Ice cream

I meant to say, while we were in Sardinia, that it's deeply disappointing to find how much 'ice cream' has changed, even in Italian territory.  As with bread, the memories of what we could buy when I was a child are clearly irretrievable.

Italian ice-cream was world famous for its rich fruit content, bright colours, delicious taste and loyalty to an old tradition... there's even a music-hall song about an Italian ice-cream seller. They knew what they were doing.  There was an family-run ice-cream business in Chalk Farm, a mile or so down the road from where we lived, and sometimes an uncle or somebody would go down there to bring some home - wrapped (weirdly to me then) in a towel to stop it from melting.

Image by Toddot

It was different from the Walls ice-cream otherwise available in shops, which came as Vanilla, Vanilla-Strawberry-Chocolate, or Neapolitan which had a strange green stripe in it.  Marine Ices ice-cream had a zing and punch of taste which was just worlds away.

What we've noticed in travels in France, Spain, Corsica, the Canaries, Madeira and now Sardinia is that 'something' has happened to ice-cream.  The shops are glamorous, with glass-fronted covers over displays of several steel dishes of luridly coloured product.  The names are the same - the Stracciatella, the Pistachio, the Doppo Cioccolata, the Fragola.... but the flavours and content have gone. The texture is always the same - smooth, with no crystals, consistent.

I imagine that scientists have got their hands on it, to maintain the texture. Its propped up by glycerine or somesuch. So these packs of product, on display, in varying temperatures, exposed to light and air, have to stay looking attractive... The 'look' has become more important than the taste, because that's what leads to the buying decision. Customers are unlikely to come back anyway, as they are wandering around on holiday. The colours, the choice, the names of the varieties are what drives the sale.  The first few seconds, when customers stand in the shop for the first delicious lick - well, the taste will be good-enough for that, and the texture will be pleasing at that moment... 

 But when you have (over a period of time) tried several ice-creams, and found they all have exactly the same texture, and the taste is always slightly disappointing, then you have to concede that things have changed - for the worse.  No granules of ice, but no real high.  I don't know if it's glycerine, but it's something creating this texture.  And I think the flavours have been industrialised too, based on syrups instead of real fruits.  So, if you want real old-fashioned proper ice-cream, you will either have to find an artisan maker on your travels, or make it yourself.

Rainy Ireland

Here we are in Kilkenny, where it’s pretty cool, grey, and wet. Such a contrast with the heat and scorched browns and golds of the Sardinian lands. We flew in to Cork on the day that Hurricane Lorenzo crossed over Ireland, but everything stayed on schedule. The only real signs of the storm that we saw were great flocks of rooks up in the air, apparently surfing and playing in the wind. There were hundreds, maybe thousands of them altogether.

There’s something about all the birds of the crow family - their power, intelligence and beauty. Though, this morning, I read about a mob of magpies flocking together - nine of them - to kill a hare.  The hares are wondrous in their own right, demanding a special sort of attention. You don’t forget it if you see one.  

We are in a quandary (like millions of others, of course)….what to do if Brexit goes ahead? We have these two delightful little grandsons growing up in Ireland and we only get to see the about 5 or 6 times a year. Maybe we should leave England and come and live here? 

Faversham has its own problems - mostly do with suburban expansions around the town, undersupplied with services on the new estates and therefore inevitably bound to add to the traffic and parking problems in the narrow medieval streets, which are already difficult at times of day.  And the traffic in Kent will get worse, whether or not Brexit goes ahead. We frequently find the town has come to a standstill because of some road accident maybe 10 miles away, where everything has backed up.   So - much as we have loved living there, we are wondering if it’s time to move on. After all, most of the time, there are just the two of us (+ our lodger) rattling around in our rambly old house. So we did a bit of online house-hunting yesterday, and found a huge old place in the bog with a ruined castle in the garden….. 

Just my sort of thing, but it won’t happen. My dream would be for some sort of arts centre, or retreat, to help it pay its way.  Sigh!

We all wait to see what will happen at the end of this month. The ‘news’ and the politics of the last three years has been almost completely unbelievable - like some sort of mad melodrama, and we feel as if we’re watching the destruction of great chunks of our civilisation, and for what? To make a few billionaires richer?  No doubt the old smug post-colonial Little Britain attitudes needed to be challenged, but so far they seem to be in the ascendant - there’s a kind of myth propagated that that is the will of the people. It isn’t.  Coming away, to Sardinia and Ireland, and before that to France and Denmark, in the last few weeks has been a relief.  We have to go back to it all tomorrow.  

Buying honey

Some final thoughts on leaving Sardinia. It would obviously be a very nice place to live if we were to leave Britain, and didn’t have family ties in (e.g.) Ireland. It’s sunny, with a wonderful landscape and interesting history, etc. 

The obvious comparison would be Corsica which we went to last year. That is also very Italian but nominally or officially  French. I think on the basis of these two very short visits, I would choose Corsica at the moment, mostly because my French is better than my Italian. 

Still, as ever, here on holiday, we have been uplifted by all the human contacts we’ve made. Last night, we went to the local supermarket to buy honey to take home, and two women joined in with great encouragement to help us choose which variety, explaining which parts of the body would benefit from which kind of flower the bees had eaten.  This for the chest! This for the throat!  When we explained this was for presents to take back, they relaxed - smiled - said they’d all be fine!  It was funny and kind of them.  

Our walk round the back streets as dusk fell was very gentle. The light and the twilight were soft and the air was warm. The old streets with the few remaining ruins of old family farms are steep and clean. New buildings - villas, flats, holiday apartments - stand very firm and square with their concrete footings, whereas the old buildings made of rubble stone have less resilience.  We’ve had a great holiday. Home today.