Henderson in Venice is Moving

To my subscribers, I'm moving this blog to my new website on Squarespace. I'm going to try to make the subscription feed go there automatically, but if that doesn't work, the blog is now here. I hope to do a better job of keeping up with the blog in the future. Ciao

Deep Freeze in Venice

You may have read about the extremely cold weather hitting Europe. It even snowed in Rome. Venice is no exception. Although we have had a fall and winter relatively free of high water and bad weather, it is now quite cold. If you came here during the summer when the weather is akin to Houston or Miami, you may not believe it. But here are a few pictures to prove it. I took all these the day before yesterday, except for the ones of the canal, which I took this morning.

Cooking Triglia (Red Mullet)

All Cleaned and ready to go. (I apologize for quality of the pictures, I took them with my iphone in dim light)

One of our favorite fishes normally consumed here is Triglia (pronounced "Trillia," also known as Red Mullet). Unlike the Bronzino (Sea Bass or Striped Bass) or the Orata (Bream or Gilthead), the Triglia has a firm and tasty flesh, similar to Cod. It would stand up in a stew, for example, when Bronzino or Orata would disintegrate.  


It's quite easy to cook a whole fish.


Make sure the fish man cleans and scales them. Wash them thoroughly before cooking.

Thyme, garlic, lemon zest, and salt and pepper.
I mix the salt and pepper together because my
hands will get covered in fish gunk. I don't want
to be going back and forth between the shakers.

I stuff them with a bit of lemon zest, sliced garlic, fresh thyme, salt and pepper, and a little extra virgin olive oil. You could put orange zest, onions, peppers, or whatever, and it all could go outside the fish in the foil, rather than inside, because you make a little semi-airtight packet for each fish. You could even put white wine in there.


Once they are stuffed, I wrap them in foil, or in oven paper. Foil works just as well, it won't burn, and Giada says that she prefers it. That's good enough for me. 


I wrap them up, pinch the edges to seal it, and put them in an oven at about 350F. The great part is, they will steam in their own juices (although you can add water or wine) and it's nearly impossible to over-cook them. These are small fish, so I bake them for about 20 minutes. That may be tool long in some people's book, but I like them to fall apart.

All stuffed and ready to go.

With it we served steamed  broccoli, but that's what we saw good at the market. You could serve about any vegetable. It would also be good with rice, but we didn't serve a starch.


Let it sit for a few minutes after it comes out of the oven, and be careful when you open the package, that steam is hot!

The fish all wrapped in their foil packets, ready for the oven.

We plated it up with the broccoli with grated parm, and that was dinner. I drank a dry white wine, and Karen (hold your hand over your mouth, or get to a sink) drank tea with milk.

Plated, with some parm grated over the broccoli.

The after picture

These are peppers I grew in the garden
(They have nothing to do with this recipe)

Motor Covers in Venice

Bed sheet boat cover

Yesterday I went for a walk to the Rialto area to visit a bookstore where they sell used books in English. They also take books in trade, giving you credit for so much per book. It's a nice system, and we have a fair amount on account, but the store is seriously over-priced. They took my books and I picked up another used book.


On the way to the store I noticed a boat covered in what looked like a bed sheet. That gave me the idea to take pictures of boat covers. Then I saw a cover of an outboard motor that convinced me to take pictures of them. There turned out to be many more interesting motor covers than boat covers, so I decided to dedicate a blog to them. 

Indian blanket motor cover

I find it amazing in general the poor condition of many of the small private boats in Venice. They cost money to buy, they cost money to maintain, and they cost money to park on a canal. Many of them are in deplorable condition caused purely by neglect (subject for another post). You would not expect a Venetian, a member of a culture built on the sea (literally and figuratively) and on seamanship, would allow his boat to go into disrepair. Even to the point of sinking at the pier. 


I asked my friend Guido why they covered the motors in things like T-shirts, that had no apparent function in protecting the it. He said that they are to keep people from stealing the cover of the motor. I admit that it might slow a thief down, but none of them look, I don't know, impenetrable. In any event, I didn't realize that the covers, rather than the motors themselves, were of any value, other than as a cover of the motor to which it is attached.

Raggedy motor cover

Tank top motor cover

T-shirt motor cover

Gramma's tablecloth motor cover

Early Morning Shots in Venice

Yesterday I caught some sunrise shots at St. Mark's. This is a great time of year to get early morning shots in Venice because the sun comes up just before 8:00 across the basin from St. Mark's, just to the left of San Giorgio Maggiore. In the summer the sun comes up two hours earlier and behind the buildings that run along the Riva degli Schiavoni. Also at this time of year the sky is clearer because of lower humidity. But no matter what time of year you come, very early morning is the best time to be at St. Mark's, because there are no crowds. You nearly have the place to yourself. These pictures are just as they came out of the camera, I didn't make any adjustments or cropping.

"Why is your wife better than you?"

I have been told at least three times in the past four days that my wife is better than I am. A waiter, the Pharmacist, and a friend come to mind immediately. There may be more, but you’d have to ask her. Sometimes the statement was couched as a declaration, and sometimes as a question, as in “why is your wife better than you?” (which assumes that it’s true and that I know it, in contrast to the statement, which means “you may not know it, but . . .”)


My answer is usually something like, “that’s what everyone says,” or “that’s because she’s smarter.” (me being funny). The statement that she is better than I is made in the specific context that she speaks Italian better than I do, not that she is better in general. For that reason, what they say is true.


We have been here for four years, and struggle still with Italian. I bought medicine for the dog today, which is done at a regular pharmacy. I asked for it in Italian. The head pharmacist corrected my pronunciation of the name of the medicine (although I could discern no material difference between what she said and what I had said). The assistant pharmacist told me the price in Italian, which I fully understood. The head pharmacist repeated the price in English. I told her (in English) that I knew the numbers in Italian. She said “yes, but you prefer to speak English.” Yes, I told her, because then I know what I’m saying. This is when she enlightened me as to my wife’s superiority in speaking Italian. She’s much more fluent, she said.


There is a profound but very simple reason she is better than I am at speaking Italian: she works at it. She studies books, conjugates verbs, writes stuff in a notebook, watches Italian TV. I don’t do any of that. When I see a newspaper headline, I think to myself “I wonder what that says.” I can pick out some of the words, but not the words that give material meaning to the headline. I might take a picture with my iPhone and try to translate it, but that is only if I’m feeling extraordinarily ambitious.


Another problem is, as the episode with the pharmacist illustrates, even if I speak to them in Italian, they answer me in English. I have more than once found myself in the absurd situation of being the only one speaking Italian. So, I don’t need it day-to-day. And to the extent that I do need it, I know it. For example, I can order a meal, red wine, white wine, sparkling wine, regular beer and dark beer. I can say “this,” “that,” “those,” and “these,” and I know the numbers and most of the weights. I know the names of many vegetables and some meat. I can tell someone to keep going straight, turn right or left, and stuff like that. What else is there?


Yes, as you say, I might want to carry on a nuanced philosophical discussion but, for the most part, I haven’t found anyone to do it with. (and those with whom I might like to carry on such a conversation would, necessarily, need to be highly educated and, therefore, more fluent in English than I’ll ever be in Italian). I can’t stand TV, even in the US, and I don’t read the papers, though I should, I suppose.


The other day the doorbell rang. I went down to see who it was, and there was a man with a clipboard who started to talk real fast in Italian. I don’t like guys with clipboards. They are always trying to get something, usually money, or they are some government weenie coming to bust my chops about something. As he jabbered, I thought I understood what he was saying, but I couldn’t believe it. I thought he said there was a new restaurant in town, and they are giving out free bottles of prosecco (white sparkling wine), would I like one? He stopped talking and looked at me expectantly. I thought he was taking orders on his little clipboard. Or maybe he really asked me how many TVs were in the house (they tax those things, believe it or not). I didn’t know what to do. Is it possible he wants to give me a free bottle of wine? Nah. I looked out the door behind the man, and there was a lad pushing a big cart stacked with cases of prosecco. The man held out a bottle for me to take. By God! I understood him at native speed! Of course, I took the wine in disbelief, thanked him, and went upstairs.


So, I am not as bad as everyone says. But for now, I am willing to admit that my wife is better than I am. Anyone who has talked to the two of us together knows that. When that changes, I’ll write the blog in Italian. Ciao.

One of the most interesting things about Venice is that it is a mixture of the old and new. That is, old buildings are used for new purposes. The Dogana point (the old customs house) and the Palazzo Grassi are used as contemporary art museums. The schools in Venice are located on fourteenth century Palazzi. Here are a couple of photos of a school, and through the window you can see a basketball hoop hanging in the gym.

Some Random Shots

It's fun to walk around Venice looking for random stuff to photograph. 


In the photo to the left, the sun lit some stars and flags.

Near the Rialto is a small bar that is literally a hole in the wall, open to the outside with about enough room inside for two people. Yet, they have a big TV on the wall and a rather elaborate stereo system.

Beethoven Concert

Knowing that I am a Beethoven fanatic, my wife saw this sign on the door of the church of Ognissanti (all saints), and took a picture of it so we would have the information at hand. It was a beautiful little sign drawn on a typical yellow paper place mat used in restaurants in Venice. A small orchestra was to play one piece at 5:30 (17:30 on the sign). This sign was the only notice of the concert in all of Venice (so far as we know).


Ten minutes before the appointed hour (there's no reason to be there early) we were walking along the side of the church, and could hear music coming from inside. They had already started. We went in, sat down, and listened to the performance. It was quite good. I am very familiar with the work and would have noticed any irregularity. It was nearly perfect.


When we left we were still puzzled by the early start, and looked at the sign again. Someone had crossed out the "17:30" and replaced it with "17:00," or 5:00. They just went ahead and changed the time by marking it on the sign. You can't get much more Italian than that.

Cotechino (or How Karen Came to Eat Cheerios for Dinner)

Just after Christmas I went to the butcher to pick up a turkey, as we had decided that we would have turkey and all the fixin’s for New Year’s Eve dinner. We were on a river cruise on the Danube on Thanksgiving, I think in Germany, eating sausage and drinking glühwein. 


The tradition in Italy is to eat fish for this meal, but it was just the two of us, and Karen had bought a tiny jar of cranberry sauce for about seven dollars, so I picked up the turkey. As a gift, the butcher was handing out a traditional New  Year’s  sausage known as cotechino, pronounced cotta-KEY-no. It was a large fat sausage about six inches long and two or three inches in diameter. It actually did not look that good, but he had a big pile of them, he had given one to the old lady in front of me, and she seemed quite happy. He gave one to me.


When I got home I showed it to Karen. She said “throw it away.” Oh no, I couldn’t do that. It was a gift. I didn’t know the significance of it at the time, but she did. (I don’t know how she knows all this stuff). She told me it was for New  Year’s , but that it looked horrible, and it was made from various pieces parts of the pig, including something from the head. “Well, what do you think a hotdog is?” I argued. “It’s a slurry of pig parts mixed with spices. This is just a big, rustic, hotdog. And what do you think sausage in general is? It’s stuff you can’t eat if you see it the way it is, so you grind it up, mix it with fat, and stuff it into a casing.”


Yesterday I decided to cook it. We were at the point of either tossing it, or cooking it. I did some research and found recipes for it, and Italian people acting like it was a wonderful thing. All you do is boil it for a couple of hours (this one was uncooked) and serve it with lentils. Karen does not like lentils, so I made borlotti beans.


The recipe in The Silver Spoon, which is the only cookbook anyone ever needs, called for its skin to be pierced, and then wrapped in foil and simmered for two hours, or so. As it cooked I noticed that the smell was not that great, and that the foil had turned black. It did not smell rotten, but it did not have the wonderful smell of pork sausage. Karen kept quiet about the smell and let me do my thing.


We are into trying Italian and Venetian traditions, including the right food at the right time. Everything I read said that this was a big deal all over Italy for New  Year’s . I even found a few instructional videos on YouTube. So, I insisted on cooking it.


When the time was up I took it out the water, unwrapped it and cut into it. Looked just like the pictures. I had read one description of it, though, that gave me some concern. It was described as “sticky.” I didn’t know what that meant in the context of sausage, but I was about to find out. The stuff has a thick and indeed sticky texture that can best be described as gelatinous. As soon as I tasted it I knew that the meal was doomed, but I wanted to give Karen the chance to enjoy a traditional Italian food. I also knew that there was a reasonable chance she would barf.


I cut off a little piece and brought it to her in the bedroom, where she sat looking at the iPad. She immediately covered he mouth, jumped up from the bed, and ran into the bathroom to get the stuff out of her mouth. Thankfully, she did not puke. I must say that I do a lot of the cooking, and there have been times when she did not like what I made, but she never had to run to the bathroom and spit it out. 


“Have some borlotti beans,” I suggested. “No,” she said, “that’s all right, I’m gonna eat Cheerios.” So, it came to pass that the cotechino went into the trash (after I choked down another piece to give it a fair shake) and Karen ate Honey Nut Cheerios for dinner. I can still smell the thing.

My Crew

Recently I have been accepted into small group of men about my age who own or hang out in the handful of cafés I frequent in Campo Santa Margherita. I call them “my crew.” I’m not sure how this happened. I did not apply for it, as there is no application, and it was not sudden, but happened slowly. The butcher and fish guy I go to are in this campo, and there is a grocery store there that sells the

Beggar Woman on our Bridge.

One afternoon we heard the sound of a woman begging on the bridge outside our living room window. We could hear her all through the house giving her loud, pathetic and incessant moaning that she needed food for her children, leaning out into the foot traffic while she did so, shaking a cup with a few coins in it. Now, before your eyes tear up, there are a couple of things you should know about beggars in Venice and, I suspect, in the rest of Europe.


1) They are not homeless. The beggars in Venice commute to work on the train from the mainland. This is their job. Americans in

River Cruise Diary: Arrival in Prague

Church in Prague at Night

Living in Venice means we are only a couple hours’ flight from about anywhere in Europe. This year are taking a cruise on the Danube, visiting a number of cities, such as Vienna, Prague, Budapest, and places in between. Our trip started in Prague. Not part of the cruise, but as a few days we tacked onto the beginning.


We arrived in Prague on November 21, 2011, in mid-afternoon after a delay of a couple of hours due to fog. We flew from Venice to Vienna, then to Prague. We later discovered that there is an inexpensive flight directly from Venice to Prague for about 39 Euros on Wizz Air. 


A driver picked us up at the airport and we arrived at our hotel around 4:30 p.m. The hotel, Santini Residence, is very nice and the service is great. For example, the breakfast, which is included in the price of the room, can be delivered to your room for no extra charge. Deliver is prompt and friendly, and the food is very good. You fill out a card and order whatever you want, as much as you want.


We hadn’t had anything to eat since a small pastry at the Venice airport, so we went to a restaurant next door to the hotel called “The Three Violins.” The food was great and the service friendly (although at this hour he was not swamped). I had duck pate as an appetizer, and roasted duck as a main course, along with a glass of dark beer. The duck came with red cabbage, a sweet version of sour kraut, and a big pile of potato dumplings. Karen had goulash and then a cake of some kind for dessert. I recommend the place for its food. The only criticism I would offer is that the music was too loud and of a generally obnoxious variety. When will restaurants learn?


After that we walked around the old part of the city. The beauty of the place surprised me. Although some of it was built in the 9th century, for the most part it was built in the 18th century. Mozart used to hang out here. 


It is obvious that after the fall of communism they put their backs into making at least the historic center comfortable for tourists. Hotels, bars and restaurants abound, as do touristy shops, from designer brands to crass souvenir shops. The streets are clean and safe, and the buildings well maintained.


The historic center has all the trappings of touristy Europe. During the lunch and dinner hours, many of the restaurants have people standing outside trying to get you to come in. I avid such  places. There are also the occasional beggar, particularly on the Charles Bridge at night. They seem harmless, though, as they take a kneeling position where they rest their upper bodies on their elbows, and essentially lay in the street holding a cup and not saying anything. We were never approached by one.


The night was cold, we were full of hardy Czech food, and we were exhausted from our day of travel. We went back to the hotel for the night.

Amazon Link

Gold Ring Con in Venice

Recently I have approached twice by people pretending to find a gold ring in the street, and then asking for money for it. Here’s how it works:

As you walk down the street a person will rapidly come toward you, and a short distance in front of you pick up a large ring laying in the street. The ring appears to be solid gold. They will ask you whether it’s yours. You of course did not drop a ring, particularly in a place where you have not walked yet. You say no, and attempt to go your way. They will follow you and try to give it to you. Your natural reaction is to refuse it, and tell them it’s their lucky day. Then they will give you some story about being allergic to gold (gold is inert, no one is allergic to it), or not liking jewelry, or some such nonsense. In the end, they will be such a pain in the ass about you keeping it that you finally give in and take it. You go your way, and they pretend to go theirs. Then they come back and demand money for it.


I don’t know whether the ring is gold or not, but I know someone who paid five Euros to the person and got the ring. Even if the ring is 14 karat gold, it would probably be worth a few hundred bucks at a pawn shop. There are no identifying marks on it, other than a very small stamp on the inside appearing to be the gold stamp. I’m guessing, though, that the ring is worthless.

So, if you travel in Italy there are a few rules to remember.

1.   Don’t take anything from anybody. Beggars and con men will often try to hand you something, like an envelope, or a rose, and then want money. I have even heard of them handing you a baby, and then going through your pockets. Simply refuse, and don’t worry about being polite. They are crooks and liars.

2.   Don’t let anyone get too close to you. If you are in a crowd, well, you’re in a crowd, but otherwise try to keep your distance.

3.   Do not take voluntary assistance from anyone. Unless you are a little old lady struggling to get her suitcase over a bridge, no Venetian is going to help you. There are Gypsies, particularly at the bridges near the train station and Piazzale Roma who will grab your bag acting all helpful, and at the other end demand money. Also, people will greet you at the train station and assist you in finding your train and your seat, and likewise demand money. There is no one at the train station to help you. If you fall for either of these scams, refuse to give them money. What they are doing is illegal.

4.   Beware of anyone (other than fellow tourists) asking you for directions. They will come up and put a map under your face with one hand, and go through your pockets with the other.

5.   Beware of swarms of young girls. They are out to pick your pocket.

            Do some research before you come as to what scams are out there, and always be suspicious of any Italian offering you any kind of assistance. Venice is safe and generally free of scam artists, other than the beggars, but you still need to use ordinary care. There are plenty of pick-pockets.

Note: There are porters in Venice near the Vaporetto stop for St. Mark's, but they have badges and a list of fees. They are worth every penny, but make sure you know the fee in advance.

Gondolas are Made of Wood

Gondola with bottom stripped

 Once I was showing some people around Venice from my home state of Michigan. Very nice people and a lot of fun. They were boaters and professed to know about boats. When I showed them the boat yard where gondolas are built and repaired, they swore that they were made of fiberglass. They were expert on the subject, and no amount of argument to the contrary would satisfy them that gondolas are in fact built entirely of wood (with the exception of a small amount of metal trim).

Over the course of last summer my friend Roberto, who is a gondolier by trade, had one built. Included here is a picture of his gondola on the form they use to construct them. The other day I noticed that one of the gondolas had had its bottom stripped of all paint, revealing the wood underneath. This is the first time I have seen a gondola being repaired with all the paint off the bottom. So I took a picture.

Roberto's gondola under construction

So, friends, as you ride around Venice in a gondola, you can be sure that the boat you are in is made of wood. All of it. Seven different types of wood, and over two-hundred pieces. And they are still made here by hand.

Coolest bar/café in Venice

 When one travels to Italy from the US, it becomes clear very quickly that Italians do not care about air conditioning or ice, although their country is hot as hell. Mood Café in Venice at Campo Santa Margherita has both.

Most bars and restaurants in Venice have signs touting them as being “air conditioned.” Don’t believe it. How can the place be cool if the outside temperature is 90, with 90% humidity, and the door is open? Mood Café, however, is indeed air conditioned and cool inside, even with the door open.


In addition to being cool inside, Mood has one of the best, if not the best, selections of beer in Venice. Not Italian beers, mind you, but a huge selection of Belgians on tap and in the bottle, as well as American, German and English. For example, Sierra Nevada Pale Ale and Brooklyn Beer. Oh, you want Italian beer? Fine, go somewhere and have an Italian beer. Then, after you realize that they generally suck, come to mood, be cool and comfortable, and drink some decent beer.

Max

 Mood also has a great selection of sandwiches, and during lunch, Max will make you a wonderful salad, and he has a great hamburger.

To top it all off, there is always an English language newspaper available.

So, if you want to cool off after walking around Venice on a hot day, go to Mood Café on Campo Santa Margherita. Look for the black table cloths. Tell them Mike sent you.

Photographs of Venice

To look at my best and most recent photos of Venice go here. To see some other photos, click one of the links below

venice photos

italy photos

gondola photos

I wrote a Book

I am the artistic type. Even as a teenager I painted, wrote music, and wrote stories.  As an adult I have done a lot of painting, the results of which can be seen here, and now I have written a couple of novels. One novel is in the process of being reviewed by an editor, and being rewritten, while the other I published on Amazon for the Kindle to see what would happen.

The story available on Kindle is about a boy who, shortly after turning 18, and in the midst of proving to his parents that he is no longer a child, but a bona fide grown man, meets a ghost, which is living in an abandoned house. This sets his feet on the path of conflict with the ghost, his parents, his best friend, and the cops. The book can be previewed here, and a trailer video I made is here. The book can be downloaded from Kindle for a measly buck forty nine.  Give it a look see, as you can download a part of it to your Kindle for free. The book is called “The Ghost of Caroline Wald.”

There is Justice in the World

I often criticize the Italians for being rude and downright obnoxious, primarily to tourists, on whom, ironically, they rely for their livelihood. When I mention this to other Americans, they often tell me that while this is true, the French are much worse, many of them having recently been in France.

 

Today while having lunch at a café in Campo Santa Margherita, I observed the Italian waitress be unbelievably rude to some French tourists. The café is called the Orange Café, and can be identified by the orange chairs outside. One of the waitresses there is particularly unfriendly, and should thank God she does not rely on tips. She is so unfriendly that I usually will not go there if I see her. Her manner is unpleasant and rude, and she is clearly quite unhappy in her chosen profession. I don’t know her name, and don’t care to know it.

 

Today, being Sunday, our usual haunt, Imagina Café, where the waiters are very pleasant and helpful, was closed. We therefore chose the Orange Café because they have some decent light fare for lunch. They were obviously having some sort of kitchen issue, as it was taking a coon’s age to get any food. Next to us was a table of Frenchmen who apparently had ordered some food before we got there. There was another table of French on the other side of us who ordered at the same time we did.

 

After a reasonable length of time had passed with no sign of the food, one of the French from the first group signaled the waitress herein above mentioned, and asked about the order. The waitress, after ignoring the woman for an appropriately rude length of time, told her that this was a bar, not a restaurant.

 

Ah, well, even I, who had eaten there dozens of times in the past three years, had been fooled. I was fooled by the fact that they served complete meals, by the fact that there was a fairly extensive menu, and by the fact that the menu said it was restaurant. I was offended, although the remark was not directed to me, and although the victims were French.

 

Finally their food came, and then my food came. I ate, finished, and paid, all before the other French people got their food. I felt bad for all of them. But not for long. I shortly saw the humor in it, and had to laugh out loud, even while sitting at the table between the two groups of French.

 

Most tourists will tell you that, when in France, they are treated like something to be scraped off the bottom of ones shoe. The French, when in Venice, are a pain in the ass. They sit on bridges (don’t do that, it is horribly obnoxious), and I have had French people ask me for directions to a place I knew, as it is about a two minute walk from my house, but they refused to believe my directions, and went off in the wrong direction. Okay, fine, I could give a rat’s ass. But the rudeness and obnoxiousness of it go beyond the pale. So, when these people at the Orange Café were treated like shit, I was happy to see them get some of their own medicine. And I’m not even sure they understood how rude the waitress was–she made her comment in English, and as anyone who has been to France knows, they don’t speak English. It only goes to show that if you live long enough, you will see justice done.

 

As an aside, I have to add that one should not generalize about a people. I gave a photography tour to some French people the other day, and they were delightful. In my experience, though, they were the exception.