While living in Siena, I had the great pleasure of getting a true sense of the culture by living in a home stay. My “Italian Mother,” Anna Bellacini, cooked divine Tuscan meals with a side of Pecorino Romano every night. I was not allowed to touch anything in the kitchen or clean dishes—ever. That being said, my personal collection of decadent chocolate treats was tucked away in my bedroom.

Everything changed when Anna’s 12-year old dog, Colle, discovered my secret stash. I came home from school only to find bits of chocolate wrappers scattered about. Did I Colle survive? Thankfully, yes! Colle lived to see another day and I ate a little less chocolate thanks to her keen sense of smell.

Recently I decided that since I’m officially a full-fledged adult that I needed to overcome this raw bird fear and cook, you’ll never believe, a whole chicken. I consulted with my mom while I was at Safeway and she suggested buying a pair of gloves so that I wouldn’t have to touch the poor, naked bird.

Picture: yellow rubber gloves up to my elbows. Eyes closed. I was instructed to extract all the miscellaneous extra parts—gizzards and such. I couldn’t even look (another reason why I decided against becoming a doctor) as I put the yellow glove inside.  I held it over the garbage can and just shook it to death. Gizzards no more!  The rest was a piece of cake– olive oil, rosemary, onions, carrots and potatoes all in toe. For me this was truly a right of passage, and a meal to remember.