'I think it's a soft toy,' The Man said, trying to downplay our expectations.
'Naw.' I was sure any self-respecting Italian would never give someone a soft toy. It must be something to eat. Something delicious.
Sniffing the air for clues, we tore open the wrapping. Only to reveal...
OK, so it's a bad picture. But the reality isn't any more illuminating. Is it cake? Is it bread?
We squinted at the tag to try to shed some light. Of course, it's in Italian.
So there it sits, forlornly, on the table.
Our own little UFO.