Another traveller came to the hostel today – James – with him he brought a mouldy sausage. Bought here in Chamonix of course. He stuck the knife into it, asked Emma if she wanted to try some.
The sausage was hard like stone. Eventually he got a small piece off and handed it to my friend. She bit it, hard, then she took it out of her mouth and examined it with her eyes. Then she gave it another try and got a small piece off. I turned and looked at James trying to cut the rest when Emma made a weird noice. She threw the moldy crust into the bushes by the patio where we are sitting. “salt… And sausage. Or not.. it didn’t really taste sausage..” She said with hesitation.
James said it tasted pretty fatty, like pork. Now he just put a cheese in front of me and I’m in cheese heaven. Smoked goat cheese (the small one in the photo of the cheeses).