Caprese and Adventures with Artisan Salami

Yesterday we were hanging around at my sister and brother-in-law's house, and my other sister and her husband made caprese for us all. I didn't actually have any, because I rather hate the taste of tomatoes (trust me, I know it's sad, especially for someone who loves Italian food), but they looked delicious, and were super easy to make.

You slice the tomatoes and sprinkle ground thyme, salt, and pepper onto the slices. Then you place a leaf of fresh basil on top of the spiced tomatoes, and finally place a mozzarella ball (they come in a little tub you can get in the cheese section at your grocery store) on top of it all. Done!

Also last night, we attempted to eat some of the artisan salami I'd gotten for free from Creminelli for taking a survey on their packaging. I was actually really excited. Now, to be honest, I eat very little meat for health reasons, but I was willing to try this salami. I mean, really, how often do you get to sample artisan salami? That's right.

Cacciatore, Sopressata, and Wild Boar salamis

So I opened the package and was a little surprised to see two hard white blobs connected with string. Salami, what?

Then my sister Megan piped in and reminded me about a guy she'd seen on tv (and told me about only a few days before) who made "fancy" meats, and left them in a room to be covered in mold, because that made them fancier. So I ran to the computer to see if I could find anything that would shed some light on how to eat the "meat" I'd been given. I went to the Creminelli website and read about how their excessively fine meats were made in the Italian tradition (read with a stuffy voice and wave your hand around in a sophisticated manner), and that the moldy casing could be removed simply by allowing the meat to rest at room temperature for about twenty minutes, then cut off the tip and slice down the edge, peeling the casing as you went. All well and good, but when I went back downstairs and attempted this, the white "casing" could not be persuaded to separate from the rest of the meat. I also discovered that while I was researching, Megan had eaten a bit of the meat (I don't think she ever told me how it tasted), white mold included, much to my amazement, despite the fact that the "fancy" meat guy on tv had served his meat moldy, with the expectation that consumers would eat that part also. Yuck. I tried to convince my niece and nephew that they didn't need to eat any moldy meat, despite the fact that Mommy had just done so. The smell of very old gym shoes began to permeate the air. I stopped sawing at the meat and sniffed at the white powder rubbing off on my fingers. Yes, it was indeed eau de gym shoe. Needless to say, I was frustrated and a little put out that we didn't get to try any artisan salami, and it all ended up in the trash. Despite Creminelli's insistance that their artisan salami never goes bad, I am convinced that I got a bad bunch. Otherwise, how can people eat that? Call me uncultured, but Gross. Capital G.