a house in Umbria, an Italian husband and a job that requires her to travel around Italy eating food and writing about it for Gourment, it appears that second Elizabeth must have saved a lot of orphans from drowning during a previous lifetime. Unsurprisingly, she knows all the best places to eat in Rome, including a gelateria that serves a frozen rice pudding (and if they don't serve this kind of thing in heaven, then I really don't want to go there). She took me out to lunch the other day, and what we ate included not only lamb and truffles and carpaccio rolled around hazelnut mousse but exotic little serving of pickled lampascione, which is - as everyone knows - the bulb of wild hyacinth.''
''I was with Luca yhe first time I ever tried eating the intestines of a newborn lamb. This is a Roman speciality. Food-wise, Rome is actually a pretty rough town, known for its coarse traditional fare like guts and tongues - all the parts of the animal the rich people up north throw away. My lamb intestines tasted OK, as long as I didn't think too much about what they were. They were served in a heavy, buttery, savory gravy that itself was terrific, but the intestines had a kind of... well... intestinal consistency. Kind of like liver, but mushier. I did well with them until I started trying to think how I would describe this dish, and I thought, It doesn't look like intestines. It actually looks like tapeworms. Then I pushed it aside and asked for a salad.
'You don't like it' asked Luca, who loves this stuff.
'I bet Gandhi never ate lamb intestines in his life,' I said.
'He could have.'
'No, he couldn't have, Luca. Gandhi was a vegetarian.'
'But vegetarian can eat this,' Luca insisted. 'Because intestines aren't even meat, Liz. They're just shit.''
:):):):))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))
''Pizzeria da Michele is a small place with only two rooms and one non-stop oven. It's about fifteen-minute walk from the train station in the rain, don't even worry about it, just go. You need to get there fairly early in the day because sometimes they run out of dough, which will break your heart. By 1.00PM, the streets outside the pizzeria have become jammed with Neapolitans trying to get into the place, shoving for access like they're trying to get space on a lifeboat. There's not a menu. They have only two varietes of pizza here - regular and extra cheese. None of this new age southern California olives-and-sun-dried-tomato wannabe pizza twaddle. The dough, it takes me half my meal to figure out, tastes more like Indian nan then like any pizza dough I ever tried. It's soft and chewy and yielding, but incredibly thin. I always thought we only had two choices in our lives when it came to pizza crust - thin and crispy, or thick and doughy. How was I to have known there could be a crust in this world that was thin and doughy? Holy of holies! Thin, doughy, strong, gummy, yummy, chewy, salty pizza paradise. On top, there is sweet tomato sauce that foams up all bubbly and creamy when it melts the fresh buffalo mozzarella, and the one spring of basil in the middle of the whole deal somehow infuses the entire pizza with herbal radiance, much the same way one shimmering movie star in the middle of the party brings a contact high of glamour to everyone around her. It's technically impossible to eat this thing of course. You try to take a bite off your slice and the gummy crust folds, and the hot cheese runs away like topsoil in a landslide, makes a mess of you and your surroundings, but just deal with it.
The guys who make this miracle happen are shoveling the pizzas in and out of the wood-burning oven, looking for all the world like the boilermen in the belly of a great ship who shovel coal into the raging furnaces. Their sleeves are rolled up over their sweaty forearms, their faces red with exertion, one eye squinted against the heat of the fire and a cigarette dangling from the lips. Sofie and I each order another pie - another whole pizza each - and Sofie tries to pull herself together, but really, the pizza is so good we can barely cope.''
Poza tym opisany jest jeszcze jeden ciekawy - nie wiem na ile autentyczny - przypadek, ktory bardzo, ale to bardzo oburzyl mojego meza :) Otoz, juz w koncowce swojej podrozy, mieszkajac na Bali, autorka zaprzyjaznila sie z tamtejsza szamanka (?)-zielarka. I uslyszala taka historie:
Spoleczenstwo balijskie jest patriarchalne. Panem i wladca jest mezczyzna. Kobieta przechodzi tylko z domu ojca do domu meza. Przy czym 'do domu' jest pojeciem wzglednym, bo chodzi raczej o male skupisko domow, polaczonych jednym podworkiem, a zamieszkalych przez roznych, nalezacych do rodziny, pociotkow, kuzynow, wujow itd. Jezeli gdzies po drodze zdarzaja sie jakiekolwiek problemy i dochodzi do ewentualnego rozwodu, kobieta zostaje poza nawiasem spoleczenstwa i skazana sama na siebie - do domu rodzinnego nie ma powrotu, wsparcia od rodziny bylego meza nie otrzymuje. Jakie problemy? Takie jak i wszedzie na swiecie: alkoholizm, przemoc, hazard, ale takze i bezplodnosc. Ktorej winna moze byc tylko i wylacznie kobieta. Jesli rzeczywiscie 'winna' jest kobieta, to maly problem, mozna wyleczyc. Ale co, jesli mezczyzna? Takiemu miniaturowemu macho, ktory sprawuje wladze niemal nad zyciem i smiercia zony, nikt nie odwazy sie powiedziec, ze wina lezy po jego stronie. Co wiec robi zielarka? Informuje szanownego meza, ze... bezplodna jest kobieta. Ze problem da sie rozwiazac, ale zona bedzie musiala przychodzic przez kilka tygodni po swiezo zrobione ziolowe remedia. A potem? Potem zielarka wynajmuje jednego z przyjezdnych kierowcow, ktorych kreci sie sporo w okolicy. Po 9 miesiacach rodzi sie sliczna dzidzia (oni tam wszystcy ciemnowlosi i ciemnoocy, wiec problemow wielkich nie ma) i wszyscy sa szczesliwi...
I teraz tak - moj maz byl oburzony na te dykteryjke do dna swego jestestwa. 'Jak tak mozna?! I co, taki chlopina wychowuje nie swoje dziecko?! A mysli, ze swoje?!' Ja na to, ze duza szansa, ze on by nie zrozumial sytuacji, obrazil sie smiertelnie, a zone na przyklad zabil. A moj maz? 'Ale trzeba sprobowac, bo moze by nie zabil...' :):):)))))))))
Pomijajac elementy rozrywkowe opowiastki i szczere oburzenie mojego meza, to cala historia jest dosc trudna. Bo co tak naprawde zrobic? Zaryzykowac konfrontacje, nawet jesli istnieje tylko ulamek szansy, ze kobieta zostanie wyrzucona poza nawias, pobita, a moze i zabita? Kto wezmie na siebie taka odpowiedzialnosc? Jaki procent szansy to o ten jeden procent za duzo?
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