Life Is Meals...4 Tiresome Meals

We had 20 people at our dinner table last night. Seven Americans, one Polish girl, one Turkish girl and eleven animated Italian men.

Equipped with 15 bottles of wine, a bottle of gin and a bottle of vodka, it appeared that we would make it through the evening unscathed—or at the very least, drunk.

Wait, did you catch that? Eleven Italian men. Eleven! The first word that came to mind when briefing the guest-list was, shit. All of these men were born and raised in Italy, have been stuffed with delectable Italian food and are generally accustomed to eating three to four course meals. Shit, shit, shit. What does one make for an Italian crowd? Maybe a little French food or American food, possibly even Asian food? The answer is simple: No.

In a class I had earlier that day, my teacher stated that Italians only ever eat Italian food, and nothing else. So that rules out you, my beloved, my muse, my Hampton queen, Ina Garten. I guess all of the hours I spent photocopying (and most likely annoying more than half the Bowdoin Magazine staff) recipes from Barefoot In Paris, proved to be worthless.

Where were we? Oh yes, the dinner party for 20. Well as it so happens, I have 5 fabulous roommates who not only have the sweetest of demeanors—but they also come in quite handy in the kitchen (FYI—the kitchen has now been re-named HELL--just for future reference). And considering our appetites and guest requests, I needed all the help I could possibly get.

Fast forward past the excessive wine drinking and desperate cheese eating: Upon realizing that there was no way in HELL (so clever) that I was going to be able to produce four main course dishes and four appetizers, I enlisted Suzy, Chase, Alexis, Leah and Lindsey to assist me with this mammoth of a task.

Three hours later, after sweating it out and cursing at pots and pans, we produced what ended up being a very good meal. Four pasta dishes: Mussels Al Fresco, Tagliatelle with Roasted Red Pepper Sauce, Proscuitto, Mozzarella, Tomatoes and Toasted Pinenut Pasta, and Pasta Carbonara.

Within moments of setting the dishes on the table, the fuss and stress seemed to vanish. Watching the Italian boys (I repeat, boys, not men) delve into our food and drink our wine was so…pleasant. I can only assume that my stress level skyrocketed because I was cooking Italian food for Italians. Oh the judgment! The potential embarrassment! (If you know me at all, you’ll realize that a year ago, I couldn’t even make a piece of toast without burning it, so there is always plenty of room for error.)

When asked if he enjoyed his meal, Zaf, a local Italian DJ replied, “The best I’ve had in three years.” With only two weeks down, and multiple to go, we all seem to have distanced ourselves from the classic American stereotype. Instead we’ve cooked for eleven Italian men, conversed in the romantic language and generally accepted Italy for the strange (at times seriously inconvenient) yet glorious place it is.