Z awoke in the middle of the night with a fever, complaining of a stomach ache, and with her eye even more red and swollen and seeming to ooze. I switched places with Z, after dosing her with Tylenol, so that N could keep an eye on her.
In the morning N told me she'd gotten very little sleep; Z was quite chatty. We decided to take her over to the Ospedale, just across the canal, to have a doctor look at her. We packed up some books for A, the phrasebook, documents and money, and headed over. Z was really dragging her heels, so I carried her.
We went first to the "Pronto Soccorso" (Emergency) department; it being Sunday morning, the building was generally deserted, and there were only two other people waiting. An orderly took down some details and asked questions which we attempted to answer as best we could. We were ushered in to see a woman doctor or nurse who looked briefly at Z and then sent us up to the Pediatric wing, on the second floor.
There a woman nurse took more details, took Z's temperature (a Centigrade degree above normal), and showed us to a waiting room where the doctor appeared. He was about fifty, rotund, with longish grey hair in back and bald on top. He had a jovial manner which put Z at ease. He didn't speak any English, and it turned out that French was the best way we could communicate.
After examining Z carefully, he told us that her throat was slightly red and that she might have a viral infection. The eye was just a mosquito bite, and he cleaned it briefly. We were asked to keep her resting, stay in our "hotel", and bring her back if it got worse.
The visit cost us L36000, a relative bargain, and to pay we went down to a waiting room on the main floor where there were large machines. I gave one L50000 and it gave me back L14000 and a ticket. I took the ticket up to the doctor, who gave me his report and a copy of the ticket, and another report which I had to take to the Pronto Soccorso people. They, in turn, gave me their report, and we were done. Z walked back to the apartment, chattering merrily, though she was quite disappointed that she didn't get to ride in an "ambulanza" boat.
We hadn't had any breakfast, and in fact there was none to be had on a Sunday, so at ten-thirty I made myself a sandwich of prosciutto crudo on toasted ciabatta, and had some pinot nero and some Asiago stagionato, which everyone lined up to nibble and declared marvellous.
It was already getting hot, but with the windows open, shuttered judiciously, and the fan from the air conditioner going, the apartment was quite pleasant. I took A out for a short walk, through the Campi S. Zanipolo and S. Maria Formosa to see if we could spot a glass-recycling bin, but to no avail. On our return I made lunch for everyone else: more salume, breadsticks, vegetables, and Asiago.
While Z napped, we played cards with A, and she read for a while. I napped for about an hour, and then started preparing an early dinner. I had saved clam broth from the two meals with caparozzoli, and I diluted it with bottled water; chopped onion, grated Grana Padano, and opened the Vialone Nono rice for the risotto. I cut slices of the mozzarella di bufala and tomatoes to go with it. I opened a can of lentils and dressed it with oil and pepper.
When the broth was heated, I put the pot on the back burner, and fried the onion in a larger pot before adding the rice and starting to add the broth a ladleful at a time, stirring with a wooden spoon. I had first made risotto this way in 83, at Steve Upstill's house in Berkeley, using instructions from Marcella Hazan. Now, fifteen years later, I was making it a hundred yards from Marcella's apartment. At home, I usually cheat by using a pressure cooker (six minutes of pressure, no stirring) but here the lack of equipment kept me honest.
It was not as much work as I remember (I had not made a traditional risotto since before Z was born) and in fifteen minutes the rice was cooked al dente. I finished it off with the grated cheese (normally a no-no for seafood dishes, but no one was looking) and brought it to the table. It was fabulous, if I do say so myself. While the kids and N started in on it, I heated oil in another pot and tossed in the huge cut of vitello di mare. I had planned to braise it in pinot nero to get it to cook evenly (the Prosecco being too sweet) but it extruded enough of its own juice to make steaming possible. I cooked it perhaps a bit too long (N has a horror of undercooked fish, unless it is not cooked at all, in which case it's fine) but it was tasty and went really well with the risotto.
I had made an early supper because the reception for the conference was at seven. I'd planned to take A with me (N having to stay with the "resting" Z) but discovered that the boat back left at 8:35. A agreed to stay and have gelato with the rest.
I walked briskly down to S. Zaccaria, in about ten minutes, found the vaporetto stop for the #20, and bought a round-trip ticket. Several other conference goers, some of which I knew, caught the same boat. We went out to the little island of San Servolo, past San Giorgio Maggiore, where the conference was being held at the Venice International University. The buildings, which originally housed a monastery, then a mental hospital, and more recently a centre for art conservation and restoration, were a mixture of abandoned and recently-renovated.
The boat dropped us right at the main building and I went up to register. The reception was in a garden area out back and while I spoke briefly to a few people I knew, I was my usual antisocial self. The food was little cold deep-fried tidbits, sad tramezzini (white-bread sandwiches), and unattractive desserts. Even the wine was bad. I watched the sun set over the factories of Marghera, and was glad of a 7:55 boat. This took the long route around the back of S. Giorgio to S. Maria della Grazie, then between S. Giorgio and Giudecca (offering us a good look at the Hotel Cipriani and its elegantly-dressed patrons) before returning to S. Zaccaria.
I was home ten minutes later, in time to hug the kids, play a game of cards with them, and put them to bed.