Jonesin’ Italian… In The Great State O’ Maine. Not a good combination.
Nothing fancy, I’m just talkin’ spaghetti and meatballs. You might not even consider that to be Italian cooking. I’m okay with that. But this is Maine. When we used to come up here and the stores had signs in the window: Italians $3.69 2 for $7 and we’re like, “Umm.” ‘Cause my wife is half Italian, ya’ see and my kids, they’re one quarter Italian which is more than me, but … anyway.
Took us a while to understand that they were selling “Italian Combo Subs” for $3.69. So, alright, Osso bucco is right out of the question. Spaghetti and meatballs will be fine. “Italian Combo” is in quotes due to the subjective nature of the ingredients. Personally, I never knew an Italian who would think of yellow American cheese on their glorified hot dog bun for a hero roll and call it an Italian combo.
Spaghetti and meatballs (this is starting to remind me of the toasted coconut doughnut story) but where? I had tried Sam’s before. It wasn’t quite as good as being in the hospital. So I’m driving and I see a Pizza Hut. They used to be goodish. They’ll be ok. It’s a national chain. They gotta know something!
Well I am wrong in that reasoning. And the waitresses! They really do put the pretty ones away after the tourists leave! Be she’s got spunk at 62. Well more spunk than teeth that much is for certain! She brings me over a doggy bag. I said, “How do you know I’m not going to finish everything?”
She expresses faith in my gentility. I’m still not sure if I’m insulted or not. “But that spaghetti is so good innit?”
Now, as I was forcing it down I was fantasizing about asking the waitress if she had ever tasted real Italian food before. But when she said that, I couldn’t ask such a thing. I looked at her and I smiled and I said “It’s wicked!” sometimes something get lost in the translation. And that’s not always a bad thing.