Fast Food, Parisian-Style

Fast Food, Parisian-Style

Hungry in Paris? Good food is never far away. I like that the stores are specialized and are clustered near each other. Hop from one to the next and gather enough for a very good meal. Here’s the selection of food stores at my metro stop, Maubert-Mutualité, on St. Germain.

The boucherie (butcher) and charcuterie (cooked meats and other delicacies):

BoucherieCharcuterie

The boulangerie (bakery):

BoulangerieMoisan

The fromagerie (cheese shop) and wine shop:

FromagerieVins

And here are some of their goodies:

CharcuterieFish

CharcuterieFoieGras

CharcuterieLobster

Escargot

CharcuterieFlansLegumes

FromagerieMoldyCheeses

CharcuteriePoireAuVin

Christmas Eve Dinner

Christmas Eve Dinner

What was for dinner on Christmas Eve in Paris? Fast food, Parisian-style!

From my journal yesterday:

5:30 P.M. Christmas Eve, Paris.
I’m eating in my hotel room, after spending all afternoon at Musée D’Orsay absorbing the impressionists and Art Nouveau and before heading to Notre Dame for Midnight Mass. At the Maubert-Mutualité exit for the metro, there’s a charcuterie, fromagerie, boulangerie and wine shop that I stopped at to buy dinner. The ultimate “fast food”! On tonight’s menu, (eaten in my room with Christmas music on “shuffle” on iTunes on my laptop):

– Escargots in puff pastry with garlic herb butter. 3 pieces for 3,00 €
– Foie gras roll with pistachios. 1 slice for 3,40 €
– A sort of Chevre cheese, donut-shaped and very moldy. 6,80 €
– Flan de Legumes (with broccoli). 3,80 €
– Puff pastry rounds, (eggy and moist). 4 small pieces 1,30 €
– Bordeaux. (1/2 bottle remaining from before). 4,50 €

TOTAL COST OF CHRISTMAS EVE DINNER 22,80 €
(With today’s exchange rate, that’s about $33.00, but I figured that was fine for my Christmas dinner.)

…and it was delicious.

ChristmasEveDinner

FromagerieDonutChevre2

CharcuterieFoieGras

Truffle Breath

Truffle Breath

I have truffle breath. I’ve just “eaten my way across the country” without leaving Milano, and I sampled so many incredible foods, who needs dinner?!

It wasn’t enough to spend half a day at the Artisanal Fair last weekend, I had to go back and spend more time (and money) today. In 3 and a half hours, spent only in the Italian Pavilion, I sampled foods from every region of the country. I sampled truffle – tartufo – butters and truffle-flecked cheeses that made me swoon. I saw a white truffle the size of two fists, and black truffles to go with it.

FieraTartufoGrande

FieraTartufi

FieraCheeses

There were infinite spreads of hot peppers, red onion, eggplant, artichoke and more truffles! I did side-by-side taste tests of olive oils of different ages, and levels of “fruttato” and “amaro“. Such differences!

(On this visit, I didn’t sample the jams and spreads, but last week I had bought some “Caffé & Cocoa”, “Hazlenut & Cocoa”, “Pistachio & Cocoa”, “Lemon & Cocoa”. Each unbelievable.)

I stopped at the licorice vendor with every form imaginable including silver-dusted. He had a bowl of licorice stems to show the origin, and gave me samples of pure, natural, STRONG, distilled-from-the-stem chunks of dense black licorice. After his booth, the vendor sampling thread-thin pickled fish knocked the licorice flavor right out of my mouth.

FieraLiquirizia

The woman at the booth selling Cinghiale, wild boar meat, was feeding me a whole dinner with all the samples she gave me, one from each type of cut and cure they offered. I even savored a shaving of cured wild boar lard, aged with herbs, melt-in-your mouth smooth. I was carrying around a 1 euro sample glass of chianti and it went well with the boar.

FieraCinghiale

FieraMeats

Of course, the pavilion offered plenty of things to satisfy a sweet tooth, but I’d rather photograph them than eat them. Sicilian Cannoli, rolled up and filled with sweet ricotta, look so appealing (but they’re MUCH too sweet for me). And the Torrone nougat is offered with a variety of nuts – almond, walnut, pistachio – and even tinted rosy pink with mirtilo, (much like a blueberry). One man had a hot cauldron in his booth, melting sugar to coat pistachios; he then worked them on cold slabs of marble, forming bars and cutting a sliver for samples. I did sample some deep, dark chocolates and had to bring home a box to add to the gift pile. They were too irresistible.

FieraCannoli

FieraTorrone

FieraPistachioDolci

I bought a few Canederli, what I consider an Italian matzoh ball; they’re typical of northern Italy in Trentino-Alto Adige, where Austria is a neighbor. And last summer, when visiting L’Isola d’Ischia, I had purchased some Limoncello, but gave it all away; so today I bought a bottle for my own freezer.

After close to 4 hours in the Italian pavilion, I set foot in the French section of the European pavilion. I’m not sure whether I wish I had gone there first, or whether it’s a good thing I didn’t. The damask textiles made my heart rate rise as they always do, and I bought a lovely, blue tablecloth for my friend Ewa (that I met shortly after I arrived in Milano and still see almost weekly).

Milano’s Fiera Artigianale is perfectly timed to satisfy all of one’s holiday gift-giving desires! In addition to the foods (!) there are crafts, clothes, fabrics, and even an eco-home section. People come from all over the world both to browse and to sell. I think that one could spend a week and not see it all. With all the Christmas fairs, festivals and decorations, December is not a bad time to come to Italy for a visit.

FieraHaul

“Obei Obei”

“Obei Obei”

It’s the holiday season, and it starts with a rush here in early December. Today, December 7, is the Feast Day of Milan’s Patron Saint, Sant’Ambrogio; it’s a citywide holiday. This day is followed with a national holiday tomorrow, the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, and all the Italian world is shut down for a very long weekend, (except for a few essential services).

On Saturday, I went to the Fiera Artiginiale at Milan’s space-age, ultra modern, expansive fairground, Rho Fiera. Aye! Many city blocks-worth of vendors presenting regional foods and handgoods from around Italy, Europe and the world. The Fair is an amazing gathering for taste-testing oils, jams, spreads, salami, olives and wines. One can oooh and aaah at textiles and handcrafts. In under 4 hours, my energy was spent, my feet were spent and my wallet was spent… and I was carrying home a heavy bundle to ship back to the States for gifts.

Here’s a map of the pavilions, showing the regions and countries represented:
http://www.artigianoinfiera.it/ita/visit_miniguida.php#

RhoOrbWeb

RhoRedWall

RhoRedLitWeb

And then there’s “Obei Obei“, or “Obeh Obeh”. The name is inspired by “Oh Belli!”, the shouted calls from vendors luring passersby to stop and look at the goods for sale. What started years ago as a smaller market near the Sant’Ambrogio station, grew to a huge event. It was moved, and now surrounds the Castello Sforzesco with booths of food, crafts and antiques. I came up out of the subway to a chilly afternoon and a men’s chorus singing Italian Christmas songs.

ObeiObeiChorus

The conjunction of the old Castello Sforzesco and the mylar Babbo Natale (Santa Claus) made me chuckle.

ObeiCastelloBabboNatale

Along the way, I sampled spicy salami from Calabria, nut-studded Torrone, and cheese with flecks of truffle.

ObeiTorrone

I photographed, but passed by, the Sicilian sweets vendor. (When I bought a few goodies from the same vendor before, the macaroons and pistachio-paste cookies were dried out. They must bake for weeks in preparation, and therefore, the treats get old.) But these guys have got signage down pat!

ObeiIlPadrinoStall

I decided against either a hotdog or hamburger (of course not!) and finished with a hot sandwich of grilled sausage, peppers and kraut with mustard and a long bun.

ObeiHotdogHamburger

Or I could have gone for a sandwich of porchetta

ObeiPorchetta

As a highlight of the holiday weekend, this fair is an intense, people-packed, push-and-shove opportunity. It was pretty difficult to move, and therefore, hard to see much in the booths. (I recommend the Fiera Artiginiale for it’s greater variety and higher quality of goods, although it’s also jam-packed with people.) It was dark and 6:00 p.m. by the time I made it back through the crowd. The holiday light show was underway and enjoyed by many who stood watching the display of changing lights on the castle.

ObeiCastelloLights

Though I could have walked, I caught the subway to the Duomo to enjoy a champagne-tasting that I had been told of, underway all afternoon and early evening.

Lunch with “The Girls”

Lunch with “The Girls”

After 5 months here in Milano, I’ve finally had people over for a meal! I invited Evelina, Glenda and Lydia, from the office at NABA, to come join me for lunch. We all see each other whenever I’m on campus and we get along well.

LydiaEvelinaGlenda

Just before they arrived, I baked a fresh loaf of Irish Soda Bread (which was devoured with a creamy cheese on top), marinated and then grilled some chicken breasts (red orange juice, olive oil, mustard, red onion, garlic, herbs, salt, pepper), grilled some peeled beets and served a rucola/songino salad. We sipped some prosecco and laughed through lunch. It was all topped off with coffee, both Italian-style and American-style, and a few pastries from the infamous and fabulous Spezia Pasticceria.

I love to cook for people. It was great fun to have them over!

LydiaEvelinaGlenda2

GlendaEvelina

GlendaEvelinaMaureen

DessertTray

A Wee Bit o’ Irish Italy

A Wee Bit o’ Irish Italy

One thing that I brought back with me from my time in Ireland this year was enjoyment of traditional Irish Soda Bread! Here in Italy I’ve been on a constant lookout for dense, moist, flavorful bread with some nutritional value. So much of what I’ve found is white, light, fluffy and dries out in a day. Believe me… I check every bakery I walk past, and there are many!

I did finally find a “delicatessen” offering foods of the Trentino-Alto Adige region of Italy. (This area is along the northern border of Italy, adjacent to and influenced by neighboring Austria.) When I first walked up to the streetside-window of this deli, I thought they should be ashamed of themselves for displaying pastries such as they have. How dare they! But I went in, glanced around and hit the jackpot. They offer dense, multi-grain seeded breads of lush, flavorful varieties. I bought several hunks and walked a mile home. (You can buy a quarter loaf of bread, or less!)

So I’ve been on a mission, and my family back home has helped out. I just received packages full of baking soda and baking powder, brown sugar, measuring cups and spoons, (a few sewing supplies, which have nothing to do with this story)… and today an oven thermometer arrived from my big bro.

SodaBreadMess

Today was my maiden bake-off. In 5 months I’ve never used my oven! I found a recipe online (waiting for my girlfriend to send me her real, traditional Irish recipe). I bought white flour and some sort of flour I can only guess about. I faked the buttermilk with some vinegar and made a mess in my kitchen. (Ahh, I’ve been missing that!) Soda bread is not yeasted, so it goes together quickly and easily; just don’t overwork it!

SodaBreadInOvenLO

SodaBread

It cooked in about half an hour and looked beautiful through the oven window. Hot out of the oven, I had a slice with the first butter I’ve eaten in 5 months. (Truth be told, I picked the butter brand because I like the tin it comes in.) The next slice I ate with soft Italian goat cheese. Mmm. I could top it with some sliced tomato, too!

OK. I’ve established for myself how readily I can have the hearty bread I’m looking for, but I’ll have to start finding friends that like it, too. Either give half a loaf away each time, or conjure a half-recipe and make just enough to last three days.

Next, I’ll start experimenting with grain content and other variations. Mmm. A grilled soda bread sandwich with bresaola and gorgonzola? Perhaps.

SodaBreadAndButter

Out for a Grocery Stroll

Out for a Grocery Stroll

After a little afternoon nap, I booted myself out the door for a stroll. It was just after 3:00, the quiet time of the day in the city. A mostly gray sky with a little chill in the air. Nice to head out and wander.

Just two blocks from home, I saw my Fashion Design instructor, Lee, from a year and a half ago. I hadn’t seen her since this summer session and it was nice to chat a bit. As it turns out, she recently moved to just around the corner for me, so we may meet for coffee sometime.

StrollGroceries

I needed a few groceries, but not much. The Saturday market was likely over, but I headed in that direction anyway, and am glad that I did. There was a stillness, an ease that is certainly not there in the height of the market selling. Many vendors had already left, but the others were slowly putting away their vegetables and fruits, their cheeses, meats and household sundries. They were still just as happy to make one last sale and end the day with a few extra euro in their pockets.

The fennel looked good, and I wanted to take one home with me. No. The minimum was three. “Oh, really? OK fine. Give me three. I’ll take some cherry tomatoes, too.” And of course, he THREW them into a bag. At another stall, the green beans looked fabulous and I wanted one of the two baskets full. He heaped a “fruta e verdura” paper bag with the beans from BOTH baskets, more than I could eat in a month. Fine. I love beans. I’ll eat them every day this week. (I guess they just didn’t want to pack up anything they could possibly send down the road.)

The man that had sold me bresaola the last time I went to this market was there again. I asked for “cento grammi“, 100 grams which he sliced right then, plus some brie. Then I saw a curious, smoked something-or-other, and asked for two. It’s cheese wrapped around prosciutto and olives, with some sort of creamy sauce inside, then smoked. (Front edge of the plate in the photo.)

The flower stall still had a few options, so I bought four colors of fragrant freesia to bring home.

I left the street market and went to the main street. As I approached the grocery store, there was a vendor out front roasting chestnuts. Yes, please! I added a big handful of those to my shopping bag. A few feet away, I spotted Justin, the woman from Kenya that works behind the meat counter at the grocery. She and I have chatted a number of times, and is the biggest reason for me to shop there. Her pleasant manner and conversation make me smile. Inside, I bought a package of cheese crackers that I had discovered when I first arrived four months ago, and some chicken thighs (for which I had big plans).

Next came the Bakery. There was a pizza square with mushrooms, prosciutto, artichoke hearts, sauce and cheese that clamored to come home with me. Plus, I bought a little bun with chunks of green olives. Basta! Plenty! That was enough for one shopping spree.

Along the way home, an elderly woman in a purple jacket stopped me to ask where I had bought the freesia. Unfortunately for her, the market was long over, but we chatted about freesia and tulips and springtime and I was pleased that we could have such a conversation.

And those chicken thighs? I cooked them just like Mom used to when we were kids (60s Americana): dredged in flour with salt and pepper. Browned in (olive) oil, then drowned in water and left to simmer for almost two hours ’til they were falling-off-the-bones tender. The chicken produced the classic gravy I was looking for and was ladled over (brown) rice, served with a few of those many green beans.

It was a simple afternoon, really. Just buying a few groceries. But the fact that I see familiar faces while out-and-about-town, and can just chat with people means the world to me. These are first steps toward being IN this community even if only in a small way.

Ambitious Cheese and Such

Ambitious Cheese and Such

What a street market! I rose up out of the subway this evening at 6:00 and immediately stepped into a one block section of tented stalls hosting vendors from the many regions of Italy. Wow. Cheeses, meats, spices, pastries, dried fruit. As they say “over the top”!

One stall in particular had what I can only call “ambitious cheese”. Ambitious in the making and in the eating. Cheeses matured in juniper, walnut leaves, “must of nebbiolo grapes”. Leaves, twigs and what looked like good rich earth were still adhering. You want a quarter cheese round? The woman will cut through the cheese wheel and send some of that must home with you. (I can’t help but think that such things would never be found in the U.S. They would be accompanied by a waiver and binding agreement not to sue. I was again reminded that, as Americans, we are so removed from our food sources! …Don’t get me started on THAT soapbox.)

No. I didn’t try any. Mostly because the woman was busy with other customers, and her sample dishes were empty. And if I tried some, how could I walk away without buying? (And look at the prices! Some of those are about $23 per pound. But they must be sublime. I’ll have to try-and-buy next time.)

PecorinoNoce

PecorinoThyme

TomaFresco

CheesePriceList

I did buy a wedge of cheese at another stall. I put my hands VERY close together and indicated that I wanted just a bit of the cheese with green olives and spicy red peppers. She came over from playing with her baby son, picked up the knife, cut a wedge and charged me 9 euro for that bit. (About $13.50 for that small wedge!)

The meats were stacked high. Spices and fruits in heaping mounds. The Sicilian cookies and pastries tempted me. The young Sicilian man packaged some various cookies for an elderly couple… maybe a dozen and a half, 2 inch cookies. “25”, he said. “What?” said the old man. “25.” It was 25 euro for that little bag of little cookies. The couple scoffed, left the bag and walked away. Cautious, I bought two small macaroons and one pistachio cookie: 2,50 euro.

Salame

AltoAdigeMeats

Spices

PadrinoDolcezze

The Stress of Grocery Shopping

The Stress of Grocery Shopping

I’m not joking when I say that one of my consistent sources of stress here is in grocery shopping. It’s easy to take for granted the comfort of knowing WHAT I’m shopping for and HOW to shop for it. And when I don’t know those two things there’s an absolute and certain anxiety aroused. That may sound ridiculous, but it’s true.

SaturdayMarketProduce

It’s one thing to shop at the grocery store. I’ve greatly improved in that realm. At least there are labels and I can pick up the items to read and figure out what I’m looking at, what to do with it and whether I want it. I’ve gotten better at discerning ingredients listed in Italian, and labels these days often feature a photo which gives a hint of ingredients and serving suggestions.

Someone finally told me how to order my favorite, bresaola. It’s not ordered from the meat counter by the slice, it’s ordered by the gram. OK. Fine. But how many grams do I need? I was raised with ounces and pounds. How big of a pile of paper thin bresaola would 100 grams amount to? As it turns out, 80 to 100 grams is about right for me to order, and I now know what it amounts to. I can order bresaola and prosciutto with the rest of them and not sound completely like I’m from outer space.

In the produce department, it’s absolutely forbidden to handle the fruit and veggies with bare hands. There’s a ritual in buying produce and I had to learn that first thing! I go to the little stand to get my wispy thin plastic gloves. THEN I select my fruit and put it in a plastic bag. THEN I make note of the code number for my item and take it to the scale. I punch in the code and the machine spits out a UPC label. Very simple. But if someone hadn’t told me about that, or if I forget and get up to the checkout stand with unmarked produce, heaven help me!

There are handy tote-along plastic bins on wheels at the entrance to the store. Pretty handy because I usually don’t need a big cart. They have a compact “footprint” and are pretty deep. Therein lies the problem. The produce is at the entrance to the store. I go in, get my tomatoes, peaches, plums, rucola and other delicate, soft fruits and vegetables and put them in my bin. As I continue shopping for yogurt, milk, cheese, wine, bottled water, the heavy things either get piled on top of the fragile things, or I have to constantly shuffle the contents in my cart to put the heaviest at the bottom. I could get my cart, walk immediately to the end of the store, shop in reverse, end in the produce department, then walk back to the cashier at the opposite side of the store. I suppose I could try that and see how it goes.

Then there’s the checkout! This is when I need heaven to help me. I think the checkout stand at the grocery store is the epitome example of Italian speed-demon impatience. I walk up and stand in line with “all the other Italians” (ha ha ha). When it’s my turn, I empty my cart onto the conveyor belt trying to get the heaviest items out from the bottom of the pile and put them on the belt first. The cashier asks me if I want a bag and if I do its extra cost gets added to the tab. (Take note, Seattle.) Well-trained, I always have my own bags, so I say “no”. While I’m still unloading my little cart, my grocery items are flying out the other end and rolling down on top of each other into a big pile. Believe me, I unload as fast as I can so I can immediately start loading up my bags as fast as I can. Invariably, the cashier finishes the race before I do, there’s a line of people waiting, my total is rattled quickly in Italian (I’m getting better all the time at hearing and understanding euro totals), I don’t have my reading glasses on, I can’t see the still-unfamiliar coins to know their denominations, and I haven’t even finished loading up my groceries! It would almost be funny if it weren’t so anxiety-producing!

I’m always glad to get out of the grocery store.

Ahh. Then there’s the Saturday Market I discovered for the first time today. Open air. Lovely, end-of-summer weather. Picture-perfect produce, meats, seafood, cheeses, breads and sundries. This market makes Seattle’s Pike Place Market look like nothing. (Really. Sorry, but it’s true.) Everything is arrayed so beautifully, all so artful. I shot photos for the first hour or so. All so gorgeous.Idyllic, right?

FioriZucchi

RadicchioMelanzane

Then it was time to shop. Uh oh. Trouble. New rules here. No labels. No handling the products to investigate. And it wasn’t clear what the buying process was. Who do I talk to and when is it my turn?

After wandering around dazed and afraid for a while, I got bold. What I wanted was simple and recognizable: tomatoes on the vine, fresh figs, prunes, green beans, onions. I told the guy at the front, but then he told me I had to go off to the side to pay for it first. OK. But when standing in line, I watched them fill bags with other people’s orders. They take this beautifully displayed fruit and THROW it into a paper bag! There go those nice tomatoes, those ripe peaches, those soft, fresh figs. After watching this for a couple of minutes, I walked away, telling the guy I decided not to buy any. After having been a farmer for so many years, I just can’t bring myself to buy fruit and veggies from someone that is throwing my food. And I don’t get to select it myself, so don’t know until I get home that the figs are overripe and smashed open, the tomatoes punctured and the prunes bruised. Let alone not yet having the vocabulary to tell them I want just one vine of tomatoes, not a whole basket, etc. When they don’t allow us to pick up the food, I don’t have the opportunity to select 4 nice tomatoes and gently place them in a bag to be coddled during my walk home.

SaturdayFruit

Yearning for good seafood, I found the fish booths down at the very end of the street. (Maybe other vendors don’t like the smell at the end of a hot day so the fish vendors are ostracized.) But I don’t recognize any of the fish, (only the shrimp, octopus and squid). I don’t have a good filet knife in the apartment and I don’t know the flavors of what’s in front of me. (Is it strong and “fishy”?) By this time I was feeling paralysis rather than excitement, so I ordered what the little old lady in front of me ordered: fresh shrimp. I can deal with that for now. I guess that, next time, I’ll just buy myself a fish, drag it home, throw it on the fire and see what it tastes like. (And maybe I should pick up a good filet knife in the meantime!)

FishStall

FormaggiSalumi

I must say that the cheese displays were beyond belief and I finally stopped at one on the side street, not the main drag of the market. This little shop was extensive and more personable and homey. I asked the cheesemonger “which one should I try?” He replied “all of them!”, and we both laughed. He gave me a little sliver of a soft cheese, but it was more mild than I had in mind. He had a huge round of pecorino with several bands of black peppercorns through its middle. He gave me a sliver of that one, and it had power to it. I bought the small wedge that had been sitting waiting for me. He weighed it and said it was 2,40. “2,40?”, I asked, wanting to make sure I heard correctly. “Yes, dear” he said in Italian, and he waited patiently while I squinted at my coins to count out change. I decided, then, to have him slice some bresaola, too.

SaturdayCheesemonger

“MysLand”: Milano’s Supergraphic Seaside

“MysLand”: Milano’s Supergraphic Seaside

It’s August in Milano. It’s hot and humid, and most people are part of the mass-exodus out of the city for the month. (The whole country takes the month off.) But some of us are left behind (or haven’t left yet). What’s the average relaxation passtime on a hot summer day? A day at the beach. But there is no beach in Milano, up to two hours away from the sea, so someone brought the seaside to the city. And the beach was packed.

Mysland-DoubleHorizon550

Dubbed “MysLand” (with a silent “s”, like “island”), the in-city beach was constructed on 10,000 square meters of former fairgrounds, not far from the center of town. The cost was 1.8 million Euro ($2.56 million) to create the semblance of the sea, complete with an imported sandy beach, palm trees, an odd-shaped “ocean” (pool), boardwalk, dressing cabins and café. The real kicker to me, though, was the supergraphic panel that encircled the whole “island”, giving us our view of the wide open ocean with blue skies overhead and  occasional puffer-belly clouds.

Mysland-DoorInTheSea550

When we arrived at 10:00 a.m. the place was so empty we thought they were closed. By the time we picked up our towels off the beach chairs at 2:00, there was lying-room-only. Many people sprawled on the astroturf sport court fronted by the big, beachside banner.

Mysland-AstroturfBeach

The whole concept was a hoot!

Sun-bathing in Italy was a lesson in body-consciousness and body-acceptance. Women of every size and shape sported two-piece bathing suits, no matter how abundantly they overflowed the seams or how sparsely their body parts were covered. And they didn’t seem terribly concerned either way. Men wore enough to cover their privates, some more private than others. I’m afraid my bone-white, sun-starved, Irish-German, Seattleite skin was like a beacon amidst the deep bronze I was surrounded by. Part of my lesson in body-acceptance. My new love of Italian cheese and lack of gym-time also lent opportunities for self-acceptance!

Mysland-OceanPool

By the way, I spent the day at the beach with Ewa, the one I enjoyed my octopus with two weeks ago after strolling the antique market. After our seaside Sunday, we went home to a delicious lunch of lamb cooked by Piotr, Ewa’s husband. We’ve gotten together several times and will meet up in September after they return from their Milano exodus.