Italy’s enchanting Ravenna is a treasure chest of art, history and culture and though it may not be as famous as Rome, Florence or Venice, it’s a little slice of heaven for art lovers, literature lovers and history nuts. And, as it turns out, gluttonous seafood loving pre-schoolers.

The extraordinary little city was once the capital of the Western Roman Empire, the Ostrogothic Kingdom and the Byzantine Empire.

And to this day remains liberally littered with the remnants of its glory days and eight incredible UNESCO World Heritage listed monuments.

We visited a few years ago and happily strolled through its light flooded squares, spotting graceful domos and pretty palazzos.

We explored foreboding basilicas and baptisteries with interiors bedazzled in a riot of tiny sapphire blue, turquoise, green, red, white and gold tiles.

Mosaics so enchanting that Cole Porter was inspired to write Night and Day after seeing the starry mosaic sky of Galla Placidia.

Like Mr Porter, Raffles too was left dumb struck by the beauty of the sparkling mosaics. Though as a pre-schooler was more inclined to bust out Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.

But it was later on our exploration that my son was left even more stupefied at the sight of his melodramatic mother having conniptions as he prostrated himself at the small marble tomb of the divine poet, Dante Alighieri.

Indeed, he may actually have been so embarrassed that he thought he was actually on a journey to the nine circles of hell.

But given this was Raffles, even at the ripe old age of four, he was only interested in descending to the Third Circle of Hell, Gluttony, the place reserved for those who overindulge in food. And Ravenna, located on the sea, provides him with plenty of wonderful cuisine for him to get a foot in the door.

We chow down on local specialities including cappelletti (filled pasta) and piadina (flat bread) and a delectable seafood soup, but Raffles goes rogue with a plate of spaghetti alle vongole (spaghetti with clams), the shells of the baby clams dotting the pasta just like tiny mosaic tiles.

You see, while spaghetti alle vongole is very popular throughout Italy, and there is plenty of fresh seafood in in Ravenna, it is not really a traditionally local dish. But it is here in a pretty rustic courtyard near the Arian Baptistry – that Raffles got a taste for the classic dish. While the restaurant where we dined has faded in my memory, quite possibly due to the effects of the bottle of Sangiovese I guzzled, my seafood loving son often recalls his first, though not last, introduction to spaghetti alle vongole and has been begging for me to make it at home ever since.

So with the arrival of a brand new pasta maker for my beloved KitchenAid Mini just begging to spit out some fresh strands of pasta, and a kilo of fresh pippies from the local fish markets on hand, I could think of no better time to indulge his desires, though I’m adding a little salty, porky twist with a handful of flat pancetta.

In true Italian style, we made the pasta making a family affair. Sugarpuff was in charge of making the dough using the Mini’s bowl mixer, which we left to rest for half an hour.

Raffles then started rolling the ribbons of silky pasta dough.

Then ran them  carefully through the cutters.

The end result is silky smooth strands of spaghetti.

Which proved a perfect vehicle for the lightly liquid sauce of the vongole, a dish that is as pretty as any Ravennan mosaic… and left me with two children who claim they’ll never eat store bought pasta again.

RECIPE

Spaghetti Alle Vongole

Ingredients
Pasta:
4 large eggs
31/2 cups of sifted 00 flour
1 tbs water
1 tsp salt
Vongole:
1 kg pippies or clams, scrubbed clean
400grams of fresh made spaghetti
100 ml extra-virgin olive oil
3 cloves of chopped garlic
1-2 finely chopped Birdseye chillies
1 cup of dry white wine.
½ cup chopped flat-leaf parsley
½ cup of diced flat pancetta.
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Method
To make pasta break eggs in too a measuring cup to measure 7/8 cup (add a little water if necessary).
Add flour and salt in the mixer with flat beater attachment.
Slowly add eggs and mix for 30 seconds at low speed.
Replace attachment with dough hook and kneed for a further two minutes at low speed.
Leave to rest for 30 minutes.
Run dough in small pieces through the pasta roller until smooth and silky, then cut using your preferred attachment.
Put a pan of water on to boil with a good pinch of salt.
For the vongole place a large pan with a lid on a high heat with olive oil.
Add the pancetta to lightly brown then set aside.
Add garlic and chilli to oil.
Once the garlic starts to colour, quickly add in the pippies and wine. Give everything a good shake and cover with lid.
After two minutes, add fresh pasta to water (prepare pasta earlier if you are using dry pasta).
After another two minutes the clams should all be open.
Take the pan off the heat and remove unopened clams.
Add pancetta.
Drain your pasta and add to the clams with an extra drizzle of extra virgin olive oil.
Cook for a minute or two, flipping occasionally, to allow the juice from the clams to be absorbed by the pasta.
Add a splash of olive oil, parsley leaves, salt and cracked pepper and serve.

Disclosure: The Eats World received a KitchenAid Mini to trial but all opinions and recipes are our own.

The post Ravishing Ravenna and a recipe for Spaghetti Alle Vongole appeared first on boyeatsworld.

“Land Ahoy” shouts Raffles, between a volley of “Arrhhs’ and “Yo ho ho’s”. As you do when sailing in to Dubrovnik’s Old Town on a timber galleon. The tiny traveller is convinced it is a real life pirate ship and, in a strange twist, it would appear the skipper concurs – proffering my small swashbuckler a feathered pirate hat, vintage gun, fake parrot and the wheel, before promptly disappearing into the ether.

Our fellow passengers (all hundred or so of them) are blissfully unaware that they are now sailing under the captaincy of an armed and delusional pre-school pirate who can’t even see over the wheel.

Envying them their blissful ignorance, Mr Eats World and I quietly soil ourselves and wonder where the hell the erstwhile skipper has buggered off to. Edited highlights of my life start flashing before my eyes and I pray to any God who’ll listen that the absent mariner thought to set the boat on some kind of aquatic auto pilot before he vanished.

It is our first time in Croatia and though there’s so much we want to see and explore across this beautiful country, from Zagreb to Plitvice Lakes and everywhere in between, its looking increasingly likely we wont see any of it because we’re going to die at the hands of a pre-school pirate.  A good five minutes pass before the skipper nonchalantly returns to his post with a casual “bok” (hello). Deranged though he clearly is, we’re incredibly happy to see him and mightily relieved that somehow Raffles managed to avoid crashing into any of the sharp pointy bits of the rocky Dalmatian coastline.

Kapetan Crazy once again takes command of his ship and our pulses settle to a more steady pace… only to start racing again just minutes later as we reach the fortified medieval walls of the Old Town and sail into its movie-set harbour.

As testament to his devotion to his new found career, Raffles has stowed away behind a timber staircase, announcing that he’s “a real pirate now” and intends on staying with his ship forever. You reckon, sunshine?

Delighted by Dubrovnik

There’s so much to see and do in Dubrovnik with kids but we’re on limited time with just a few hours to explore its delights, as there’s a hulking cruise ship waiting to sail us to Ravenna in Italy. So we decide to keep it simple, focusing on the main street and filling our bellies.

Forcibly removing our kicking and screaming baby buccaneer from the galleon of his dreams, we enter Dubrovnik Old Town as nature intended… that is if nature intended that we should be wrestling a recalcitrant pre-schooler and his wriggling sibling. It’s early enough in the morning  that the city hasn’t been overtaken by the hordes of tourists that are sure to descend at any moment.

We step into The Stradun, Dubrovnik’s pedestrian main street that stretches almost 300 metres from gate to ancient gate, and are staggered by its fairy tail prettiness – only a few strolling locals, a busker and a family or two of pigeons dotting its gleaming expanse.

The limestone-paved street has been polished to a glassy sheen by years of use and is so shiny and smooth that we have to stop ourselves flinging of our shoes and sock-sliding past the spectacular Renaissance confection that is the Sponza Palace, the uniform rows of pretty green window shutters, fountains, statues, Baroque churches and bell towers all the way to a Franciscan Monastery and Pile Gate, the city’s main entrance, at the other end.

Off the main promenade we weave our way through a maze of narrow cobble-stone lane-ways that cut through the old town, the occasional scar of shrapnel damage the only reminder still visible from the conflicts of the early 90’s which saw the city under months of violent siege.

To market

We stumble upon Gundulićeva Poljana, a pretty baroque square overlooked by an enormous statue of a 17^th century poet of the same name, though better known as Ivan to his mates. It is market day and the square is a heaving mass of red and white umbrellas sheltering table after table of brightly coloured fresh fruit and vegetables, local cheese, olives, honey and spices.

A legion of local cats encircle the market waiting for the exact right moment to pounce on the gluttonous goodies. While the kitties seem more interested in procuring produce of the pesce variety we can’t resist the crimson temptation of a bucket of fat and fabulous raspberries.

Raffles and I feast on our luscious load as we wander around town, the juice staining Raffles chin as he greedily gobbles his share… and most of mine.

But the raspberries are just an appetizer and lunch is beckoning.

Delicious Dubrovnik

Dubrovnik is a city of seafood which suits us (and the local felines) just fine. Dining is heavily influenced by Italian cuisine, as evidenced by the proliferation of pasta, pizza and risotto crowding every menu. Tuna, shellfish, calamari, squid and octopus are staples and popular local dish crni rižot (cuttlefish risotto) is not only one of the more obvious nods that Dubrovnik makes to Venice but one of its tastiest.

The dish, dyed an inky black by breaking cuttlefish ink sacs onto the rice at the end of the cooking process, initially horrifies my wee pirate boy but any fear of its startling appearance is soon belted away by its flavour packed punch. Though I draw the line at his attempts to use a plastic cutlass as cutlery.

In fact, as we await for Raffles ‘pirate ship’ to fetch us for the return voyage we agree we’ve all been pretty knocked out by the beautiful seaside town.

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We’re feeling a little Italian inspired at La Casa di Eats World so we’re heading on a little trip down memory lane (or should I say canal?) to reminisce on the ghosts of holidays past and, in particular, on masks and mayhem, Venetian style.

Lording it up in Venice in the most ridiculously over-sized and indulgent hotel suite in the history of over-sized and indulgent hotel suites is not something you’re likely to hear me complaining about. Especially when we’re talking a palace. And our Venetian accommodation is that. Quite literally! The Hotel Pesaro Palace in the lovely Cannaregio district is a stunningly restored 15^th century palazzo and our temporary home in Venezia. The main room of our suite (yep, there is more than one) is bigger than our entire apartment back home, with a two-story ceiling boasting OTT Venetian Glass chandeliers the size of a small hatchback.

Deep red silk walls, a marble bathroom the size of the average football field and two-story windows with billowing silk drapes opening dramatically to not one but two balconies overlooking the Grand Canal certainly don’t detract from its charm.

Am I gloating? Hell yeah! I’m poking out my tongue and singing “ner nee ner” as I type. The highlight of our European family sojourn, this is the kind of room Venetian fantasies are made of.

Everything is so… big! Even the bathrobes!

The bed itself is so bloody huge that all four of us sleep together and can still stretch out with a full arms length between each other.

And it is at this point that my gloating concludes and I drop my eyes shamefaced, because no matter how fab this bank breaker of a hotel suite is, and it’s certainly been a budget blower, there is no room for “fantasy” for a couple who are sharing their bed with two small, snuffling, squirming, sweaty, farty children both of whom need to be asleep before 8pm.

And so, instead of falling into each others arms swept away by the romance of it all, we sneak out on to our little balcony and sit on the concrete step in our fluffy hotel robes with a bottle of cheap Prosecco and plastic cups to watch the child free world go jauntily about its business.

Sigh!  Il romanticismo è morto.

Though undeniably divine, Venice is an adult kind of town bursting with museums, art galleries and glass stores (think bulls and china shops with the all-dancing and ever exuberant Raffles in tow) and a tad bereft of kids’ activities, there is still plenty of intrigue to keep a couple of pint-sized nut-jobs amused.

If gondola rides, gelati and granitas aren’t enough, then pizza, palazzos and pigeon chasing in the piazza certainly do.

Raffles spends his days wrapped up in the magic of his own lunatic head convinced he is Prince Charming. And I do sneak in a little art appreciation at the Doge’s Palace, though the allegedly spectacular artworks are more a colourful blur as we’re marched passed them at warp speed by our son.

 I mean, why would we want to look at old paintings when there is a perfectly good armory waiting, full of just the kind of weapons and armor a pre-school fantasist Prince requires?

My little prince swans about through the watery world of the Venetian canals..

And lords it up on the imaginary horse he rides up and down the narrow lane-ways, clip-clopping all the way – looking and sounding all the world like a scale version Monty Python movie.

Me, I’ve visited Venice before and it is, without question, one of my  favourite places in the world.

Shrouded in history and mystery, the city’s impossible decrepit beauty is so exquisite it makes me weep.

But to a small child, it’s not the lacy architecture of the Doge’s Palace, the arches, duomos or gilded spires that inspire tears.

Nor the Gothic window tracery or pretty  footbridges.

Not even the labyrinthine streets  or interwoven canals, crowded with Gondolas.

Nope, it’s the beauteous bounty of gelataries!

I swear there is at least one per head of population. And Raffles fretfully tries to work out how he can possibly try them all. Or if not all, which one? He is genuinely concerned about getting it right so I suggest that we just leap in to the closest one and if it’s not up to scratch then we’ll try another until we get it right. And so he chooses a gelaterie and settles in with some icy treats.

Strawberry ice cream is Raffles one true love and he tucks into his first genuine Italian gelati with joy. Even his young palate notices that it tastes like actual strawberries as opposed to strawberry flavouring.

But love is a fickle thing to a pre-schooler and after asking for a taste of his mama’s granita, a new infatuation takes possession of my boy and he fast develops an ice habit that would put the most dedicated meth-head to shame. (So much so that on our return home Raffles asks a bemused Santa for a “granita machine” for Christmas, a wish the jolly bearded one benevolently grants, ensuring we all enjoy a summer of icy goodness).

Sugarpuff is still pretty much only inspired by breast milk and puree on this trip but the city has inspired Raffles to get his foodie on. In fact Venice proves a great place to introduce our son not only to a little history and culture but a whole lot of local food traditions.

We’re starving so we visit Baccaro Jazz, right next  to our Palazzo (oh how I could get used to saying that!) in the Cannaregio district. It’s a quirky place to say the least. The roof is strewn with a bevy of brassieres and the soundtrack is Billy Holiday but the menu is all Italian. I’m straight into the Bellini’s. And it’s a no brainer for us to try a pizza. When in Italia and all that… well, jazz!

Raffles (who also works under the pseudonym Devilboy) somewhat predictably loves the Diavola with its spicy salami topping. It is simple but fiery and the wafer thin crust perfectly crisp.  And it’s love at first bite!!

Each evening we pop into one of the many trattoria’s behind our hotel, choosing places where the locals outnumber the tourists. Not interested in being humoured by the benign kid’s menus which keep being proffered, our son is in an experimental frame of mind and is keen to try something new each meal.  The Scampi Alla Busari, simply grilled with garlic and drizzled with olive oil is particular favourite as is  Seppie, cuttlefish cooked in its ink and served with polenta. Raffles  declares the blackened dish “too ugly to eat” and while he’s right that it is not a pretty dish, one taste affirms that it is most definitely a yummy one.

At Harry’s Bar, we eat Carpaccio, raw thin slices of meltingly tender beef splattered with a sauce made from mayonnaise, mustard, cream and tomato with an enthusiasm that would make Jackson Pollock proud and I, once again, get my Bellini fix, after all this was the place they were invented. You can’t argue with tradition… in fact, I best get two.

We lunch on pretty Burano Island, quite the most colourful place I’ve ever visited.

Noshing on Fritto Misto, crispy bites of delectable seafood and Risotto Pesce, rice cooked with fish, my gluttonous wee boy laps it all up, begging for more. No parent can ask for more than that.

But it’s time to get on our bikes…

After three glorious days of conspicuous consumption, Italian style, it’s time to say arrivederci. As fab as Venice is, our stay is a short one as we’re here to “take a ship”, if you’ll pardon the expression, around the Adriatic.

As a spy movie sexy wooden speed boat taxis us up the Grand Canal to the port, our eccentric offspring is beside himself. As are we at the surreal site of the little loon striking a dramatic pose on said speedboat dressed in an ensemble of sunhat, Hawaiian shirt, camo shorts and a mysterious feathery Venetian mask that he acquired at a market stall in the piazza. He looks more than a little like the showgirl love child of Hunter S. Thomson and Zorro.

Regretfully, the unconventional outfit does not amuse the local customs officials who need to see his face so we can board our ship. Convincing a stubborn pre-schooler of the necessity to do this proves problematic and a mini meltdown ensues!

After several years of screaming he final yields to the customs office and his de-masking demands, gets his passport stamped and its time for a whole new international adventure. “Ciao baby, we’ll be back!”

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After a quick vox pop of friends and family it would appear that to most, Saint Patrick’s Day conjures only visions of festive street parades, herds of dead-armed dancers bobbing up and down and the consumption of enough green-hued Guinness that imbibers start seeing leprechauns

While I’m sure that Saint Patrick, the patron Saint of Ireland, enjoyed a little craic (fun) as much as the next chap, there is more to the great green day than wearing a “Kiss me, I’m Irish t-shirt”, getting pissed and putting on a bad Irish accent. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

In fact, St Patrick, whose real name was Maewyn Succat (no surprises why he changed it) wasn’t even Irish. He was born into a privileged British family from whom he was kidnapped as a teenager. Sold into slavery in Ireland he resided there for six years until he escaped and became a priest. It was only after a religious epiphany decades later that he returned to Ireland to convert the Irish to Christianity, allegedly using the shamrock as a metaphor to explain the concept of “God” as the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Besides metaphorical weeds, one of the things that St Patrick is most famous for is driving the snakes out of Ireland. No mean feat given that he lived around 1500 years ago and cars had yet to be invented.

Regardless of the lack of a vehicle, drive them he did… one even as far as Australia. In what can only be described as an act of madness I married him. The snake, not Saint Patrick. That ill-advised experiment in Celtic/Australian relations proved to be a disaster of biblical proportions and was ended and filed under “R” for “Random acts of stupidity” many years ago. On the bright side it did at least mean I became well acquainted with Ireland, an enchanting place that I visited many times and am extremely fond of. Not only is it a country of great natural beauty and incredible history but it is chock full of delightful people who can’t be held accountable for the dipshittedness of one expatriate son. But I digress. Again.

One of the greatest discoveries I made whilst traversing Ireland was its fabulous food. There is so much more to Irish cuisine than Irish stew, cabbage and potatoes, potatoes, potatoes!!

The seafood is sublime – fat juicy oysters, slabs of meaty salmon and sweet and tender Dublin Bay Prawns (these clawed little crustaceans are on steroids compared to what we’d call a prawn in Australia and are more like our Scampi) – and don’t get me started on the black and white (blood) pudding and even the sausages. Yes, sausages! Yum.

Raffles and I decided this year that we’d join the global celebration of all things Irish with some pre-Saint Patrick’s Day festivities. Given that he is only five, and a tad young to hit the pub for a lesson in drunken racial stereotyping, we chose instead to cook. Though I must confess that a few hard ciders may have been downed (by me) as we hit the kitchen to a rockin’ soundtrack of Thin Lizzy and the Pogues.

Given the lack of fresh seafood in our cupboards we headed more in the sausage direction for our slap-up feast. It’s not glamorous but Dublin Coddle is one of those hearty one-pot wonders that is a cinch to make and, whilst sounding a little stodgy, is full of flavour and as comforting as a warm blanky!

Serve it up with a nice chunk of still warm soda bread (so easy five-year old Raffles made the dough on his own) and you’ve a meal that is fit for a patron Saint.

RECIPES

Dublin Coddle

Ingredients;

500 grams of good quality pork sausage
250 grams bacon
1 large onion, finely sliced
3 large potatoes, peeled and cut into thick slices
2 cloves of garlic, chopped
2 large carrots , peeled and cut into thick slices
2 bottles of hard cider
½ cup of chicken stock
Pepper and salt taste

Method;

1. Cut bacon into large chunks and brown in a large pot until crispy.
2. Using a slotted spoon remove and put aside the bacon
3. Add the sausages and brown on both sides over medium heat then remove and put aside.
4. Add onions and garlic and soften in the residual bacon and sausage grease for a few minutes.
5. Return the bacon and sausages to the pan and add carrots and potatoes. Season.
6. Cover the mixture with one bottle hard cider and scull the other in the spirit of the event. Add stock and a touch of water then simmer, covered, at a low heat for about an hour.

Irish Soda Bread Ingredients;

4 cups plain flour
2 tsp bicarbonate of soda
70gms butter, cubed
2 cups buttermilk
1 tsp salt

Method;

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