Glorious springtime Italian Style, has
finally arrived in Venice, just in time for the first social regatta
of the year.
La Regata Del Colestorolo (The
Cholesterol Rowing Regatta) is held at the rowing club Canottieri
Giudecca, on the island of Giudecca, and is the crazy invention of
our friend Claudio who's nicknamed “Puffo” (which means smurf in
Italian). It is a sporting event with a twist, as the diminutive and
very wicked Puffo has decided not only should we engage in the
customary eating and drinking AFTER the race has finished, but there
should be a delightfully rich lunch, immediately BEFORE the race
starts!!
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the end of the razor clams |
Knowing this, I have prepared the
classic Venetian boatman's dishes of Sarde in Saor and Scampi in Saor
(Sardines with Onions & Scampi with Onions) for appetizers. Our friend Massimo (the self proclaimed king of the barbeque) downs a glass of wine after putting the finishing touches to some freshly caught grilled cape lunghe (razor clams), served with lemon wedges. Also on offer, are pizzetta, omelette, a pasta dish, barbecued
meats, free flowing wine (obligatory), followed by coffee and fiery
home made grappa. Being the Cholesterol Rowing Regatta, fatty,
artery blocking sausage and salame are used as liberally as possible,
even the salad had chopped up grilled sausage in it!
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carb loading before the event! |
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one for the road... |
The last grappa is downed, 10 wooden rowing boats
are lowered softly into the sea, followed by 20 overstuffed, oar wielding, athletes of all ages and both sexes. After three false starts, because Massimo, usually a very skilled gondolier, and rowing instructor, is not able to get his boat pointing in the right direction, the race commences.

Almost immediately, the first collisions happen, threats and much swearing would be the norm if this was a real regatta, but in todays event, it's just smiles and jokes about the strength of the grappa. Eventually, the stretched bellied boatmen reach the half way stage, Dino with his partner Luca, take advantage of an entangled group of boats in front of them, and move from sixth place to fourth, and stay that way until they come puffing past the finish line. In Venetian rowing races, tradition dictates that only the first four positions are awarded prizes, so by coming in fourth, my weary limbed husband and his partner have won themselves a blue flag for their twenty-odd minutes of punishing paddling. The not so sweaty but definitely thirsty, Massimo and his partner finally come in last,
he's been telling jokes, and singing opera for the entire duration of
the race, and claims victory, saying, in this type of regatta, last place is actually first.
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massimo heads for the bar |
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