N. came back from a business trip to Italy. Told me, among other stories, about conversation in cafe somewhere on Turin’ street.
“After walking around for 5 hrs I was starving; looked in the menu and found something familiar: meat ravioli. Waiter brought a steaming plate. Not only they were undercooked (inside dough was in parts dry, as if they were in the water no longer than a couple of minutes), the filling was unrecognizable. I ate three before almost cracked a tooth on something hard. It was a piece of bone.
I summoned the waiter. It took 10 min to get him to come over. I showed him the piece of bone and asked to return the plate to the chef. -No, bene, bene!, – he cried, – it’s a guut-to! A good food! – But there is a bone inside the filling – A bon, of cors-a itca bon: it’s real chicken! Chicken has bones! And feathers!”