Honey against hay fever

Finally, spring has properly arrived. Not that feint that The Weather likes to pull on us every single year in late March, that “Sun’s out – ooohh now it’s raining, in your face!” type of stuff, no, it’s the real thing now, real, genuine spring. Turin, the grey monochrome that I arrived in last year, has turned into a beautiful place, full of majestic, tree-lined streets and surrounded by coloured hills, rather than brown ones.

So majestic!

The definitive arrival of spring means that we can stop being depressed for no particular reason and instead we can start doing things. In winter, when you step out into the cold and dark after a long day of work, you feel like you’ve wasted a whole day inside, and now you’re outside which is worse because it’s freezing, so you go home and you stay there because the day is over anyway. In summer, you can finish work at 8, go home, have dinner, and then go out to do things. Go on, let’s do things that are new and exciting and outside!

All of this joy is, of course, totally worth the nuisance of roaming the streets with sore, red eyes and a runny nose for the next three months. Yes, I’m one of those suckers with hay fever. Along with countless weaklings like me, I will be sneezing off my delicate little nose for all of this beautiful spring period. Hay fever is, as the hoi poploi might put it, “total dirty baws”. Unfortunately, regardless of what your local medicinemonger might have you believe, nose spray doesn’t actually do anything, so there’s nothing for it but to suffer through it patiently.

However, one supposed cure I’m willing to try is to eat honey from the area in which you live. A beekeeper once told my mum this is supposed to help, and she told me. I’m not really sure if there is even a tiny bit of truth to it, but it’s OK, because eating honey is awesome. Unlike eating honey, spraying liquids up your nostrils is in no way enjoyable. Eating locally produced honey: possibly ineffective but delicious. Spraying medicine up your nose: definitely ineffective and unpleasant. I know which one I’ll be going for.

Despite the copious amounts of sweets and desserts I tend to publish here, I don’t actually have much of a sweet tooth. Honey can be used in savoury food as well though, and that’s exactly what I’ve done. So much for cutting down on meat: honey and sesame chicken.

chicken sesame honey

For two, use:

  • a couple of chicken breasts
  • 2 tbsp of honey
  • 3 tbsp of soy sauce
  • about 5 tbsp of sesame seeds, roasted
  • some red chilli
  • some garlic (couple of cloves is plenty)
  • a couple of spring onions
  • some fresh coriander, to serve
  • white pepper
  • white rice, to serve

First of all, cut your chicken into thin strips. Mix your soy sauce with the honey, add some white pepper, and leave the chicken to marinade in this mixture for about an hour. After an hour, chuck out the marinade and cover the chicken with sesame seed. Easiest way to do this is by putting it all in a big bowl, then sprinkling over the sesame and possibly tossing it around to coat the chicken properly.

In a wok or large frying pan, heat some sunflower oil, chuck in your cloves of garlic (crushed and peeled, but not chopped up) and your chilli (chopped into thin strips), then add the chicken. Make sure it’s properly cooked on all sides and throughout. Whilst your chicken cooks, slice up the spring onions. Add them last, and fry them along with he chicken for the final two minutes or so.

Serve with white rice and topped with some coriander.

chicken sesame honey IMG_0416 IMG_0417 IMG_0421 IMG_0424

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No country for vegetarians

Italians, being the Mediterranean and passionate types that they are, seem to nurture irrational but ardent feelings of hatred for the most unexpected things in their hearts. For instance, vegetarians. What’s so offensive about vegetarians, I ask? They’re nice to animals, they do their part for the environment, plus, what do you care what they eat? And yet they seem to be held in contempt by most of the country. Vegetarians, fussy eaters’s what they are. Think they’re so special, with their special needs, ruining our perfect dinner plans.

As you may have noticed by the recipes that I’ve been posting here lately, my meat intake has sky-rocketed ever since I’ve moved to Italy. Meat here is delicious and abundant and ubiquitous, and it’s always tempting me, at the market or in the shops. There’s all these marvellous cold cuts which you can have as a snack whilst you’re cooking or to go with your raw broad beans (the seasonal snack of the moment), there’s delicious sausages to go with your pasta or your cime di rapa, and you eat these types of meat in relatively modest quantities, so you don’t even feel like you’re eating that much of it. Another cause, I guess, is my feeder instinct: living with and cooking for other people has raised the bar a bit, and I’ve felt that I had to provide decent, nutritious meals for the people I live with, seeing that they do the same for me.

I’m not a vegetarian, so thankfully I don’t have to suffer or anything. In fact, I’ve been enjoying eating a bit more meat again, trying new things and looking for unfamiliar flavours. In Scotland, however, I ate mostly vegetarian food, and I actually quite liked it that way. When I did eat meat, it became something of a special occasion. Moreover, it’s pretty unhealthy to eat meat all the time, it’s really bad for the environment, plus it makes the animals sad. So it’s about time I started cutting down again.

This calls for chickpeas, because everyone knows that when you’re not having meat, chickpeas are your proteiny friends. Also, they’re tasty. Chickpea and carrot pilav with almonds! So delicious, totally vegetarian, vegan even.

If  your pictures take a while to load you can read my messages here.I'll use this opportunity to let you know I appreciate your reading this!

For 3 to 4 people, use:

  • 350 gr of rice (basmati or long grain)
  • four decent sized carrots
  • one can of chickpeas
  • enough almonds, to serve, four good fistfuls or something (take the ones with the skin still on, peeled but still brown, you know what I mean right?)
  • 2 cloves of garlic
  • one onion
  • one tsp of harissa
  • a pinch of cinnamon
  • some olive oil, for frying
  • up to one litre of stock – make your own by boiling a litre of water with a quartered onion, a carrot in three or four chunks and a couple of stalks of celery – add in some salt when it’s almost ready

Chop your onion and your garlic. Fry them in some oil together with the harissa and a good pinch of cinnamon. Meanwhile, peel and slice up your carrots. Add them to your pot, along with the rice. Now pour in a bunch of stock and leave it to simmer gently. Add more stock when you feel it’s getting dry.

When the rice is almost done (taste it to check!), add in the chickpeas and stir well. Put your almonds in a little bowl, pour some salt over (if they’re unsalted, that is), mix well. Now serve up your pilav and top it with a handful of salty almonds. So easy.

pilav pilav

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My life with my new flatmates, part VI: yoghurt

Everyone has their quirks, and here in the flat, the three of us are no different. Specifically, we all have products that we must have in the house at all times, or we freak out. My product is eggs. What if I suddenly want to make a cake or something? If there are fewer than 4 eggs, I’ll buy a new box. I just have to have some, no compromises.

My flatmate the Queen never fails to have a bag of frozen spinach in the freezer. It’s one of her go-to hangover cures, and in all fairness, she is the Queen of the Nights Out, so it’s a fair enough desire to have a hangover cure at the ready at all times. You never know when you might end up partying and needing a small boost of iron the next day.

Blenderman has got a few fixations of his own, one of them being yoghurt. I’m used to Italians eating super sweet, coloured, fruit yoghurts, but he eats the actual, non-sweetened real deal, which is great. I’m a Northerner and as such quite a yoghurt muncher myself, and even the Queen is quite fond of it (especially in Health Weeks), so we all tend to buy it quite often. Blenderman is the undisputed yoghurt champion of the flat, though.

The other day he suddenly looked a bit despondent, and staring at his yoghurt, he sighed: “It’s just not the same… the yoghurt at Carrefour used to be so much creamier.” I was suspicious at first, so I suggested it probably used to be sweeter, not creamier, but he was adamant. And when one of my flatmates, or friends, or loved ones, in short, when someone I’m fond of complains that their yoghurt isn’t creamy enough, then so help me God, I will make them creamy yoghurt, dammit.

Here’s a Dutch recipe for you. It’s called hangop, which refers to the process of making it: you basically hang a bunch of yoghurt in a cloth or tea towel, making it the creamiest yoghurt you’ve ever had, even thicker and creamier than Greek yoghurt. It’s barely any work, but it’s well impressive. Have a shot. Then have it with some strawberries, muesli, honey or all of the above.

IMG_0384 hangop

To make it worth my while, I tend to make 1,5 litres at a time. Quantities are up to you. Mind, ion any case, that although you are left with significantly less yoghurt in volume, the filling capacity remains more or less the same. So for a bunch of hangop, use:

  • 1,5 litre of yoghurt

Equipment:

  • a clean tea towel
  • a sieve or colander
  • a large bowl

Rinse your tea towel very well, then wring it out so that it’s only damp, not dripping. Put the tea towel in a sieve or colander (obviously one that’s large enough to hold all of your yoghurt), which you then place over the bowl. The yoghurt should hang over the bowl, so that there is enough space for all of the liquid to come out without touching the bottom of the colander. Tuck the tea towel in so that the corners are in the bowl: as the yoghurt is filtered, the tea towel soaks up some of the liquid and it could start dripping, getting your fridge all dirty.

tea towel colander set up

No, once you have this set up complete, tip in all of the yoghurt. That’s all you need to do. Just pour it into the towel and leave it alone for at lest 3 hours. Of course the longer you leave it, the thicker and creamier it will be. You can leave it over night if you want to, just make sure it’s no less than three hours.

super awesome yoghurt

Once you’ve left it to filter for a few hours, the yoghurt will be super thick and no longer liquid. When you look closely, you’ll see it has the pattern of the tea towel, it’s that thick! It’s delicious and creamy and you can serve it with whatever you like. It keeps in the fridge as long as normal yoghurt, so there’s no need to finish it all in one go.

IMG_0369 IMG_0375 hangop yoghurtIMG_0379 IMG_0382 hangop strawberries

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The best thing in the world

Of all of the wonderful things that this world has to offer, cheese must be the best. Vegetables go a long way, fair enough, and alcohol, aside from having this delightful inebriating effect, tastes amazing, it’s true. Meat, if you ignore all the environmental and ethical objections, surely is the food of kings, and bread is the truest companion of all of the delicious treats mentioned above. Yet none of them can hold a candle to cheese. Cheese is just the best thing I have ever seen, heard of, or tasted.

Turin is pretty full of cheesemongers, but I have my favourite: a friendly couple who sell their delectable dairy produce at the market near my house. They know me by now, and whenever I go there for some cheese, they’ll strike up conversation. Usually they’ll want to know what I thought of the cheese I bought last time, or what I’m making, if anything, with the cheese I’m buying this time. Last time I told them it was gorgonzola and tomato quiche.

Whenever I use cheese in food (as opposed to just stuffing my face with it for no good reason before dinner) I feel like I’m cheating, because everything is delicious when it has cheese in it. But it’s just too good to leave it. I can’t resist.

cheese is a kind of meat

I milk it from my teat

For one quiche you should use:

  • four to five tomatoes
  • a nice chunk of gorgonzola – the hard, spicy type, not the mild and creamy one
  • enough puff pastry – the day I learn to make it I’ll let you know, for now I use ready-made
  • one egg
  • some dried thyme

Roll out your puff pastry and stick it in an oven dish or something like it. Slice up your tomatoes and your gorgonzola. Layer them so that between every couple of slices of tomato, there’s a slice of gorgonzola. (If you can’t be bothered, you could also just crumble it, but make sure you have some of the cheese underneath the tomato and some of it on top of the tomato).

Sprinkle a bunch of dried thyme on the filling, then beat your egg and spread it out over the filling evenly. Top with some pepper if you like, then shove it in the over, 180°C for about half an hour. Eat it straight away, or let it cool, whichever you prefer.

a tasty yellow beef

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The first picnic of the year

A while ago a colleague of mine discovered the ol’ blog here, and rather than discreetly reading it and keeping that information to himself, as most of my readers appear to do, told everyone he knew about it. This means that by now, half of the people I work with have started reading what I post here. I have to say I’m actually quite excited about this. My reader count is sort of pathetic, but my colleagues have probably doubled it, and it’s nice to know that people are sort of interested. On the downside, I have to be careful with what I write now, but never mind that.

When Wednesday comes around, I’ll be asked what will be on the blog this week. Or sometimes, on Thursdays, the comments will start rolling in. “So, Dittatrice, you really do like your butter, don’t you?” “Who’s this Blenderman?” Or, if something goes wrong, I’ll get a mild scolding. Not often, but just every now and then, I’ll get a wee comment. Like last week, when someone enquired what was on the blog and I said it was polenta concia.

“What, with this heat?!”

Yeah, fair point, that. Polenta concia is actually a bit wintery, and I was going to put it on the blog ages ago, but it never really happened. Last week was sort of pushing it, because spring has descended on Turin with its warm airy wings. It’s not really time for winter food anymore.

In fact, last weekend I had my first picnic! By which I mean that I sat in the park and I ate there, rather than in my kitchen. It wasn’t a very impressive picnic, I’ll admit, but there was some home-made food and a bottle of wine and some Asian youngsters playing badminton right next to me, which is really all you need for a successful picnic.

For the picnic I made some piadine filled with courgette and lemony ricotta. My Italian friend (the only one who turned up and as such the only person deserving of my delicious home-cooked picnic wares) found it a bit strange and unnerving, I think because Italians associate the taste of ricotta and lemon with sweets rather than with savoury things. This is why you should make sure to exaggerate with the salt and pepper, that way there can be no doubt that this is savoury business.

super wrappy

For 4 wraps, which you can then chop in half to make small snacks for max 8 people:

  • four piadine, recipe can be found right here
  • 4 smallish courgettes
  • 1 lemon
  • about 200 gr of ricotta
  • 1 clove of garlic
  • olive oil
  • salt and pepper

With the heel of your hand, crush the garlic so that it’s sort of open, but still in one piece. Slice some long strips of zest off the lemon. Slice the courgettes as you wish or as you can see in the picture below. Heat some olive oil in a pan, chuck in the garlic, lemon and courgette and fry on medium heat. Exaggerate with salt and especially pepper.

Meanwhile, mix the ricotta with about 2 tbsp of lemon juice and the same quantity of olive oil. Add some salt to taste, then spread the mixture on the piadine.

Once the courgettes are cooked, remove the lemon zest strips and the garlic and chuck them out. Now divide the courgettes over the four piadine, roll them up tightly, slice them in half (if you wish), stick them in a tupperware and go out to enjoy them in the park.

IMG_0348 IMG_0350 IMG_0353 look at my picnic box!

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My life with my new flatmates, part V: six days thou shalt labour

Being a working woman and all, I suddenly have very limited free time. Since I work six days a week, I suddenly feel that my only free day should be spent in the most meaningful way possible. Rather than wasting my Sundays away in pyjamas, hidden under a blanket, recovering from the night before whilst watching a full season of Breaking Bad, I’ve started actually doing things on Sundays.

Luckily for me, Blenderman is also a working man so he also likes to do things. Usually he and his pals invite me along, and we all get out of town together. Usually I don’t actually know where we’re going, except that we’re going to the woods near <insert miniature town that I don’t know>, which is not really all that informative. Often I don’t even know what the adults in the front seats are talking about – I’m just happy to sit in the back seat and stare out the window, watching the landscape change from urban to suburban to wide and open to mountainous. Wherever we end up, I’m sure it’ll be lovely.

What happens usually on these Sunday trips is that we go for a short walk and then we eat. The first time we went on a trip, I imagined that we’d go for a few hours of trekking, and that we’d then reward ourselves with food. Instead what happened was that we got out of the car, walked for about 45 minutes along a clearly signposted path to a foresty food place, and then we had lunch. After that we walked another hour or so, bought some artisan cheese on our way back to the car, and then we went back home. On one of the best trips so far, we got out of the car, I threw myself into a pile of snow, got so cold I couldn’t really move, so we had some sandwiches in the car and then we went home. Best day ever, man.

On one of our trips, when it was still pretty cold and you actually needed warm, greasy food to keep you going, we had some polenta with a bunch cheese in it. It’s called polenta concia and it is seriously delicious. It’s also pretty greasy and buttery, but I’m into that sorta thing. It’s easy enough to make, once you know how to make polenta. I didn’t, but Blenderman showed me.

look at that polenta, baby

For a bunch of polenta concia which will feed a bunch of people (let’s say 6 healthy eaters), use:

  • half a kilo of polenta, which is actually farina di mais, or mais flour (but don’t get this confused with corn flour or corn starch, which is something completely different!)
  • 400 gr of gorgonzola
  • 100 gr of butter
  • some parmesan
  • water and salt

Note: for 1 kilo of polenta you need 4 litres of water. This recipe is for half a kilo of polenta. Change your quantities according to your own needs, but always keep the 1:4 ratio in mind.

Note 2: I used leftover polenta from the day before. Works fine. Possibly works even better, but I’m going to publish this recipe assuming that you don’t have any leftover polenta.

Put a pot with 2 litres of water and 1 tbsp of salt (coarse, if you have!) on the fire. When the water is still lukewarm, gently pour your polenta in the water. Be delicate, and pour it like you would pour a loved one’s ashes into the ocean – don’t just dump it in and be done with it, or you’ll get lumps. Now keep stirring. The polenta will take about 40 minutes to cook.

Once your polenta is done, pour half of it in an oven dish which you’ve greased up with some butter. Now cover this first layer with chunks of gorgonzola and butter, then add the final layer of polenta. If you’re using leftover polenta from the night before, you can cut it up into strips as I did, and just cover the base of the oven dish with those. Make sure they all touch.

Now cover the whole thing with parmesan, stick it in a preheated oven (180°C) and pull it out about 20 mins later.

IMG_0339 IMG_0331 IMG_0334 IMG_0337 sweet business oh my god polenta I love you

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The Battle of Orange(s)

There comes a day in every girl’s life where she’s just got to toughen up, stand tall, hold her head up high and take an undetermined amount of oranges in the face. For me, that day came last Sunday.

Last weekend I spent the Sunday in Ivrea, where I attended the Battaglia delle Arance – or Orange Battle, the traditional carnival celebration of the city. The Battaglia delle Arance is exactly what the name suggests: it’s a battle fought exclusively with oranges. How does a girl prepare for the most violently orange battle of her life? Things were surely going to get messy, so I had to be careful what I put on. I don’t own anything orange, so the usual black army boots, blacks tights with skirt, and a big black cotton jacket seemed the best choice. However, it was also carnival, so I felt something cheerful was in order. I contemplated my red bandana that I sometimes wear in my hair, but then decided against it: it was only going to get dirty or lost. All black it was, then. Remember this fact.

So what’s the deal with this orange throwing? The origins of the festival are not entirely clear to me – 4 different people have come up with the same number of ‘historically accurate’ explanations – but the way the battle works is that the city is divided up into teams: each rione, or (historical) neighbourhood, has its own team, each with its own name, colours, symbol et cetera. A (small) part of the team gets up on a big horse-drawn cart, whilst the rest remains on the ground. The ones up on the cart are driven around the town, whilst those who remain on the ground always stay in their own territory – the many squares of the city are used as battlegrounds, and each square is home to usually two or three teams. Whenever a cart arrives in a square, the hurling of oranges begins – all those on the ground try to hit the other teams on the carts, whilst those up on the carts throw their oranges down onto their opponents. The strange part here is that those on the carts wear protection whilst those on the ground go bare-headed – the latter already have gravity working against them, so you’d expect them to need it more. The carts make several rounds around the town, stopping at each of the five squares more than once.

As we arrived at the completely crowded station of Ivrea after an hour-long train journey on a jam-packed train, I noticed a lot of people in red hats. In fact, I noticed almost every single person there was wearing red headgear. Red hats, everywhere, and if it wasn’t a red hat, it was a red ribbon, or a red scarf, or something similar. I asked my friend what this was all about. “Well”, he said, “historically, all the squads have their own colour, but so do the spectators. They wear something red to set them apart from the combatants. You wear something red to show that you’re not part of the battle, and you don’t want to get hit.”

Right. Should have gone for that bandana, then.

When we arrived in the town, it turned out to be OK – to protect the buildings, all these nets had been put up around the squares to keep the oranges away, and we could hide behind those. The whole orange hurling looked like so much fun though, that after a while I couldn’t help myself – I desperately wanted to join in. I looked around me to see what the other spectators were doing – all of the orange throwers I had seen so far were wearing official team colours, and I wasn’t sure if randomers like me could join in. I chucked the odd sneaky orange here and there, but didn’t dare go full warfare. I ended up asking some youngsters, who told me that officially, you’re meant to leave the battling to the professionals. They pay good money to join one of the teams and join in with the battle, so if the participants catch you throwing oranges without wearing official team colours, they will rain their orange wrath down upon you with a rage they don’t even show their most hated opponents. However, if you happen to find some oranges on the street that still look throwable, you can definitely get away with a little bit of illicit orange-throwing. I ended up hurling a grand total of 13, and receiving 2 full ones, plus the juicy debris of a whole lot more. Never been so happy in my life.

Watching the red-caps from the safety of our netted bastion.

Watching the red-caps from the safety of our netted bastion.

Team colours

Team colours

Let the hurling begin!

Let the hurling begin!

Enjoying a break, helmets off.

Enjoying a break, helmets off.

In the heat of battle.

In the heat of battle.

I felt the worst for the horses and the drivers. They get hit and they can't even strike back.

Horse shit and orange. I get it now.

A colleague of mine who went last year prepared me for the smell: “It’s an interesting combination of horse shit and orange that you’ll never smell anywhere else, and that you’ll remember for the rest of your life”. It’s true. The carts with the orange warriors are horse-drawn, but they aren’t even the only horses in town – there’s lots of other little parades of princes and princesses and carnivalesque royalties on horses, so there’s horse shit galore, and you wouldn’t even believe the amount of oranges that cover the streets and squares after just a few minutes of throwing, never mind after 3 hours. However, in the beginning I mostly smelled oranges. The moment the battle begins, you start smelling this orangey scent that keeps getting stronger and more citrusy, up to the point where it mixes with dust, dirt and horse dung. In those first few minutes it’s a really delicious smell.

In fact, it made me sort of hungry for oranges, and as I stood there gazing at oranges flying to and fro, I started fantasising about what to make with oranges. The smell somehow took my thoughts to citrusy panna cotta with orange syrup. I had a shot at it the next day, and it turned out as delicious as expected.

my panna cotta is the only panna cotta i like :(

For the panna cotta, about half a litre of it, you will need:

  • 400 ml fresh cream
  • 100 gr icing sugar
  • 5 gr (or 2.5 sheets) of gelatine
  • 2 sizeable strips of orange peel
  • 2 sizeable strips of lemon peel
  • some rum (but only, like, a shot glass full)

For the orange syrup, you will need:

  • 3 tbsp of sugar
  • 1 tbsp water
  • the juice of 1 to 1.5 orange
  • some more rum (optional!)

Panna cotta is easy to make and the preparation doesn’t take very long, but the waiting time is (at least) 5 hours, so remember that you have to make them in advance!

First of all, put your gelatine in a bowl of cold water and soak the sheets for 10 minutes. In the meantime, wash your orange and lemon, really give them a good rub to take the wax off, then slice off your sizeable strips of citrus peel. Put all your cream in a saucepan, add the citrus, heat up (but never boil!). Add the sugar, make sure it all dissolves. When your gelatine is soaked, squeeze it out, then add it to the warm/hot cream, make sure it dissolves completely, stir well, then take it off the fire.

IMG_0286 process of making panna cotta!

Choose your moulds: you can make small, single-person portions, or make one larger one that you cut like a cake. Your choice. Either way, use a little bit of rum to lube up your moulds (in my case a rather colourful collection of silicone muffin cups, plus one glass bowl because I still had a lot of cream left), that way the panna cotta should be easier to remove when they’re all done.

Now, using a small sieve, carefully pour the still liquid cream into your muffin cups or whatever, then put these in the fridge for at least 5 hours. Whilst you wait, make the syrup!

IMG_0290 I need some more professional-looking equipment.

For the syrup: Put three tablespoons of sugar and one tablespoon of water in a small saucepan. Heat up until the sugar is completely liquid. Then add the juice of your orange(s). The sugar will probably crystallise a bit again, so be prepared to stir like a nutter. At first, the syrup will be quite liquid, but as it cools, it’ll go a lot more syruppy. If it’s already quite syruppy to begin with, you might want to add a bit more juice. (My juice turned out super red because almost all oranges in this country are blood oranges – they’re delicious, so it’s not a problem, but if you have normal orange oranges, your sauce will look different. That’s OK!)

To remove your panna cotta from its mould, briefly dip the bottom in hot water. They should come out fairly easily after that. Top them with your orange syrup.

IMG_0307IMG_0294 IMG_0301IMG_0285 IMG_0305 IMG_0312

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