Spite Of All This, I Still Debated With Myself Whether To Engage The
Room For The Night.
I should have liked to stay; the thought of a
sunny morning here on the height strongly allured me, and it seemed
a shame to confess myself beaten by an Italian inn.
On the other
hand, the look of the people did not please me; they had surly,
forbidding faces. I glanced at the door - no lock. Fears, no doubt,
were ridiculous; yet I felt ill at ease. I would decide after seeing
the sort of fare that was set before me.
The meal came with no delay. First, a dish of great peperoni cut
up in oil. This gorgeous fruit is never much to my taste, but I had
as yet eaten no such peperoni as those of Squillace; an hour or
two afterwards my mouth was still burning from the heat of a few
morsels to which I was constrained by hunger. Next appeared a dish
for which I had covenanted - the only food, indeed, which the
people had been able to offer at short notice - a stew of pork and
potatoes. Pork (maiale) is the staple meat of all this region;
viewing it as Homeric diet, I had often battened upon such flesh
with moderate satisfaction. But the pork of Squillace defeated me;
it smelt abominably, and it was tough as leather. No eggs were to be
had no macaroni; cheese, yes - the familiar cacci cavallo Bread
appeared in the form of a fiat circular cake, a foot in diameter,
with a hole through the middle; its consistency resembled that of
cold pancake.
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