The ups and downs of a working woman in Turin

Guys, did I mention before that living in Turin is bloody awesome? It is. These people have got it going on. We’re almost in November and the weather’s still wonderful. Yes, the occasional bit of rain, but at least we’re having some mild temperatures out here. Then the Italians, they’re just such a joy to be around. It’s true, they get terrible road rage, but they’re nice to look at. Rather than 1 in 28, about 1 in 5 men are attractive here, there’s so much to ogle. And it’s nice that people here see eating as a social event, rather than a necessity to survive. I’m not sure about others, but here in the flat we have people over for dinner at least twice a week. It’s lovely.

Some adjustments have had to be made, though. Nothing to do with the city itself, it’s just that I’ve got a job now. Having a job takes up a lot of time, and it means responsibility! Responsibility is frightening and makes me forget other important things, such as sleeping and getting health insurance and taking some good pictures of something delicious I cooked for the blog.

So picture the scene. I’m in my kitchen, trying to cook up something quick, before I need to leave for work again. My flatmates are at the kitchen table, nearly starving to death and doing a bad job at hiding it. On top of having the usual sequence of mini heart attacks I generally suffer when I cook for them, I am now also in distress because I need to take pictures with my ancient camera (correct, I don’t have a phone that takes pictures. I use an actual camera.) whilst the two of them are sitting there, hungrily. Waiting.

Watching.

The temperature in the kitchen seems to rise. Cold sweat runs down my back. My camera is slower than usual. My flatmates gather round and observe my every move. I have an inward nervous breakdown. “OK, lunch is ready, no more waiting, who wants food?” I shriek, slightly too loud and high-pitched. Anything to get away from those stares. Never mind I only got 2 pictures, and really rubbish ones at that.

I really need to get over this absurd fear. Until that time, pumpkin pasta! As in, pasta with pumpkin, not pasta made of pumpkin. My friend made me this the first night I was in Turin, and it was really nice when he made it. My version? Not quite as good as his, but more than edible. Look, here it is in a mediocre picture:

fuckin pasta

For you and some hungry companions, you will need:

  • a slice of pumpkin, peeled and cut into really fine chunks
  • 2 or 3 cloves of garlic
  • enough pasta
  • a whole bunch of parmesan cheese – really, you want to exaggerate with this
  • maybe some rosemary of you fancy it
  • oil and salt

So boil a big pot of water for your pasta and make sure you add enough salt.

Now slice up your pumpkin. You want it in tiny wee bits so it’ll go sorta soft, but leave some slightly bigger chunks as well for variation. Crush and/or chop your garlic. Heat some olive oil in a pan, then add your garlic, then your pumpkin (and your rosemary if you’re using any). Just leave this to cook on low to medium heat for a while, stir every now and then, it’s easy. Boil your pasta, and when it’s done, just add it to the pumpkin. Then add a whole mother effing shitload of cheese. Then just serve it. That’s all. I swear, it’s good!

But I don’t have any more pictures. I’m sorry.

About La dittatrice

After a year in the beautiful city of Genova, I recently returned to cold, cold Scotland. Pleasantly obsessed with cooking and eating, I'd like to keep some food related memories of the past year and of any other time alive, and share them with the world while I'm at it.
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One Response to The ups and downs of a working woman in Turin

  1. Anonymous says:

    Een beetje laat maar toch: om je derde alinea heb ik geschaterlagen.
    vader

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