No dog, please

I swear I tried to tune out the Italian catavore story, but it kept getting sent to me, so I guess I have to weigh in. Someone I follow on Twitter noted that furry friends were desperation dining in Italy during World War II, so a 70-year-old could be forgiven for offering cooking advice. I just enjoyed remembering Felino salame, which people in Parma joked was cat salami because of the name of the town. Better yet was remembering ass salame in Monferrato, which is not made from the same part of the anatomy as culatello, at least not totally. It’s actual donkeys. All that said, there’s a reason I avoid rabbit. It looks a little too close to kitchen comfort to the nose to tail I pet. I’d sooner boil a baby.