(From our March 2016 trip)
Why visit Bologna I hear you ask? Some of you may think it’s because I have some kind of childhood fantasy of seeing where the weekly Monday night “out of a jar”delight that all Aussie kids were served up over sloppy spaghetti in their formative years by the maternal parental figure came from. I’m sure our life givers thought they were exposing us to the exotic wonders of the world back in the 70’s and 80’s cough cough. I hate to disappoint you folks but I don’t really even eat Spag Bol anymore, those who know me well know I struggle with meat issues that make zero sense to anyone, not even when I am lying on the psychologists couch. I eat Lasagne but I don’t eat spaghetti bolognaise, I refuse to touch raw meat with my bare hands and seeing a big hunk of roast meat prior to cooking, most especially silverside, makes me gag, as does the smell of browning mince and well, essentially I could give up meat tomorrow except sometimes I love meat – let’s just say I am a complex little lady.