MILANESE MEN

Milano and all its glories.....

There was Alberto, Alfonso, Maurizio, Hugo, Nino,  allora……

and then there was Davide pronounced 
Da-veed.


Michaelangelo could easily have sculptured Davide.  He was spotted at Roberto Cavalli's night club  -  
Just Cavalli in Parco Sempione,

an exclusive club styled by the fashion Guru.   Davide, the perfect Adonis, with ripped muscle, tall, handsome, curly dark brown hair, misty blue eyes with a Mediterranean tan that every now and again uttered  beautiful Italian.  But as with all Godly things bestowed, Davide was missing an element or two, and here comes the Italian myth that explains it all.

The Italian Goddess Pertunda, the God of  Sexual desires was seen arguing with Goddess Carmen, the Goddess of casting spells.  Pertunda and Carmen after much deliberation decided that Davide had in the end too much of  physical beauty, his brain should be left unaided, therefore after a day or two, I needed Hugo.

Hugo, voracious in the arts, history and architecture was bequeathed with vast brain power that could light up the Lombardi skies.   Unfortunately a little older than Davide, less hair but still exquisite with playful Italian eyes had me ingesting volumes of information on the Duomo.

Magnificent in structure, brilliant in design, it took almost six centuries for the Duomo  to be complete.   As we sipped chianti in the Cathedral Square, he continued to lecture on 15^th Century Italian history.  

In the afternoon, Hugo  would move to Peck’s, the bistro, tea place in Via Spadari.   Walls lined with hundreds of varieties of tea, honey, jams offers even more wonderful selections of roast veal, risottos, prochetta, salads, basically like Harrods Food Hall, the cornucopia of delicacies.   

As an art professor, Hugo was not flushed with Euros, so I bypassed Cracco-Peck Via Victor Hugò, which had traditional and creative cuisine but at ridiculous prices.

Thursday afternoon, it was definitely a walk along Via Montenapoleone, turning towards Via Manzoni, where Nino accompanied me.  

A Peacock in full spread best describes Nino.  

In his sixties with not an ounce of fat on him, erect body, crisp white linen shirt with sleeves slightly rolled up revealing a gold Patek Philippe watch.   Black leather pants with matching leather jacket slung over his shoulder.  A very discreet Armani scarf casually tied around his neck, exposing tufts of chest hair.   He, on the other hand, had plenty of Euros and was enjoying the splash he was about to engage  with me and my other Italian friend.  

Dropping in to the oldest (opened in 1817)  patiserrie in Milano is Caffee Cova on Via Montenapoleone .  Nino ordered a feast of cakes and pastries before our expedition to Via della Spiga

Lets just say Via della Spiga is retail therapy volume turned to the max.  Everything was stylish, beautifully crafted and classy.  

Nino only possessed one card, The Black Amex – ridiculous how that glossy black plastic can command such respect.  

Whilst we burned his card, he sat patiently at Dolce & Gabbana’s café simply nursing an aperitif.

Weekend released the illusive Alfonso, who decided it was in Lake Como that we would have our pasta and some delicious gelati.  

Picture postcard with cobbled streets, artists painting, lovers dining alfresco, it was all so twee until a fight broke out between two boys.  A lot of vaffanculo and figlio di puttana  abuse being hurled at one another.  A little Latin at school would enable anyone to deduce its meaning.     One can only speculate that the good looking boy got the girl.

Such passion......

By the time you swear you're his,

 Shivering and sighing.

                                                                                 And he vows his passion is,

Infinite, undying.

Lady make note of this --One of you is lying. 

                                                                                                                                               ― Dorothy Parker