The mosquitos continue their persuit of my flesh. They've even taken a bit out of my forehead. However, they have completely ignored my housemate, Barbara, who reports not even a nibble since she arrived here a month ago.
I went to the fishmonger this morning and didn't recognize many of the creatures resting on trays of ice. I asked the merchant's advice. She suggested the spigola, a fish about the size of my hand and wrist with big eyes. She even told me how cook it: Bake it lightly and pour a little vinegar and oil over it then add a little salt before eating. Turns out spigola is bass. I felt a small shiver of shame at my ignorance at not recognizing the fish. How could I have eaten bass so many times in restaurants and never known what a whole bass looks like?
Baraba and I will share the cooking and the eating of it tonight. Which raises another adjustment that's hard to make: Eating at an hour when at home I'd be snuggled in bed deep into a murder mystery.
Addio per ora