Breville Bread Maker Bb300 Recipe

's official, I'm DEGLOBALIZZATE. And I'm not even a little ashamed.

am a country girl, you know. Perhaps the one that was about to forget it was me, but luckily my genes have rebelled in time. "Remember where you came from" they whispered in my ears ... The DEGLOBALIZZATE it all began.
am an immigrant daughter of immigrants. Then leave it that the migration of my parents stopped at 30 km from home, a stone's throw away from their ancestral roots and so on. It was still a sea change for them. Change the region, the dialect changed, priorities changed ... It changed my life. From farmers to workers. In the countryside is nature that dictates the pace. We get up as soon as the sun comes back to star in the world that never stops running, even while you sleep. The nature sleepy ... but who said that? A spike does not stop growing just because of mica the sun sets. In the city everything is different. The company is not asking you to get up at dawn, but to be on time. Do not give a damn if you arrive half an hour too soon. The important thing is that the "ding" of the stamp means you have arrived on time, you're there. Produce for eight hours and then go home, it asks you. In return you will of which to buy bread and milk. What time you saw a rise in your hands of the farmer.
My father and mother have never been globalized. Not entirely. The "homecoming" that also took 20 minutes by car was an epochal moment, almost an escape. Living in an apartment is not easy when you are used to open the door and find yourself in front of the yard, and then fields as far as the eye can see. Although the "condominium" there are hot water and heating control that reach everywhere, raise her voice too much if all you hear, there's the neighbor who leaves open the door of the "common areas" that you insist on close, and at night the muffled sound of cars whizzing on the main road will not let you sleep. He returned home every week, a minitrasloco that began Saturday and ended Sunday evening. You are bringing all arms storage and two daughters terribly "globalized" to convert.
My sister and I were born in the city. I by chance, my sister by choice. I was born when the "migration process" was still incomplete, we were a bit 'here and a little' there waiting for my father was confirmed in the 'national power company. " I grew up in the wild, at the foot of a paesiello "six kilometers from the curves of life" that summer and winter population was 50 maybe 10 ... without children to socialize with a sprightly man of 70 who bear the title of "Grandpa" as a playmate, so my mother was afraid that the first approach with the school I attacked someone by saying phrases in Esperanto or barking at worst (as I was intimately convinced of being a dog, modern psychologists have written entire sections on my weird way to live four-legged). Then my father was confirmed, and have to change life forever. But like all children took it well. So I knew it was a temporary thing. I had to be city from Monday to Saturday, until the bell. Or from September to June, the time to stop the black apron. Then I could go back to being the same as always. Environmentally friendly to the core.
You know, time passes. Being a "social animal" mica is always a good thing. Being together with other changes you, even if you do not want. Ti "globalization." My sister and I were two strange animals for others. Do not ever attended a small parties, birthday catechism on Saturday afternoon at the cinema or the children on Sunday. "On Sundays I go to the grandfather," I would say stubborn at every call, taking away my mother the embarrassment of decline for me. There was another life, another way to pass the time. The "religion of origin" was first. My mother probably thought that he was looking for two young shoots to grow in the image he and Heidi would never have made inquiries and were on standby indefinitely ... but where the landslide could not even (which in 1978 took away half paesiello) arrived "Adolescent syndrome". A real hurricane. I started looking around and I realized that we were not the only way to live, and more ... even the best. In addition there were nights my nose in a pizzeria, maybe a few jumps in the disco on Sunday afternoon. And in summer there were seven days at sea, now affordable for everyone, even for "city of immigrants." Things that were forbidden for me, because I had to transhumance weekly in the country. Awesome. They started the first signs of revolt "globalized" timid waste type "but you could not stay home this time?" Tonight my friends go to the cinema to see "Flashdance", then real rebellion, hysterical crying, dishes full of delicacies Emilia left intact. I rubbed the campaign? What do I care to go to a place I knew as my pockets where there was no one to chatter and the hill that rose above everything and everyone in order to prevent the passage even of television ... My grandfather had lived years blissfully convinced that the door rai served to subsidize a subscription channel and had never moved the wheel tivulone tube, now fixed on the tune "14". But I knew that beyond that first round of the wheel there was something else, were the first private TV, Television and DJ ... I spent my Saturday night by swallowing tears and anger, not even the cat fusoleggiante and the thousands of posters with whom I had decked with flags from the old high-ceilinged room comfort me. Up when I touched the supreme test. Give up the film "Lady Oscar" broadcast on Christmas Eve on Italy A, and the year after the mandate of Duran Duran in concert "recorded live" always on the channel you want. It was too much even for me, fourteen year old nerd with a few more reasonable and crickets for the head. I had to come back from my mates and to their question, "Have you seen them ????? Oddiomioquantoeranofichi, true that you have them ??????" vistiiiiiiii I would have to answer for the umpteenth time "no, I was in my grandparents' house" cashing their astonished gaze, and the obvious question ... "Well, but you could not stay at home?"
And I wanted to stay home. My house. The one with the radiators, hot water, the road traffic, lights, noise, supermarket, pizza take-away, the world just a click away. I do not care about anything else. I wanted to go to the beach in the summer like everyone else, and not spend three months buried alive in the middle of nowhere. I wanted to send postcards from all over the globe and not the usual note to buy tobacco, which together with other four shops was "the city" of that paesucolo slow as a suburb of Mexico at two in the afternoon. I am prevented from living but I would have fought, and I checked.
My grandfather was on my side unconditionally. "I was young I too - told me with bright eyes - and I wanted to have fun, just like you." Uncomfortable played the role of mediator between the generations and each so he could get some concessions from his iron daughter to me. He did not want to marry the life that he too loved her for strength. Perhaps in his heart he knew that sooner or later I would have chosen herself with every fiber of my being, because he was a wise man. He knew to wait.
Now I'm old. I adapted to "fast living", I consider it a tax, a necessary annoyance. Hasten the pace even when not in use, breaking the record of the "flying kilometer" slalomeggiando with the cart between-nothing who spend their free time at the "mall", hardly bear the strain of modern life and its lack of "limits" I admit that you are gadgets that make us even when we could not be reached and being bombarded by information of all kinds and generally useless. I'm old, so says the ID card, my bones creaking, the way I grow damp eyes when my car facing the last corner and looked cross the road sign. Above all, the mind, thinking "I'm home." At
paesiello I go when I can. "I'm visiting my" mellifluous announcement to colleagues who ask me "go away for the Bridge anyone?" and sometimes even to her friends on the web. I'm visiting my family, the house is no longer what it used to, but the place is quiet and if she gets the look just right you can see the hills. I go there armed with tools model housekeeper even though I know there is very little to clean than a little 'dry leaf powder and a few pulled from the wind. And of scale, because to my loved watching the scenery. Adjust the compositions of dried flowers better than I can even if the ikebana is not my forte, always greeting aloud before I go, I know that the little old ladies present is not offended by some. And then I go for a ride in "center."
few years the mayor has thoughts of megacities. The fountain, the round ... even the supermarket. But I have very different goals. A few hours of life "slow"
Before the arcades. The old Grand Café, the goldsmith shop where brands such as "Guess" or "Vattelapesca" do not care, the bakery. I can not resist and up to buy a loaf, made very little pret a porter in a world of "all the bread and sandwiches, a world in which sliced bread is a wasted effort. I get excited because the baker still recognize me, and before bursting into tears the next step destination, dairy. For thirty years in this closet that still exudes the same smell, a mixture of cream, stale, sweet anise, better not ask what else. What do I care? Within two minutes I'm out and I regained another piece of life. The old mill no longer works for years otherwise a couple of pounds of freshly ground flour is not me no one would stand them. And then a handful of buttons in haberdashery, look through store window "Scarpeborsecappellicinture" that the selected "flagship" he cheerfully impipa ... You can live without the Benetton at hand, I think. Fusion without food, without grills. Without those horrible places that sell cups of fruits already reduced to small cubes (miracolo. ..) as it was the last step forward in science facedola pay their weight in gold ... Without exaggeration, no traffic lights!
turn the machine with a heavy heart and in the meantime I think of that girl furious that he yearned to her place in the "globalized world". I could exchange a few words with her now, she hoped to expand the horizons of his universe, so I would limit a bit 'than mine, because I realize that I do not care to know that time Singapore do not know what happens when ten minutes from my house. In this world too much fear of getting lost, to forget who I am, where I come from. How can I attack with tradition, I tell myself that I do not reject the new, but the absurd (try to explain to a senior who eat with their hands = finger food so celebrated in the happy hour is from modern ... =) but will then true? They are retrograde? I'm dumb, I am opposed to progress? I follow an idea of life that no longer exists, silly, slow, closed to the news?
I do not know what life was. I just know it was mine.