I have arrived in Italy, land of many very ancient histories, of pasta, of scooters, and of Europe’s most cheerfully remembered fascist dictatorship.
My surroundings here are extremely pleasant but I have to admit to being a little bit disappointed by the food in what is supposed to be the home of one of the world’s most popular cuisines.
It turns out that all food here comes from a shop called Gonad. I have to say that I am not altogether comfortable eating anything that has come out of a Gonad.
If that makes me narrow minded then so be it. If that makes me seem closed to the wider world and the glorious differences between our nations and our cultures then that is fine. I am simply not happy here knowing that every sip of juice is Gonad juice and every mouthful of tender, juicy meat is Gonad meat.