Maine Observer: Learn (the hard way) to eat Italian

I always make the same mistake. Coming from an Italian family I should know better. Again, I decided to wear a white shirt that day, and we invited some friends to an Italian banquet.

The first thing I did was open a nice bottle of Banfi Chianti. Under normal circumstances, this would have been an easy task. For non-Italians, I must make it clear that a bottle of Chianti is always wrapped in a wicker basket. The basket holds the bottle by two small bamboo straps. When one opens the bottle, one should not hold the bottle by the wicker but should hold it by the stem. After I cleaned up, I opened the second bottle of my kiyante properly.

Then I tried the main course. Everyone at the table was enjoying the feast at the same time I was trying to figure out how not to dress up the meal. Meatballs weren’t a problem. All I had to do was cut it in half, toss it with a fork, and then stick it in my mouth. I was doing so well that I accidentally slipped one of the pieces off my plate and onto the tablecloth. I looked up and noticed a sharp glare from my wife. The tablecloth is now dirty and I couldn’t do anything about it. At least I missed my handkerchief.

Spaghetti was my biggest challenge of the afternoon. I grabbed the fork and spoon hoping I could deftly roll the spaghetti on the fork and then pass it to my mouth. When I was trying this Italian maneuver, I noticed that the conversation was quiet and I became the center of attraction. I just smiled and continued rolling my fork. I’m convinced I only had one piece of spaghetti on my plate because I kept rolling a large amount of spaghetti on my fork.

I got tired of rolling after a few minutes and decided to put what I had rolled onto a fork and suck the rest of the tuft in my mouth. I sucked a little hard. Wrap flowing ropes around my head and sprinkle them on my dinner guests. My wife got worse because she now has a perfectly straight red line on her face. My guests laughed and told me they didn’t like the clothes they were wearing.

The meal ended with more red wine, which I poured some of on the now worthless tablecloth and some candy consisting of cannoli which I nibbled on, thus oozing its content onto the now multicolored tablecloth.

We had some laughs on a Sunday afternoon. In fact, my friends wanted to meet again at their house. They suggested Chinese food. All I could think about was how I would use my chopsticks in this world.

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