My dad comes to visit me in Chambéry. I have been here for two months already, and the cold weather of the Alps in late winter, mixed with the overwhelming amount of nothing to do, has led me to become incredibly familiar with all the pizza places in town. I have gained weight, despite all the running I do up these steep hills. It is odd for me, and I feel bad about myself. I love European pizza---the crust is thin, crispy, steaming. Sometimes the chefs will crack an egg right on top of your pizza, no warning, which I think is incredibly funny and adds a touch of suspense to dinner.
I take my dad to one of these places in town. I get a pizza with tons of vegetables, and he gets one with andouille on it. Inexplicably, neither one of us is quite sure what it is.
It turns out to be sausage made with the gastrointestinal system of a pig. It tastes like ass.