Since it was our last night in Friuli, my aunts had organized a big dinner to take place at a restaurant in San Daniele, home of mortadella and all things prosciutto. Prosciutto paraphernalia lined the walls; it reminded me of a sports bar back home, but here the theme was cured ham and the pastime was eating. One by one trays of prosciutto, cheese, bread and vegetables were placed on the table, only to be quickly replaced by others. I wished that my brothers were there with me. Together, working as a team, we could have unleashed prosciutto Armageddon the likes of which they have never experienced or even imagined. Much of the prosciutto destruction would be delivered by Paul whose love/appetite for the sweet meat is the stuff of legend.
It’s surprising how one can make a full meal out of thinly sliced meat; but combined with everything else on the table, one soon realizes that you can eat no more. That’s the danger of dealing with the meat that makes the other meat taste better. With such a power, it’s no wonder some believe it’s the meat of the devil.
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| Not "honey glazed", but still delicious. |
We gathered outside to say our goodbyes. Predictably, mom started crying…although not her blood, she feels a real attachment here. When asked when I would be back, all I could offer was an indeterminate “soon”. They understood; there’s many other places I want to see. Many places I need to see.
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