On my two week exchange to Italy I was extremely excited to try all of the wonderful foods that the country had to offer. When I thought of Italy I thought of amazing pasta, meat sauce, mozzarella cheese, prosciutto, pizza and gelato. While this was what Italy was like, I quickly found out that not all of the food in Italy was delicious.
The first night I was staying with my host family the mother decided to make a homemade meal with a vast variety of authentic foods for me to try. After eating at hotels and restaurants for a week I was eager to get a homemade meal. This excitement was quickly replaced by nerves.
Everyone in the family was excited for the mother’s version of meatloaf. Apparently it was one of the most delicious items the mother makes and they did not get it often. The use of the word “meatloaf” immediately made me stomach turn. I absolutely hate meatloaf.
The teacher whom was the leader of our trip told us that not trying food when offered to us is extremely disrespectful. She also told us that if we did not like something to pretend that we did, as saying you did not like something could also be seen as disrespectful.
I hear often “your facial expressions tell it all” and this is true about me. Knowing this about myself I knew the meatloaf on the table was going to be a big problem. I did not want this family to think I was a rude American on the very first night!
As I walked into the kitchen for dinner I was greeted by a thanksgiving feast, minus the thanksgiving food of course. Every inch of the over sized wooden table was covered in food. And there it was, right in the middle of the table, staring at me.
As we sat down the mother began to dish out the food. She asked me if I wanted some meatloaf, knowing it was rude to decline, especially because it is her specialty, I said “yes please” with a large, fake smile plastered on my face.
This was like nothing I had ever seen. I could not believe that people actually ate this. The best way to describe what was on my plate was a very large dog treat. It looked like a dog treat, it smelled like a dog treat, it was served room temperature like a dog treat so to make sure it wasn’t a dog treat I asked what was in it. She told me in extremely broken English so it was difficult to understand. Lots of different meats pressed together was all I got out of her explanation.
As if eating this repulsive dog treat look-a- like was not bad enough, the entire family watched me eat my first bite anxious to see if I enjoyed it as much as them. As I chewed the cold patty of meat I tried my absolute hardest to control my facial expressions knowing that all eyes were on me. After three or four bites, one big gulp and a large swig of water the unfamiliar substance finally made its way into my stomach.
After the initial pain of eating the substance was over, I knew I had to look around the table and face the family. Had I done a good enough job controlling my facial expressions?
In broken English the mother said something to me when I made eye contact with her. Did she really just ask me if I wanted another piece? I hoped I had understood her wrong. When she reached for my plate, I knew that this was not the case. She plopped another piece, bigger than the last, on my plate. Just when I thought this painful experience was over, it was not.
"Here we go again", I thought to myself.
