In the meantime, today's theme : My best restaurant moment.
My mind's child is begging me to write this like a third grade book report. I'll resist the urge as much as possible, but I am only human. Ignore the conspicuous, vaguely inappropriate use of big words.
My best restaurant moment of 09 has to be in Pitigliano. Not because i can casually brag about our glorious trip to Italy in July (fun as it would be), but because despite the seeming idyllic setting, I can still muck things up royally. What can I say, it's a gift. My only solace is the hope I can get a staggering billion figure book deal out of the memoirs after, as millions of people will obviouslywant to laugh (with me) at my shame.
Anyway, after a week of blissful fun and mad sex, we decided to eat out in a proper nice restaurant - and do it italian style, with all 4 courses and everything. we booked a table (the town was small enough there weren't enough restaurants around to guarantee space anywhere). I even wore my beach cover up like it was a real dress and put on make up. And while my thick sticky hair still smelt of salt water, I like to think it was still shiny in the candle light.
But then, I also liked to think my italian was good enough to get us through (Liam spoke not a word and of this town's 300 residents, we never found anyone who spoke a jot of english. Charming, but hella hard work on my one mediocre term of italian in college. Good thing we only ever needed food, directions and a bathroom. Lord knows what would have happened if we needing to express feelings or something.
Anyway, I tried to translate the menu for my man and when stuggling with scallopes I took a stab in the dark for scallops, seafood at the outside. I was sure it would be fine. probably.
Until of course it came. A escallope of pork in gravy. A big wadge of pig meat plonked in front of my vegetarian boyfriend. on our big romantic date in rural italy - our perfect, someday we'll tell our kids about it moment, and I manage to practically poison the poor thing.
Good sport that he is, he ate it (and liked it - the half he could manage. I think he was untrained in the will power it takes to prevail over pork's soporific tendencies). Probably a good thing too, because I wouldn't have had a fucking clue about saying 'he can't eat this, take it back and bring me something made of tofu' in italian.
but still. the wine was brilliant, the nettle ravioli was awesomely weird, and nothing beats a damn sexy gentleman slurping for his life in a tuscan sunset.
2 comments:
When I was on study abroad in London, we took a weekend trip to Paris. I was the only person who spoke a word of French. We were at a cafe and my friend ordered jambon du pays--country ham. He got ham, alright, but it was a seemingly uncooked slab of flesh. I had to muddle through explaining to the exasperated waiter that my friend could not eat raw meat and could they please take it back and cook it through. I think they just threw it in the microwave, but my friend didn't die so I guess I did well enough.
Liam really is a good sport. I wouldn't even have managed a bite before I started having a dead-meat-is-by-my-mouth fit.
Also, tofu should be a universal word--like OK. Then all you'd need to say at any restaurant would be "Tofu, OK?" and off they'd go.
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