Show me whatcha got, Italy.
Yesterday, Evan and I went to Eataly--A culinary heaven of sorts that provided me with one of my most satisfying food comas to date. We sampled prime rib drizzled with olive oil, flaky salt and cracked pepper, extremely fresh mozzarella, dark chocolate, creamy, not-too-sweet vanilla yogurt, and roasted stuff pork that made Evan's eyes roll into the back of his head. A motley assortment for sure, but it was all so good it didn't matter.
So back to Italy. See that butter up there? Those lofty claims of butter superiority? Can Italian butter makers give the French a run for their Euro? We'll see.
I haven't tasted it yet, and I'm half intrigued, half nervous. I feel like I'm cheating simply having it in my refrigerator.