She was nice enough to bring some crusty bread and gouda cheese with it. I promptly made myself a nice afternoon snack by heating up the bread, slicing the cheese and peeling one layer (ok, maybe two) of the prosciutto. I didn't even know Slovenians ate prosciutto.
She brought one fatty kind and one drier kind that she liked. I, being the fat-lover that I am, preferred the fatty one over the dry one.
The quality was really good and I basically couldn't stop eating it. At one point, it didn't even matter that there weren't any of the fatty ones left. I'll take the dry ones, I found myself saying, and gobbled up four prosciutto and cheese sandwiches, back-to-back, without taking any breaks in between.
And then I felt sick from so much porky goodness and couldn't stomach anything else for the rest of the day. But I was still happy because I can't get enough of the salty and fatty aspects of the cured meat. I craved oatmeal after this pork fest but it was worth every bite.
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