flashback

We had an italian friend over for lunch last week-end, a Sicilian at that, who's just left Italy recently.

The lunch was somewhat akin to walking through a field of land mines.

- Pick up a pizza for a quick bite?
-Oh no, pizzas in France are horrible. Instead, let me cook for you. But wait, what brand of pasta do you have at home?

And so the pasta brand came under scrutiny (thankfully Barilla passed the test as the minimal standard accepted by him).

Then came the toppings: no cream in carbonara! It's from Rome ! No cream, that's not authentic!

No bread either to be served with a pasta meal! And certainly no grated swiss cheese !

At this point, P was hesitating between wide-eyed amazement and simply laughing it off.

No twirling spaghettis in a big spoon! And no cutting them either ! (as he turned his gaze away in shock). Not to mention NEVER reheat pasta.

Said italian also threatened to kick a Finnish housemate out of his own apartment for considering seasoning his pasta with ketchup.

Yet he eyed my vanilla flan tart and approved, "Brava, brava".

I didn't have the heart to tell him that while I make cakes and pies and mousses and souffles from scratch; flan is the one thing I make from a mix because that's the way my mother has always done it.


Strangely, I could see myself 12 years back in him. Freshly arrived in the US, insisting that "croissants" be pronounced correctly and never topped with butter, jam, or anything else. Insisting upon American idiocy in so many ways.

How far I've come. Or have I? ;)