VaioLife
Today in my house will make the "oxtail" I'm at work so I can not see what's going on in my house, and you start with so you're probably wondering "what ever happen if there is the thing to vaccinara? ", you deserve an insult, however, Vaiolettori my dear, I can understand that in your genuine transparency you can not understand what can happen to my house.
First we must say that in Rome the oxtail and beef, but unfortunately the vile "industry", with time almost extinct production Oxtail throwing up more than lamb or some other unclean animal, said this, you can understand how the difficulty of finding the true and pure Oxtail is difficult in this world of greedy, and this is therefore the "oxtail" a mythological flat to buy this queue, the great aunt of my mother is due adlla sister go to the butcher testaccio (but of course at my house, the meat takes only you know the butcher for 50 years, in the most Roman of Rome, the most famous butcher in the neighborhood) and is thus able to reach the home phone of "butcher Antonio er," phoning home intimated that if it did not lead within two weeks, the tail would tell sister Nina, who would tell Sister Julia, who told gliel'avrebbe sirvanella sora and that eventually, all testaccio would know that he, er mejo butcher most of the capital, had not helped "zi 'wanda" who had ordered the queue for the great-grandson, two weeks after the tail came, personally chosen by the butcher, who has not responded "No, this is the sister wanda' to 'zi valentina, her friend and most loyal cliente.Ma the real story starts at 6 am this morning, when waking up and going to the kitchen, the sweet smell of boiled beef with onions and other vegetables, I awoke something of a savage, primitive, instinctive , feeling that pushes me even now that I write, to be redundant and sarcastic with my style without sbafature I'm showing off in this post.
Returning to our story, at 6 am my mother and my grandmother were in the kitchen to boil the beef brought to my grandmother at 5:45, taken from my great-aunt at 5:30, brought to the butcher at 5, brought from the slaughterhouse at 4:30, picked up by a lone bull at 17 the day before, how do I know? OBVIOUS! my mother great-grandson of 'Zi Wanda, is the daughter of one of the former owners of the slaughterhouse in Rome, then his mother, my grandmother, calling wives by their husbands slaughterers, was able to ascertain the precise time of arrival because the tail is cooked fresh, vaccinara.Ebbene the real one at 6 am, I was witnessing the onset of the work live, and if it were not for a slight push of a shit morning, I would have stayed there, ab aeternum. At 6:40
unfortunately I was already out of the house, dreaming, thinking, singing and dancing at the thought of returning today at 15 and eat the oxtail.
I wanted to write so, but today, I'm going to lunch at McDonald's, God why?
ps
whole post was inspired by "the real story, perhaps just a little bit changed, the oxtail of my family" Smallpox
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