It’s All About the Food
Mangiare: Italian verb meaning “to eat.”
Mangia: Imperative command meaning “EAT!”
In Italy, to offer food is to show hospitality and love. By this standard we certainly felt welcomed and loved. It’s not that we didn’t expect it. We did. But the idea of an experience is never the same as the reality. Our last day in Italy last September proved this to be true.
We knew we were in trouble when my cousin, Enrica, called us up and invited us to her house for “lunch” on our last day visiting the town in Italy where my grandparents were born. Normally, lunch would not be a source of concern, but this was Italy where food and the experience of sharing it are sacred and taken very seriously.
Enrica had requested the day off from work to cook for us, a fact that told us this meal would most likely consume several hours. We, as family returning to the homeland from across “the big pond,” were the guests of honor. Despite this, we also knew we were in for torture, wonderful as it may seem. Another set of cousins a few towns away had also invited us to “dinner” on this last day. The problem was how to pace ourselves, yet sample everything and shower our hosts with appropriate compliments for every morsel. How could we avoid becoming agonizingly full before arriving at our next multi-coursed meal with the next set of cousins? To not eat heartily would be insulting and we certainly did not want to make “una brutta figura” (a bad impression).
Bracing ourselves for a marathon day of eating, we arrived at Enrica’s house already filled with delicious smells and smiling cousins. My cousin, Carlo, commanded “MANGIA!” and we were off to the table. The meal began innocently enough with the usual antipasti: various salamis, cheeses, olives, and breads. Then two huge steaming pots of different kinds of polenta were brought forth. Of course, one was expected to sample both. Next a large plate of cinghiale appeared, the wild boar my cousin, Serafino, had caught. No getting around tasting that, vegetarians notwithstanding. Assorted vegetable dishes, homemade ricotta cheese with local wild mountain honey, fruit. The dishes kept rolling out. Just when we thought we were home free, the dessert arrived. Since elderly cousin Angelina had stayed up late the night before making it by hand, we of course had to indulge. Everything was swooningly delicious. A champagne toast, more homemade wine, and a final swig of throat-searing grappa to finish it all off, and we were done.
We said our goodbyes and rolled out, making our way back to our hotel to endure our over-stuffed misery in private. We had two hours to digest before the next round. My parents took a nap, while my husband and I tried to walk off the food (it didn’t work). Much too soon it was time to drive to cousin Adriana’s house, where we were immediately plied with hors d’oeuvres and wine. Then we moved inside for the “real” meal: plates of vegetables under oil and vinegar, savory meats, fragrant cheeses, bread, fruit, delicate pastries. By the time we said goodbye, we could barely move. We never wanted to hear the word “MANGIA!” again.
In keeping with their love affair with food, Italians strictly abide by several “food rules” such as: never drink cappuccino after noon (the milk will spoil your stomach), don’t put ice in your drink (causes stomach cramps), serve coffee after a meal, never during, do not butter your bread (too filling). Italians actually prefer to eat at home rather than going out. They know the food will be more delicious and home grown. Many times we have invited our cousins and friends to come visit us in the United States. The response is always the same: “But, whatever would we eat?”
© 2006 by Melinda Brovelli
