Forking Tasty

Abracadabra Abruzzo Lunch

The burn in my throat was overpowering. As the lemony, dry, liquid raced past my esophagus and headed towards my stomach I could feel my three-course, homemade, Italian meal race around looking for a place to hide. When the fluid hit my stomach my brain went into overdrive sending a distress signal from my tear ducts to the far reaches of my toes. My neck hairs were at attention. My right hand squeezed the recently emptied shot glass with the power of a vice grip hand tool as my last few puffs of air passed over my vocal chords and released a whisper of an alarm. “Lets get out of here!”, I gasped…