Well, my Italian speak has yet to be consummated! That cute little village with the panoramic views, the one that I love to say its name? I had the name wrong!
That's what happens when an Italian reads the blog. Busted!
It sounds even better when it's properly spelled.
Lo-co-ro-ton-do.
Doesn't that roll off your tongue nicely? All long o's.
It's the only Italian word with five o's. A novelty like our Mississippi. What has four i's and can't see?
This is the map that I picked up in the flower decorated rest room. We were in the center of the circular area above Sant'Anna.
Locorotondo... say it aloud!
That's what happens when an Italian reads the blog. Busted!
And then today... that's another story!
Let me go back to our first experience with a pollo. When we did our first shopping excursion in the 'big' grocery store, (it was the size of a large convenience store) we found a beautful whole chicken to roast for New Year's Day, when neither stores nor restaurants were open. Meticulously cleaned and regular size breasts like we had when I was a kid, before they started playing with DNA or whatever it is that recreated the way chickens grow.
It was a memorable dinner.
When we were in a larger store this week in the much larger city of Bari, we saw whole chickens. We both like chicken so we picked one and into the cart it went.
Today I went shopping for the dressing items. Salivating at the thought of this upcoming meal, I made the dressing, threw in lots of our Italian herbs and then pulled the chicken from the bag to stuff it.
Yes, surprise was an understatement when I turned him over! He had been placed on the tray thigh side up instead of the usual breast side up. We had been duped.
The poor critter had been desecrated! Aliens or crazy teenagers? Cleanly removed breasts, not a trace to be found!
It seems that one should read labels, even in Italy. Not that we could know what the label meant.
Google says it is a chicken enveloped
without fillet.
Whoda thunk?!
What a good bird he was! Good thing we both like dark meat.
Once again, it was a memorable meal.
haha! Yes, surprising! I bet Google is turning out to be your best friend!
ReplyDeleteThat's the kind of chicken Andy would like. He's not a fan of chicken breast. Every time I bring home an American sized chicken breast, he calls them Frankenchickens.