Better to Laugh

I am reading Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert.  Her first journey is to Italy, the “eat” part of the title.  How appropriate, since food is a mistress to Italians.  This is not a metaphor; Italians literally have a love affair with food.

My dad, Gino, is so into his food that I have asked him if they (my dad and his pasta, warm bread, hot soup, dessert, whatever) would like to be alone, get a room, etc.  There is deep breathing and moaning as the aromas enter the nostrils, the textures are felt through the mouth, and flavors roll over the tongue.  It’s pretty hot stuff.  Food is not just nutrition; it touches our very souls.  To go on a diet to an Italian is like a divorce from our soul mate.  

And the helpings!  My dad served my non-Italian husband (then boyfriend) a bowl of ice cream.  When my dad brought him the bowl, he couldn’t believe his eyes.  There was a quart or more of ice cream in the dish.  My mom saw his expression of shock (eyes wide, mouth gaping) and said, “That is what you call an Italian helping.”  My husband monitors my dad now when he dishes him up.

What can I say?  Italians are a passionate, generous people…especially when it comes to food.