So once a year this town goes banana and hosts the “largest free jazz fest”, nice, isn’t it?

There’s just a liiiittle problem with that: the jazz. None. Nowhere to be seen, there’s funky, rock, soul, beat, pop, bluegrass, caribbean, ska, , hummerofgod POLKA, younameit. But as soon as someone starts an Aeolian scale: people leave, in a hurry, even. And they do leave, oh boy if they leave. Oppe-te oppe-ta, as the locals smartly say! So what to do for a jazz lover like myself?

The answer seems to be only one: invite a friend you can’t say “no” to (yes, that kind of friends, yes, with long beautiful hair, and, yes, with BIG beautiful eyes, no wonder-bra needed for those mammasantissimas) who wants to go there, wants really wants please please please, and, oh well, what am I supposed to do??!

Cook a wonderful dinner, spend a few bucks on wine (hint: a bottle worth less than 12 euros is basically a soft-drink with a fancy label) and happily dance the polka! Just don’t call it jazz, c’est tout!

So, temptative menu for this zaterdag recites as follow: baked ravioli with aubergine, pesto and mozzarella with “PINK” Tapon Rosé, rabbit “alla cacciatora” matched with Lachryma Christi from the Vesuvio area, risotto with coulis of crustacean, accompanied by a suave Austrian Pinot Noir and papa-made amaretto tiramisu, with 25 years old white port, and fuck it! Let’s dance this bloody polka! I’m GOOD at this polka thing, tja!