I went home sick at midday on Monday with a sudden fever and spent the next twenty-four hours curled up in bed, shivering or sweating. I’m not sure what it was that got to me. There were no cold symptoms, and though my stomach felt uneasy and I lost my appetite for two days, it didn’t seem quite the same — or nearly as bad — as bouts of food poisoning I’ve had in the past. There’s no conclusive evidence to support this, but in my mind I’ve made a link between my malady and the then-delicious Prosciutto di Parma that I bought in Little Italy over the weekend. All I know is whenever I think of cured Italian ham now, my stomach turns.