Last night I almost died. I had (once again) eaten something sketchy, because it was happening. My third go at full-out food poisoning in Europe was underway in our charming cottage.
My first two bouts were in Sicily: one was after a seafood pizza (evidently I was just asking for trouble when I ordered a pizza topped with a menagerie of bottom filtering crustaceans), and the other was when I had returned home after being on the mainland for a week. During the time away, my apartment had lost power (again), so the leftover Thanksgiving turkey had thawed out to marinate in its own bacteria before refreezing. Since it was frozen when I returned, I had no idea I was about to partake in some Plymouth Rock Poison. Continue reading