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On our return to the town of Crema, it was left up to us what to do for the rest of the evening. Caroline and I decided to go back to the restaurant of the night before so that we could enjoy a quieter meal and so I could order a sensible pizza, rather than the on-the-menu-for-a-joke that I'd had the night before. At this stage, I was confident in my knowledge of the Italian language. I could probably understand the name on the menu of anything I'd want to eat and I knew the numbers 1 to 3. This, coupled with gestures would probably do the trick. Sadly I'd not learnt any verbs yet, but I had a phrasebook and so I felt equipped for the experience of being without an interpreter in a small-town-restaurant in Italy.
As we arrived at the restaurant, we were greeted by a waiter-style-fellow who accepted the word "due" (two) from me as a request for a table for two with a view of the other tables. Having been seated we were given menus with no problem. The point is that although the words are different, the cultures are the same. It's pretty obvious what you've come to a restaurant for - to eat - simple. It's pretty obvious the order you do things in - get table, get menu, order, get food, eat it, pay, leave. Why use language at all.
Anyway, we came to order and we listed the courses we want and the waiter understood our bad pronunciation and it was going really well - we were effortlessly reading items from the menu out loud and the man was repeating those words, fast and with meaning (and correct pronunciation) and writing it all down. Finally, it was time to order the wine. The menu said a litre caraffe was 6,000 lira (£2) and we asked for one. Unfortunately, the waiter spotted that I'd also ordered a beer and that I was pointing to Caroline when I ordered the wine. He started saying something. We didn't understand. He repeated. He realised we were English (our cover was blown). He called over the bald-headed, and now even balder from the stress of the night before, english-speaking waiter. After a giggle and a conference, they explained to the blushing English fools that
"We think a litre is too… for one person."
Ah yes. A litre is two pints, is too much for Caroline alone. Quick thinking, I remembered my sheet music and that the word mezzo means half (mezzo forte, mezzo piano, mezzo schmezzo) and changed our order to a sensible quantity.
It only took 20 minutes for our faces to go back to their normal colour. The meal was excellent, with seafood starter for Caroline - which has given her a taste for Frutti Di Mare - (gulp! - grim) and a cold-meats starter for me and then a couple of pizzas - my Calzone was like a bubble of crispy pastry. Fully satisfied with the excellent quality of the internationally recognised language of food, we paid and left.
Looking back, it seems like it took only a moment in our lives to participate in the holiday to that point, but at the time we felt like we'd been there forever and the best was still to come.
Written: May 1998
Posted: 01 November 2001
Ashley Frieze