Could I Eat a Horse?
The instructions were unnerving: Boil olive oil in a hot pan, lay the horsemeat in flat, and turn it when it starts to rise. I tried hard not to visualize horseflesh rearing up out of a pan of boiling oil. We were in search of the “Puglian delicacy” I had read about in a guidebook and was determined not to miss.
Banana Tower
Was this what Pisa had become? Tourists herded from one attraction to another, planning their day around the bus schedule, purchasing silly plastic mementos destined to gather dust on far-away bookshelves? I looked more closely.
Waist-ing Away in Puglia
One taste and I became a mussel maniac. When cooked, the smooth, flesh-like morsels tightened and huddled—warm and peach-colored, sweet and tender—at the edge of their rough blue-black shells. They hunkered there, clinging, small and succulent, as if anticipating the approach of my hungry tongue and teeth. The mussels’ slippery folds released trickles of the dish’s rich juices, inviting exploration.
