The versatile sauce

Here’s a list of things that goes well with béarnaise sauce:
1. Everything.

I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I switched back to English again. It’s just not workin’ out, the damn words get stuck in my elbows or something. I’ll try to evolve the Swedish thing, I promise, but I’ll do it on my spare time so that no one has to suffer. 

Voltri, which is right next to Genoa in the north, is next. We have been awarded some shore leave and we intend to use it. As I see it, I have to eat at least one pizza and buy at least one pair of shoes in this country. And those shoes can’t be cheap and plastic either. Some kind of animal has to die. It looks like it’s going to be a beautiful day, and not too hot either. That’s a new experience for us now. I might even get cold, how did that feel again? When we came in I do believe we were subjected to the meteorological phenomenon known as “Mistral”. When conditions are right, warm fronts are pushing on the back of the Alps, the air gets cooled and falls down along the mountains on the south side causing a strong cold wind from the north. It died completely when we came close to shore because of ground friction. It’s nice when you see things in reality that you’ve learned in school. 

You know the feeling you get when you enter a clothing store and instantly know everything in there will look delicious on you? Of course you fucking don’t. Cause it never fucking happens! But it was damn close this time. I’m back from Genoa and the shoes-thing unfortunately fell through. But I did buy an all too expensive jacket. A jacket which looks so good I want to sleep with it. And I don’t mean I want to wear it in bed. I mean I want to meet it for drinks somewhere in a nice dark and cozy restaurant, chat for a while, find out what kind of music it’s in to, drink some wine, hold its..eh…sleeve. Then take it back to my place and sleep with it. Actually that’s gross, I just got a picture in my head of me rubbing my…..Listen, forget I even said anything, ok?. It’s a very nice jacket, let’s just leave it at that.

Genoa is so incredibly beautiful. Riding into town in a taxicab is like going on a roller coaster ride. The roads go up and down and left and right. It’s clear that either the city planner was drunk. Or he was just Italian. 
“Sir aaaah, how are we-ah going to build-ah a road to go passed this-ah building?”
“Can we go around-ah?”
“No”
“Can we go-ah under?”
“No”
“Aaaaah si si, we go-ah over it-ah!”
Maybe it isn’t exactly like that. But, I mean, the buildings are put there first, there’s no doubt about that. Then they start figuring out how to get into them. The town is from another time when people were walking, not riding around on a million scooters. I guess they are just adapting to that. The old part of town is straight from “Lady and the tramp” (Lady och Lufsen) with clothes drying on racks between the buildings, in every corner some older gentlemen stand around talking and waving their arms. I wish I spoke Italian.