Last week, when The Frisky held its fancy party, one of the snacks was lamb served on a stick, which got me thinking about the last time I ate interestingly stabbed meat. It started with a bang the day I arrived in Peru — I passed out onto my face. I woke up on the hotel bathroom floor, surrounded by and smeared with blood. Then I was revived, mysteriously back in bed, and staring at the ceiling, which I thought was breathing. My adventure had begun. Keep reading »
