A diminutive, amply proportioned, flamboyantly enrobed (… she’s presents as never having just flung on yesterdays clobber). Deliciously commanding as she is exultant . After parking (abandoning) her walker/wagon in the corner of the salon, Ricco is hoisted to her ample bosom as the Sicilian Signora is guided to chutzpah-foot-spa chair for her pedicure. Much head nodding and knowing smiles.
The good vibrations massage chair was brought to a dramatic halt and a sense of calm ensued (icing Riccos cake of bewilderment and confusion) for both the brightly bedecked Signora and her one eyed chihuahua. It’s hard not to notice his blinding, jewel-encrusted collar matches her twinkly turquoise finger nails. She high kicks, in an uncontrollable reflex as they take industrial bolt cutters to her cerise tootsies.
The row of preeners and preen’ese included a few locals. A very tall elegant brunette who had her boofy little Pomeranian (hoi polloi Henri) tied to her mega-bucks tote bag. She was off to a modelling job in New York. Cooo. A mud clogged tractor pulled up outside to collect a lady who needed to get back for milking. The door was held open by a famous Rock Star who with a click of his fingers parked his two Rottweilers by the “please leave it open” door. More nodding and smiling claimed acceptance. He has acrylic’s on his thumb and first two digits and “Doesn’t do waiting” apparently. I’d just wanted a dollop of beau rose on my toes!
After a few minutes Pom pom Henri caught sight of the Rottweilers and decided to make a bolt in the opposite direction. He brought the tote, a no longer ‘nonchalantly’ draped pashmina became caught under some chair wheels and the whole shebang came hurtling toward one eyed Ricco who had been completely unaware of any canine company until that moment.
The scene of carnage and hysteria was a divine comedy of circumstance and errors. The pom pom Pomeranian launched himself (and all behind him) at the now screeching chihuahua as his high kicking Mama clopped the chin of the young lady pedicurist. Who is incidentally a Vietnamese Dr. specialising in micro biology and does the nail thing for her ‘bestie’ in her “down time”.
Both muts, most of a bottle of supernova cerise polish and the contents of the posh tote end up in the (calming lavender) bubbly water. Blood from the Sicilian Signoras foot and also that of our Dr. chum, who had also taken a smack in the kisser from the chair. No one (except me) knew whether to laugh or cry. We heard a click and saw the Rock Star who ‘doesn’t do waiting’ live up to his reputation and disappear. Camaraderie in crisis ruled for the rest of us, two small nicks can indeed look like carnage.
You-know-who had hoiked the two drenched muts out of the (calming lavender) bubbly water and ended up with them both, eyeing one another up, on my lap (yay).
“Don’t even think about it fellas!” being my super-stern utterance. They stopped dead in their tracks, looked at one another, then looked up at me, after a brief telepathic exchange agreed…”Umm Dragon Slayer/best not”. My next task was then to not be licked to death. Every one else was ok and dry. Sopping wet and damp dawg hair rarely my finest look?
The pooches swiftly wrapped in towels, the model melting with embarrassment. La Signora proffered her hand.
“I cannot thank you enough, I h’am “Magadelena” (oh such a breathy exuberance of majesty). We did the awkward in a nail salon, how-do-you-do hand shake thing and exchanged pleasantries. `’Maah-gah-de-lennah’ she repeated for the room.
Within minutes we turn and hear. “Sit. Click. Stay!” As we all looked around there stood the Rock Star, who ‘doesn’t do waiting’.
Full of apologies “Sorry I had to bail out” said he in his ‘norff london accent’. “I couldn’t cope wiv’ that… but I thought you all might like an ice cream?”
Both he, and the doe-eyed youngster behind him were laden with precariously balanced cones of ice cream. Such a kindly gesture, we all duly chomped through the sumptuous surprise. From this we may deduce ice cream is the currency of apology and kindness?
Maah-gah-de-lennah then took it upon herself and lent toward me and whispered in her, far too loud, sit-com accent.
But I do prefer Cassata Siciliana don’t you? … sigh.
After a quick watusi in the khazi I nipped out their back door, not overly clad as I drove home, in truth I was wearing the dry cleaning, but… more importantly, planning a ‘swift and doable’, version of a cassata for here.
Whizzing through our back door, wearing the tea boys smoking jacket over my undies exclaiming (as I rushed past) that I’d passed the audition for remake of Cabaret. His lightly fossiled, face was a picture of appropriate and absolute disbelief.
The Cassata Magadelena, didn’t include the statutory dried fruits, as one of my lot doesn’t like them (!) hence I reconstituted dried cranberries (acceptable) in orange juice added a splash of Cointreau (because I could) and Marsala. Non imbibers can easily use the OJ.
The ice cream goop is equal parts of mascarpone and ricotta, and simply sweetened to taste. Fold in the zest of a few oranges, about half their juice was used for bathing the cranberries, a very decent handful if dark chocolate drops, and a splash of vanilla extract and all simply and gently folded together.
The boudoir biscuits or ‘Oh you mean sponge fingers dear’. I was duly remonstrated in a local supermarket… sigh.
Dip the sugar side of the biscuits into your liquid orange, marsala and Cointreau, just what ever you happen to have. Line (in my case) disposable tins, wrap and freeze.
A small one was despatched to No.1 Son and joyously received. Serve either fridge cold or nip it from the freezer half an hour before serving. Cassata nailed!
Various combinations are now planned as make-a-head freezer puds for the swiftly approaching season of festivities. I feel that small ones would make lovely little gifts for a few of my oldies who can be a tad awkward to buy for.
Ha, so that’s the Tea Boy sorted!