I consider myself an adventurer, especially on the culinary front. I have consumed livers, kidneys and brains. I have eaten an Amazonian herb that numbs your tongue, which sort of nullifies the point of eating, and I have tried shrimp that were still alive — still wriggling — until the downward chomp of my incisors.
But on a recent visit here, I had pasta alla gricia on the first night, then pasta alla gricia on the second night, then pasta alla gricia on the third and fourth. There’s only one possible explanation, which is of course Donald Trump.
