I was invited to dinner with two Romanian friends and was surprised to end up eating with their Italian entourage. They had said nothing to me about others being there and had told them nothing about me other than my name. They made no excuses and gave no explanations for my presence except to introduce me in Italian and label me as a good friend, after which they left me to fend on my own. Thanks to Fede, I was an expert at introductions and small talk and was thus able to answer their questions for the most part. They assumed I was another Italian originally born in Romania and I pleased with this assumption. Fortunately for me, the waiter interrupted our conversation before they could learn otherwise.
Our waiter was a quaint man. I could not place his age at all, nor could I identify his personality. He was neither friendly nor unfriendly. He seemed extremely serious and forlorn at first but made some deadpan jokes and even cracked a smile as he warmed up to us. If I had to guess, I would say he was in his early thirties but he fell easily into conversation with everyone at the table. I was grateful for this. I was glad he was taking his time getting orders because I had just realized everybody was ordering without a menu and I began to panic. I am one of the most indecisive people I know. Call me crazy but I also like to know the prices of what I’m ordering.
I was concerned. Every time I’d been out to eat previously, even with a menu that had clearly stated prices, I ended up spending at least twice as much as I intended. How was I supposed to order something without knowing what it was? I looked at the calm faces of those around me and decided to stop worrying. If they could do it, I could too. I would try the Italian mentality and let things work themselves out. When it was finally my turn to order, I asked if they had lasagna (my absolute favorite dish in the universe) and the waiter winked and said it was an excellent choice. I also ordered both tea and water –quite a splurge for me.
As soon as the waiter left, the table erupted in fun conversation. For the moment, they were all wrapped up in their conversations and I would be allowed to rest. Trying to understand and reply in Italian is exhausting. Instead, I took some time to look around, wonder, and listen without pressure. The first thing I noticed was the utter lack of tourists. There was no English spoken in this restaurant. Next I noticed the restaurant had a very hip and modern feel. The table sheets had paintings of menus, Italian quotes, or pictures of landscapes. The walls were covered with similar paintings, candles, flowers, mirrors, and some interesting statues. There was a lot to see and take in. I loved the fact that part of the kitchen and the chefs were visible from the main dining area. They waved to us and periodically attempted to impress us with their balancing or dicing skills. They were amusing.
And the smells. The food smelled absolutely delicious. Everywhere I turned my head, I was hit with wave after wave of different, delicious smells. My nose was satisfied. My ears were also pleased to listen to the melodic Italian that danced around me ceaselessly. I was so lost in the sound of the Italian being spoken that I didn’t realize the boy I was listening to was actually talking to me.
Eventually, they would find out that I was not Italian after all. Most were impressed at my ability to fool them and one teased me relentlessly about not being more adept at the language after two months. Everyone was friendly and I was pleased that they continued to address me in Italian.
My meal came. My lasagna was delicious. Incredible. Amazing. It was big, cheesy, meaty, and it was exactly what I’d hoped. I wanted to cherish the taste and the experience as long as I could. I ate that lasagna slower than I’ve ever eaten anything in my entire life. I will never forget how warm and happy I felt enjoying my favorite food among Italian friends who had accepted me. As a bonus, the meal turned out to be one of the cheapest I ever had in Italy --confirming my belief that tourists are charged different prices that natives.
It was a beautiful, memorable experience. It was the best lasagna I have ever tasted. It was served warm and was eaten in good company. I’ve always believed that laughter, comfort, and authenticity contribute to the taste of food. Thus, unlike many others who have concluded that they prefer Italian food in American restaurants over Italian restaurants, I beg to differ. I don’t think I will ever taste lasagna as wonderful or as satisfying as the one I had that night in Rome.
Arrivederci Roma,
Teo
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