-an OD of Toughts-

Casottel is one of Milan’s most authentic historic trattoria, but its future is uncertain after the lease expired. Here’s why this farmhouse restaurant matters. I still believe cities need places like this I have a soft spot for restaurants that do not try too hard to impress me. Maybe it is because most places now arrive with a concept, a brand story, and a mood board, and very little actual soul. Casottel, in southern Milan, is the opposite of all that: it feels like memory, not marketing. That is why the idea of losing it lands badly. Casottel has been part of Milan’s fabric since 1963, and although the current restaurant grew out of that history later on, the farmhouse itself has long been a place of food, gathering, and community. In a city that moves fast and reinvents itself constantly, that kind of continuity matters.  What Casottel is Casottel sits in Via Fabio Massimo, near Porto di Mare, in the kind of Milan that still feels like it has a bit of soil under its fingernail...

Well, after an almost impressive display of hesitation, the Prime Minister has finally arrived at a decision. A snap election has been called for the 30th of May. Photo: OPM And so, the country is now strapped in for a 33-day political brawl, less a contest of ideas and more a grim, bare-knuckle exercise in endurance, staged in a nation already buckling under the weight of its own chronic dysfunction. Let’s not pretend this was decisive leadership. For months, the Prime Minister toured the media circuit with the air of a man allergic to commitment, repeatedly insisting that an early election was unnecessary. Firmly unnecessary. Absolutely unnecessary. Except, of course, for the small, slippery caveat appended at the end: “unless it is in the national interest.” There it is. The phrase that explains everything and nothing. At the time, while the Opposition scrambled rather desperately to recruit Roberta Metsola as a political saviour, Abela began hinting that an election might be called...

Some films entertain you, some educate you, and some make you seriously reconsider the structural integrity of modern civilisation and whether it should be allowed to continue unsupervised. Tow falls very firmly into that last category. Based on the true story of Amanda Ogle, it follows a woman whose stolen car is impounded and then trapped inside a towing system so aggressively inefficient, so bureaucratically creative, and so emotionally unwell that you begin to suspect it was designed during a particularly bitter lunch break. What begins as a simple case of “get the car back” evolves into a long, grinding exercise in paperwork, fees, and existential despair. And yes, it is entertaining. In the same way, watching a kettle boil while you slowly lose your patience is “entertaining”. The story (or how to lose your will to live in 12 easy steps) Amanda Ogle is living in her car in Seattle when it is stolen. Already, we are not exactly starting from a place of abundance and optimism. The...

In a city like Milan—where a plate of leaves arranged by a man with a beard and opinions can cost you €22—I’ve found something extraordinary. A place called Crono in Città Studi, where the food is unapologetically 1995, the portions are heroic, and the bill… well, the bill feels like a clerical error. This, dear reader, is not just a restaurant. It’s a rebellion. The Name: Utterly Confusing, Entirely Irrelevant Crono. Sounds like a malfunctioning wristwatch or a minor Greek deity. Not a place that serves food capable of stopping your heart—in a good way. Owner Giulia inherited the name and, quite sensibly, decided not to bother changing it. Too much effort. Quite right. Because once you’re inside, you realise the name doesn’t matter. At all. Tucked away on Via Pascoli 15, this is that rare Milanese unicorn: not a dusty, mythical trattoria that only locals “know about” (but never actually visit), and not one of those faux-retro hipster joints serving deconstructed lasagna with kale foam...

I’ve swapped the open road for a napkin, and here I am in Frascati, just outside Rome—where the traffic still behaves like a badly organised demolition derby, but the pizza at Antitesi almost makes you forgive the journey. Opened in 2024 by Gabriele Convertino, this isn’t some tourist trap flinging dough like damp laundry. It’s a serious operation—focused, deliberate, and refreshingly free of nonsense. Step inside and you’re greeted by a warm, no-frills interior: wooden floors, a green-tiled bar, and a chef working with quiet intensity behind the counter. No theatrics. Just intent. The Journey There (Because Roads Matter) Imagine blasting down the A1, dodging Fiat Pandas that think indicators are optional. Frascati sits perched in the Castelli Romani hills—steeped in wine and history—but don’t expect valet parking or hand-holding. Antitesi is tucked away on Via Remigio Farnetti 21, a 100-seat space spread across three rooms, one freshly added in March 2026. In summer, the dehor spills ...

If someone had told me that the most emotionally honest Maltese film of the year would be about a woman trying to sell some inherited land while being gently dragged back into rural life by an 80‑year‑old folk singer, I would have laughed, asked if it was a joke, then gone straight home and watched F1 instead.   And yet here we are. Zejtune, directed by Alex Camilleri, is exactly that film: a quiet, low‑hype, home‑grown Maltese drama that looks, on paper, about as exciting as a Land Registry meeting, and ends up feeling like a long, awkwardly honest conversation with your own conscience about whether you’re allowed to leave the island or not.   The Plot, In As Few Dramatic Words As Possible   Mar is a young Maltese woman who’s decided she’s done with Malta. After a complicated relationship with her mother ends with her death, she’s left with a complicated legacy and a chunk of farmland she doesn’t want. Her plan is straightforward: sell the land, cut the li...

There are films that try to impress you with car chases, explosions, and last‑minute plot twists. And then there is Perfect Days (2023), a film about a middle‑aged man who spends his days cleaning public toilets in Tokyo and somehow ends up feeling like the most emotionally together person on Earth.   Directed by Wim Wenders, the film is a slow, meditative stroll through the life of Hirayama, a Tokyo toilet cleaner played with extraordinary stillness by Kōji Yakusho. It is not a loud film. It is not a flashy film. It is barely even a “film” in the conventional sense of the word. It is closer to a series of observations, a calendar of moods, and a love letter to the ordinary. On paper, the premise sounds like the kind of comedy set‑up that would be ruined by a punchline. A man wakes up early, washes his face, grabs a can of coffee, heads to a public toilet, scrubs, mops, sorts trash, and then goes home. Repeat. That is literally the plot. Repeat with minor variations. ...

There are films that entertain you, films that impress you, and films that quietly stroll up behind you, hit you over the head with a hammer, and then ask whether you have been emotionally available lately. Her is very much in the third category. On the surface, this is a science fiction love story about a man who falls in love with his operating system. Which, if you say it quickly, sounds like the sort of premise dreamed up by someone who has spent too long in a room full of scented candles and technical jargon. But the extraordinary thing about Her is that it never feels silly for a second. It feels sad, tender, intelligent, and, worst of all, completely plausible. That is the real trick of the film. It begins with an idea that sounds absurd and then quietly proves that the absurdity is only there because the rest of us are pretending not to notice what modern life is doing to us. We have all become increasingly dependent on machines to organize our lives, filter our relationships, ...

The Whale is a bloody brilliant gut-punch of a film that hits like a freight train driven by grief, guilt, and far too much takeaway. Directed by Darren Aronofsky , the man who once turned obsession into cinematic torture in Requiem for a Dream , this raw and relentless drama traps you inside a grim apartment with Charlie, played by Brendan Fraser . Charlie is a reclusive English teacher trying to reconnect with his daughter before time runs out. What follows is intense, uncomfortable, and deeply human. This is not just a film you watch. It lingers long after the credits roll. Why The Whale is a modern masterpiece Brendan Fraser delivers a career-defining performance that goes far beyond acting. He does not present Charlie as a victim but as a man overwhelmed by pain, love, and a stubborn flicker of hope. Every movement feels real, every expression cuts deep. It is the kind of performance that makes you forget there is a camera at all, and it is no surprise it earned him an Academy Awa...

Peaky Blinders: The Immortal Man — Why Sometimes the Engine Shouldn’t Be Restarted I adored Peaky Blinders . Truly. It was television that growled rather than spoke — a powerhouse of grit, swagger, and cinematic brilliance that made other dramas look like they were running on fumes. So, when word spread that a Peaky Blinders movie was coming, I was thrilled. Finally, the Shelby clan would roar onto the big screen, all pistons firing. But what we got instead feels like someone swapped the petrol for oat milk — impressive in theory, catastrophic in delivery. The atmosphere and performances? Still impeccable. Cillian Murphy remains effortlessly magnetic; every cigarette he lights could be framed as art. The music? Top-tier, darkly elegant, and moody. Yet somewhere along the way, the storytelling lost its spark plugs. The pacing lurches like a classic car with a misfiring engine. The script staggers from brilliance to bewilderment, like it’s searching for a gear that isn’t there. And whil...

When a respected Maltese chef says the situation is “dramatic,” it’s not a soundbite for the evening news. It’s a clinical diagnosis. It’s the medical report of a system going into respiratory failure while still smiling in the dining room, napkin folded into a swan. Malta’s catering industry has never been so celebrated—and never so alone. Michelin-level ambition, storytelling, gastronomic tourism, TV cook-off shows, and influencers shedding tears over a plate of pastizzi or rabbit stew. Yet behind the kitchen door marked “Staff Only”, there’s often no one left inside. This isn’t romantic nostalgia. The sector is missing hundreds of workers across restaurants, bars, and hotels. Industry leaders warn that labour shortages could deepen if recruitment bottlenecks persist, with Third Country National workers now the backbone of daily operations. A 2024 survey commissioned by the Association of Catering Establishments (ACE) confirmed the crisis, citing enormous oversaturation, licensing is...

My brain didn’t just break — it staged a full musical number, complete with glitter cannons, interpretive dance, and a nervous breakdown in three acts. One minute, I was a functioning adult, paying bills and remembering birthdays. Next, I was making noises normally heard when someone discovers taxes or their ex’s new Instagram. Burnout , they call it. Oh, absolutely — the modern lifestyle badge of honor. You’re not officially a “thriving professional” until you’ve cried into a scented candle and whispered affirmations to your dying sense of purpose. I used to think burnout happened to machines, not people. Then it hit — like someone replaced my blood with lukewarm instant coffee and regret. The early signs were subtle. I forgot what day it was. Then what year. Then found myself staring at the toaster, convinced it was judging me for eating carbs. When your kitchen appliances start developing opinions, it’s time to worry. “Just take a break!” they said — as if rest were a magical reset...