Tell me what you eat, where you ate.
Like my friend Bella, a North London girl who speaks perfect menu Italian.
I can talk for hours in the simple language of main course, dessert.
I can make the gesture for ‘buono’ beloved of Italian grannies, a forefinger on the dimple in your cheek rotated a couple of times. I can use two fingers not as the English use in insult but for ‘facciamo due spaghetti’ when hungry and only a forkful of pasta will do.
I can say ‘oishii’ or ‘oishi sooooo’ (delicious, looks delicious) in a perfect Japanese accent, or stamp my feet and utter ‘tabetai!” (roughly means ‘want! eat!’) My Japanese is otherwise lacking in vocabulary, but I understand the litany of ramen, unagi, tonkatsu that my colleagues sigh over every morning.
You can make my eyes light up by reciting a list of burrata, ‘nduja, spritz e stuzzichini.
Tell me what you eat, where you ate and we can talk for hours.
A longer version was originally written for the delightful Gravity Zine, issue #2.
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