My husband says that I'm digital, one or zero, all or nothing. I either don't have to pee or am in emergency pee-pee dance mode. I'm either covered in goose bumps with teeth chattering or the heat is sucking the very life blood from me. I'm either the life of the road trip or I'm zonked out and drooling on my own shoulder. And I'm either ready to eat an entire tofurkey or I'm so full that I'm unbuttoning my pants in public places. Obviously over time I've adapted to accommodate my various physical needs and as a result I have an uncanny radar for public restrooms, dress in multiple layers even in August, and have a sixth sense when it comes to waking up for my train stop. The one thing that I have not learned to do is order the proper quantity of food at restaurants.
Looking back on my life I acknowledge that my eyes have been notoriously bigger than my stomach from the very beginning. I believe that my lack of adaptation to this particular trait is due entirely to the existence of the doggy bag. I grew up in a land where it didn't matter if you didn't finish what you ordered because you could bring it home and eat it for lunch the next day, where if there was even a bite of something left on your plate the waiter would offer to wrap it up for you. I am now living hungrily ever after in a land far far away from that one.
When I first arrived in Rome four years ago, so automatically did I take the doggy bag for granted, that it didn't even occur to me that it was something that could be different from country to country. I suppose a clue could have been the first time that I asked to take something home and the restaurant did not physically have the proper container in which to put my left-overs, bringing them to me (after looking at me oddly) in a small pizza box. I think I just looked oddly right back at them. The sequence of events over the next few months is foggy, but somehow it eventually came to my attention that in Italy the taking home of left-overs is generally looked down upon. I was incredulous.
“But that's such a waste.”
“But it's food that I've paid for. Why shouldn't I be able to take it home? What do they care?”
“But that's such a waste.”
My argument was valid, but repetitive at best. Still, everyone to whom I pointed out the logic of my thinking and the flaw of the Italian custom agreed with me. Yes, there should be nothing wrong with bringing left-overs home from a restaurant, but no, they would not be doing it.
It wasn't until I really probed my pre-husband on the matter that we began to form an idea of why there is such a stigma associated with something that makes so much sense. His hypothesis comes down to an anti-post-war mentality. Italy was a country that suffered extreme poverty and hunger after WWII. Nothing was wasted. As the country's economy slowly climbed back to prosperity it became a matter of personal and family pride to be able to afford freshly prepared food everyday. Somehow, three generations later, this has stuck and therefore one must be a terrible cheap skate or seriously impoverished to want to bring something home from a restaurant.
So I decided to personally start changing this ridiculous rule of etiquette. I decided not to care what others thought of me. I decided that the next time we went out to dinner, I would walk into that restaurant, look at that menu, and order my heart out without worrying about having to finish everything right then and there. And then I would boldly ask what no Italian had asked before: to take home my left-overs!
But in the end it proved more difficult than I had imagined. At the close of our next meal out, when it was clear that what was still on my plate would be staying there, I looked imploringly at my husband and asked him to ask, but he just shook his head and suggested that I speak with a thick American accent so that my faux pas could be attributed to my being a tourist. I scowled at him, but began planning out what I was going to say, making it sound as nonchalant as possible. And when the waiter came:
“No, no dessert thank you. Just the check.”
What?! To my shock and dismay it turned out that I did actually care what they thought of me. And as a result no left-overs were brought home.
In the long term, this situation will never do, especially not for a shamefully inaccurate eye to stomach ratio such as mine. Either I am going to have to learn to be That Person, or I am going to have to learn how to order food. With the help of my husband, we've been working on the latter task, but it really is deceivingly difficult as I'm always tragically convinced that I'll be able to eat everything I've ordered. My husband is the one who bears the brunt of this in the end, forcing himself to finish my dinner as well so that it doesn't go to waste. He has come to dread the tell-tale moment when I look at him sadly over my far-from-empty plate with defeat in my eyes.
“No. Seriously? Already? Did you even touch it?”
“Yes, but I'm full. Do you think we could ask to take it home?”
“Sure. Go ahead and ask them.”
“They'll think I'm crazy.”
“Maybe.”
“Can you ask for me?”
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“Alright, well I guess it will get thrown out then.”
“Oh, give it to me.”
He blames me for the pounds he's put on since we've been together... He may have a point.
This doesn't mean that I've given up in my quest to bring the doggy bag to Italy. Choosing my venue carefully, I have on several occasions thus far succeeded in asking to have my dinner wrapped up. These were moments of personal triumph for me and, I believe, important first steps in what I am now calling the “Doggy Bag Movement”. Which is why, as I write this I am reaching out to anyone who while in Italy has sadly watched their dinner go to waste, to anyone who likes cold spaghetti for lunch, to anyone who resents being too full to order dessert... Let's all of us make a pledge, and in so doing help the Italian people as well!
I pledge deliverance from the customs of the restaurants of Italy, and proclaim this right which we demand: one doggy bag, on the table, undeniable, with lunch tomorrow and dessert tonight for all.
really cute
ReplyDelete