I have a confession to make: my interest in beekeeping borders on the unhealthy and obsessive. I once attended an international beekeeping conference in Italy.
In my defense, I was covering a story for Slow Food International on mono-varietal honey production (say that ten times fast). It wasn’t the mechanics of beekeeping itself that hooked me, or the deliciously sweet and sticky honeys I got to sample, but the fascinating eccentricities of the beekeepers themselves.
One man from Japan brought a rare honey filled with poisonous wasps that had drowned in the bottle. The adrenaline that coursed through their bodies
