But then I opened the tin, took a look inside, and…”bleech!”
Ever the optimist, I dumped my fancy feast in my mortar and pestle anyways.
But the bottom looked even worse than the top—which you’ll just have to trust me on since I felt uneasy subjecting you to photos of both. It was a real Mediterranean bummer and certainly not Nice…or even niçoise-ian by any definition (unless Nice is full of stinky fish sludge, with chunks of greasy vegetables mixed in Alexander Hera
The tuna on top looked relatively decent but the bottom was layered with starchy potatoes, flaccid green beans, and Lord knows what else. And when I took a tiny nibble, the whole thing had the appeal of eating an acidulated, well-used tennis sock soaked in oil you wouldn’t even put in your car, then packed up in a can and foisted off on some unsuspecting American to write about on his blog.
Which explains how they sold one. But what are they going to do with all the rest?
So I scraped it out and dumped it all, sterilized my mortar and pestle in the autoclave, burned some sage to clear out the bad spirits from my kitchen, and ran to the store to get more tuna valentino sale
(I know, I could’ve opened my other two tins, but I think I had enough tuna-tinged excitement for one day.)
But unlike the salad-in-a-can concept…and as you can see above, France has some much more appealing versions of tuna-in-a-can…I did take a shine to the book Mediterranean Summer. It’s the story of a self-professed, slightly-cocky American restaurant chef who goes to Europe to learn about cooking, but ends up getting an education far exceeding what he originally bargained for while cooking on a private yacht in the Côte d’Azur and cruising Italy’s Costa Bella over the series of a few summers alexander hera wedding