Cooking is not such a relaxing pursuit with a screaming baby underfoot. Whatever it was that ticked her off, she wasn’t going to let it go and we were not allowed to forget it for.a.single.second. By the time dinner was on the table, we were all shattered. I recuperated with a San Pellegrino Cocktail, the husband clung to his glass of wine and the baby promptly fell asleep when we put her to bed after half a jar of baby food and a few bites of sausage. No picture, because really.
A late-afternoon trip to the beach a, sea-side apéro (crodino! salty crisps!) and then on to dinner at Punta Lizzu. A table full of antipasti (soft stewed vegetables with basil, salumi, olives, local bread with cracklings, eggplant fritters, pane carasau with melted cheese) had me happy and mostly full even before the pasta (ravioli with cheese, olive oil and sage) and mixed vegetable soup appeared. The porchettu with artichokes (so good!) almost popped the button on my jeans, but this did not stop me from having justalittletaste of the sweet fritters. The husband went ahead and ordered the full dessert (fried dough stuffed with cheese and soaked in honey) and the baby gave up and went to sleep right before All The Sugar happened. She kept one hand in the air, though, just in case one of her fans happened by.
“Shall I make you a reservation at 20.30hrs at a local agriturismo?”, Luigi suggested. It was a kind offer, but we thought the baby wouldn’t last through a whole meal that started that late. So off to Sa Sevada we went again, this time for sardo salumi, ravioli with ricotta and nuts (for me) and grilled fish with salad (the husband). Léa was a perky baby almost throughout (eating her bread, tossing everything else offered on the floor). When we were just about done, she was too and started babbling. Loudly. We gave her a bottle and then left as quickly as we could. She was out cold before we left the parking lot.
We’re inside the “sala” for common use at the agriturismo we have settled into for a few nights. The owner invited us in when we were setting up for a picknick on the porch. He was right about us being more comfortable here, but might regret it tomorrow when he finds Léa has… redecorated… his neatly laid tables. In any case, we are happily ensconsed inside and work our way through a pile of sardo prosciutto, a buffalo milk cheese treccia, olives, cherry tomatoes, bread, cookies and copious amounts of iced water.