Secrets

So I have been harbouring a secret ambition for a few years now. It started when I visited this fine place, soaking up the vibe, guzzling down the wine and delighting in all the fine products, their art, their food, their music and their cities

I want to be Italian.

I love Italian food; the rich cheeses, the amazing vegetables, the delicious pastas & pizzas. I heart gelato, and little gelato carts that line the streets of their cities, always popping up whenever my stomach craves it. Italian is my favourite food to eat, my favourite thing to cook, my favourite to celebrate with and indulge in. I love their liquids; peroni beer, pelligrino water, red wine, lambrusco, all of it is delightful.

I will also admit, rather sheepishly, that I am a sucker for fashion. Italians have style. Their silk rocks. So does their leather, their denim, the cuts and the styles. In fact just about everything they make is sweet. If I could afford it, I would wear nothing else.

I love the cities, from the breezy sea-side Brindisi, the cultural epicentre that is Florence, the sprawling, sinking streets of Venice, and the history, chaos and adventure to be had in Rome.

So my secret is out. I can probably never forgive them for cheating Australia out of the soccer world cup in 2006; but I am happy to live in hypocrisy. If I can, I will live there one day. Until then, expect to be served Italian if you come to my house for food. And don’t give me crap if you see me drinking Pelligrino.