After a public event at the Turin Book Fair my Italian publisher took me out for dinner — a fairly chaotic dinner where I was taught the other meaning of the word “kid.” Usually my Italian is enough to read the menu, but there was one word I wasn’t sure of so I asked my publisher. He said: “Oh, that’s kid”.
“Kidney you mean?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “Kid. A young goat. A kid.” We waited two hours for the kid, but what’s two hours when you can lose your sanity in a second?