Lussuria In Italia

Hhhhot.  Steeeamy.  Saaauuucy!
Seductively appealing.  Heart beating. 
So bad for you, yet soo, soo good. 
Mind-blasting. 
The Ultimate Pleasure. 
Holy Rapture. 

PIZZA.
emmmmph!

Can there be anything better, more satiating, more fulfilling. 

My love for pizza knows no bounds.  It is unconditional.  It is pure. 

Me and Pizza.  Pizza and I.  Like star-crossed lovers, never meant to be together and yet we meet again and again.  I left you in NYC, crisp, sliced and greasy and found you anew in Itlay, light, fresh and margherita. 

Day after day after day walking the hot, sizzling streets of Firenze.  Pizza Rustico fed my hunger.  Pizza al Taglio satisfied my voracious appetite. 

Italia proved Kingdom Come to consummate all my usurious craving.  Twas a rented apartment with a quaint balcony over the River Arno.  The atmosphere bathed in sunset, birds and bubbly.  Added was the right amount of spice, or as Americanos call it, red pepper flakes.  And in the end, wholly eaten, it was ecstasy. 

Napoletana, until we meet again, mi inamorato....

EUROPA!

Couldn't do it.  Juuuuust couldn't do it. 

After a nice long breath of fresh air in the United States of America, I itched to fly off again.  Something about the airport and massive jets escorting people to foreign adventures gets me in an excited and can't sit still tizzy.  Not to mention that Houston, TX boasts about 1.5 non-food consumption activities to accomplish. 

So, as one does after quitting one's job and travelling aimlessly for 3 months, I, most wisely, booked another flight across the seas to America's old near and dear (yet sometimes pissed off at us) bestest friend:  the hills, beaches and monuments of Europa Europa. 

Itinerary: 

First three weeks: ITALIA.  Firenze and Lago di Como to be exact.

Last two weeks: Where the wild wind takes flighty souls.  (Eventually turned out to be Geneva and Paris!)

This time, I forgot the whole "I am one, I am bold, I will find myself....or nothing....I need no one".  Hell no.  This time, I frolicked with the gals.  Two gal pals as jobless, giggly and as some debbie downers might claim, out of their minds as yours truly.

Oh Deer

Situ-ee:  Peeps chow down on their beef and pork while stuffed deer gamely eye diners from above.  A raised Hindu blasphemously consuming the product of a cow in a state where brisket is king and killing and mounting your shoot is oh so fun sport.  The universe is an odd beast.

And taxidermy,

what a concept. 

Welcome to Black's Barbeque, sittin in Lockhart, Texas and self-proclaimed the oldest BBQ house owned by the same family. Well, golly gee.

I have never shot and killed a live animal.  I've never come close to a dead animal for that matter.  (I mean one that was not on my plate...animalia skipping in nature as they should be before us barbarics came along).  So it fascinates me to see a whole sport and hobby around trophying once live animals as decorative items in the household or place of business. 

Truly, I can't judge.  I eat meat, savagely so and enjoy every bit of it.  To me, a carnivore, I have yet to grasp the holistic concept that what lies on the plate before me in curries or grilled or sauteed actually pranced gaily at one time before some bloke maimed it in order to pay his/her bills and feast my selfish, hedonistic belly.

So there's no judgment for taxidermists, simply wonder.  Would I skin, stuff and mount an animal if I killed it?  Would I EAT the animal if I shot it myself?  Likely not, as I also love puppy dog eyes on all lively beings in front of me.  But then again, one never knows.  I've always been an eater so starve me for 2 hours (maybe even an hour and 1/2), take me hunting and no doubt I just might eat my sport.   

Soooooo, back to the middle of Texas...a few of us sat at Black's gnawing on the profound concepts of the food chain, vegetarianism, right vs. wrong. 

Simultaneously...and heartily grubbin on the BBQ that sat on the plate before us.

I know.  How evil.

Don't Mess With Texas

Technically, it's an anti-littering campaign for our great republic er..I mean state...but it's a pretty apt statement for the Texas resident.  "Don't be here messin with ma Texas or I'll shoot ya with my concealed handgun."     

just kidding.

I was raised in this proud state known the world over and so Texas is where I return when I need some family lovin, restin and relaxation, gigantic food plates inducin comas or even simply a refresher on my southern accent and country slang. 

Twangy music and mariachi bands.  Big blonde hair sittin next to Mexican cowboys.  Big guys, big buckles, tight jeans and cowboy boots.  No horse-riding to school, well at least not in most places, but enormous Chevy's, Broncos, and Fords to run ya riiyyyyggghht off the road.  Drivin for 8 hours and STILL in the Lone Star State.  My Indian parents and their hee-hawin neighbors.  Home is where the heart is.

As much as I run around, I truly do enjoy coming home.  As every Texan knows, no matter where ya go in the world, there ain't nothin like finger-lickin BBQ, Longhorn football games, 75 cent well-drinks, Tex-Mex, taco stands, river-ridin, 800 degree summers...and the friendliest people on earth.

Oh and the yellow rose: The Eyes of Texas Are Upon You