Ora di pranzo, in India. I colleghi indiani, sempre preoccupati per lo stomaco debole di noi europei (non sono loro che sono abituati a mangiare merda, siamo noi che abbiamo lo stomaco debole!), non ci hanno trascinato all'orrida mensa aziendale ma ci hanno ordinato una pizza.
La pizza, purché non la si scelga con verdura cruda, é un alimento abbastanza sicuro perché é cotta, pertanto la maggior parte dei microbi che provocano la diarrea viene ammazzata. Il fatto peró che non faccia venire la diarrea non significa affatto che non faccia cagare...
Occorre premettere che, ad un palato non abituato come il mio, qui praticamente tutto sa di curry. Ed anche questa pizza, della I swallowed hard as a two slices for not collapsing to the ground before the evening is no exception. It should be the chicken pizza, but he knows inevitably curry. Fortunately, I have also provided a bottle of universal sgorgatubi known as CocaCola, which allowed me to wash away at least in part, that take taste and hope that, in the stomach, take care of those microbes that have passed the case to the process of cooking pizza .
The delivery, the unlikely name of Gino's Pizza Delivery Khushiyon Ki, is one of those American: If you spend more than 30 minutes from order to delivery, the pizza does not pay. And some things that, sometimes, you see bikers loads unlikely to make pizza on the rack behind stunts stuntmen in ridiculous traffic, dodging a hair buses, trucks and sacred cows in order to arrive on time. I
twenty other wealthy minute break before returning to the meeting: difficult to think of anything worse than being locked in a room without air conditioning with six Indians. Maybe only six negroni dubious sexual orientation would be worse ... Not that you do not wash, but perhaps the accomplice abnormal amount of spices they eat, have a particular perspiration that smells ... How to say ... Curry.
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