I went to a wedding on Sardinia about 20 years back and – like people snorting coke in the back of a party – we were told we could sneak into the back and try some. The bride – who was Sardinian – didn’t want that nasty stuff at her wedding, but a tradition is tradition and a compromise was struck. I took a pass.
At that same wedding I hate a whole bunch of horse-meat prosciutto before I knew it was horse-meat. I mean, it was delicious, but my American sensibilities just can’t let me eat horse.
