What would become of us if we had our good Italian old habits? A spoonful of castor oil at night before falling asleep, four beatings of dissidents in office, a couple of more "ad personam" before breakfast and then immediately confessed after kissing the hands of the chieftain of the Cosa Nostra, before going with a better escort, of course.
Like my fellow students will struggle to forget, I decided to take my personal cynically, sarcastic and arrogant to make controversy, which I abandoned in recent times.
And so, we debate.
Today I've got the etiquette.
I could reduce me to paraphrase the good old Peppino Impastato and declare to the whole voice that "Etiquette is a mountain of shit", but since we're on the subject of good manners will replace the word "shit" with "I".
We have all heard during our youth in good manners, etiquette, etiquette, manners, respect, especially when we were kids and we learned the meaning of these words sound, and only after painful slaps behind the ears.
was the middle of the fourteenth century, America had been discovered recently, Galileo Galilei did not know to be in this world still spinning around the Sun to the Earth that was strictly flat, the scientific method was not yet in this world and the principle of inertia none had never even told her. In this seemingly dark time, a certain Monsignor Giovanni Della Casa, it was decided to ruin future generations by publishing a book on the correct habits and how to behave in certain circumstances of life and not worldly. In short, a bloody piece of crap that has corrupted the youth of many millions of babies in five hundred years to come. Dear Monsignor (and its future worthy followers) have focused mainly to teach to be polite and well behaved when we sit at the table. Here is a photo of Monsignor only moments after his untimely, aristocratic and polite departure:
As everyone knows of course, while sharing the table is absolutely prohibited:
- to wish good appetite for it seems that bad luck (a bit 'like to wish good morning to a person sentenced to death)
- closer to the silverware with his face (apparently it is also forbidden to be comfortable)
- shredding the food all at once (no, basically the purpose of the game to see who is choking first in an attempt to swallow a whole turkey steak)
- collect the remaining sauce with the bread, the legendary liner (and this is pure blasphemy)
- spitting the pits of olives or fruit dishes or ashtrays (ingoiateli! they leave the back door you could be forced to replace the toilet)
- cut the omelette with a knife (with my god what the fuck do I have to cut?)
- add salt if not invited by the landlady (the salt coast, the owner is stingy even though the landlady had unfortunately reveal a landlord)
- use the toothpick which should NEVER be put on the table (yes, better to keep the fat from the pork between the teeth or pieces of gum in salad)
But it's not all: everyone sitting at the table with back straight, separated from his chair, elbows resting on the table, stiff neck, fucking in the ass and toffee on the nose so as not to regret a good old aristocratic circle in which to dispose of the dinner is held at a better hunt slave, a healthy safari animals in danger of extinction, not forgetting to beat their wives, which has definitely gone too far by telling you I love you before your virilissimi colleagues.
Then there is the "secret code of the cutlery." Depending on how the utensils are left in the pot, in fact, the waiter running certain commands. If they are crossed on the plate means "I have not finished eating, stay away, filthy commoner; If they are both on the same side then the waiter is allowed to approach and clear from the cooking process, and finally, if you can recover very gracefully all sixteen tablespoons of the table and create you a perfect reproduction of the Rosetta Stone, the waiter will undergo without hesitation in a game of "slap the soldier, to the delight of everyone present. It is said however that a particular combination of cutlery has been fatal to John Fitzgerald Kennedy and Martin Luther King, whereas the exact same code seems to have led to the conception of Princes William and Harry Windsor. In short, look at how the cutlery resting at a gala dinner, you could be killed with a stone dead in the mouth or with pregnant wives without even time to say "gosh that there is no mid-season."
Curiously etiquette also includes something intelligent, or the categorical prohibition of issuing "bodily noise nuisance" during the meal. Even more curiously, however, it is expected that in the unlikely event were to occur such a situation, you must turn a blind eye and go further, showing off a careless security, as the guests may not have heard the noise so rude.
Here, dear Monsignor Della Casa should eat a couple of times with my great aunt. My dear old woman relative to grandchildren and great-grandchildren recommended to use "manners" prima del pasto e poi concludeva ogni portata con rutti talmente sonori da fare apparire magicamente le mèches al malcapitato seduto di fianco a lei. C'è chi sostiene che lo strano effetto fosse dovuto alla particolare fiatazza della suddetta parente.
"Oh, Claudia... Bambina, ma non avevo notato i tuoi nuovi colpi di sole... Li avevi anche prima del dolce?"
In effetti noi pronipoti seguivamo il galateo... Nel senso che evitavamo di commentare e facevamo finta di nulla, sebbene Claudia (un puro nome di fantasia) non avesse mai neanche lontanamente desiderato le mèches. Fortunatamente la cara prozia si asteneva by petition or petofiamme out of control, but for which his brother was universally recognized as Olympic champion. Let's face it, even then it would be possible to make a deaf ear if petofiamme in question had not been so attractive to light up the whole neighborhood. In any case, Christmas and Easter lunch at my house were quite picturesque, worthy to be mentioned in the annals, in fact.
is different, according to etiquette, the case of sneezing, in which case it is absolutely inappropriate to wish "health" to the person cool. The next time I see a cop sneeze very publicly, the augurerò to die among the worst hell, let's see if you appreciate that clerical teachings.
In case you need to yawn or cough, it is recommended to put his hand to his mouth. Mr. Manners does not speak, instead of what to do in case of sputum in the course of the next, the case is likely to ignore it, as with bodily noises, maybe the diner does not notice, and gobbles up his tortellini in a much polite not to notice the greenish-yellow thing that was floating inside.
In case you need to blow his nose with cooled option, contains the least possible noise. This need occurred during a meal, it should be private. Come on, you drop the nose? You look in torno con fare saccente e individuate la prima cameriera che passa, le fate l’occhiolino, un paio di ammiccamenti, vi passate la lingua sulle labbra con fare da pervertito e sperate che lei ci stia. Se no che figura ci fate ad appartarvi da solo?
Sarà che quando mi soffio il naso io sembro un elefante con gravi problemi di sfintere, tanto che alle medie la prof. di matematica mi chiedeva poco gentilmente di abbandonare l’aula ogni volta che tiravo fuori il fazzoletto, ma io non ho mica bisogno di scuse così frugali per appartarmi con una cameriera. Caro il mio bel Monsignor Della Casa sei stato un bel mandrillone...
In fin dei conti, però, io non sono contro il Galateo. Anch’io ho imparato a tenere in mano bene la forchetta, a non fare rumore con la bocca, che leccare il piatto del dolce al matrimonio di un tuo lontano parente non è proprio sinonimo di buon gusto... È solo che alcune regole mi sembrano talmente idiote che poi ci si fanno le spese nella vita di tutti i giorni. L’altro settimana vado all’IKEA, il galateo manco mi passava per il cervello. No, ma nemmeno per l’anticamera. Perfino il garage del cervello era vuoto, perché la mia bellissima Ferrari ideale l’avevo presa per andare all’IKEA. Ok: mi servono le posate. Servizio da 6. Cazzo io sono da solo, non c’è un servizio da uno? Uhm, pare che questi svedesi vadano a multipli di 3x2. Beh, scartando gli estremi, schifo il servizio che costa three euro and all the others that cost more than eight. Predict what beautiful from 7.90. Arrive home happy and feel. I peel an apple.
took me half an hour to reduce the victim to a pulp the fruit and I ate less than half. Why? Because of Etiquette, hell! The fact Etiquette requires that the fruits are sbuccino the plate with knife and fork. Well it also provides that the knife is taken in the right hand and a fork in the left. What did these Swedish bastards? Knife impossible to grip with the left, it is impossible to cut anything with decent results. Ergo it is impossible to peel an apple, because the knife when the peel also works if in his right hand as if it were in the left. Do not believe us, you do not understand a stone? Well go to IKEA, buy a bloody knife and try to peel an apple. At the end of swearing too.
course, then there are things that send me into a rage also. I recommend you try to eat an Englishman, from time to time. The fingers in the pot seems a must, I usually use the bread to help the rice to come to the fork (the etiquette forbids the use of a spoon for this dish), but these they have no problem and enter the pot with average index and ring finger, and if you do not face a bit 'disgusted in my opinion are tempted to also use my toes. Is it because keep the cutlery as if they were wielding halberds to stab a wild boar, maybe they think you are playing one of their famous sports villains, such as polo or fox hunting, who knows. And the noise they make chewing with his mouth open? Fantastic, I could not eat without ... Of course, not generalize, but will let you know how it goes when I'm at lunch with the old shape of the Queen Elizabeth The Second.
Yet they gave me the peasant. Not the British, it is clear, at least not yet.
Flashback: we were on holiday with friends one evening and decide, much to my taste, let us two strings.
I set to work to the water strictly in a pot from the edge intentionally high, add salt, as we chat the sauce and the sauce, the water is boiling and I throw. Pasta al dente, after eleven minutes precisely, I am going to pay for all the spaghetti. There they were, ten dishes and my smoking is the biggest of all. Spoon in his left hand fork in the right, I'm going to put in your mouth delicious and deserved the first bite, when a voice a few octaves above the masculinity makes me grit my teeth, "Do not you know I rolled spaghetti with a spoon is peasants? "
I was dumbfounded.
The bite of a steaming cm from My tongue, frothing at the mouth, a jaw cramp. I leaned back a fork into the pot without ruining my wonderful roll of spaghetti and I counted to ten, doing some nice deep breaths. Apart from the fact that we are not in a vicious aristocrat, but here we are all in shorts, sweatpants after a long day skiing, I do not accept criticism from those under barbiturates, benzodiazepines or antidepressants in general. I just wanted to savor the my strings, I did not say that you are a "daughter of a hundred fathers, or your mother is a whore. Decided to fly over the question I look fondly my favorite dish when she takes the knife and a meal reduces the content of good things on his plate. Even my nonna, che i denti li ha persi nel ’73, sarebbe stata in grado di mangiare quel piatto di pasta.
A quel punto non ci ho visto più, mi hanno dovuto tenere in quattro per non iniziare a lapidarla seduta stante.
Se c'è una cosa che secondo il mio parere meriti, appunto, la lapidazione sulla pubblica piazza alla stregua dell'appartenenza attiva ai circoli di FI è l'atto, deliberato e preterintenzionale, di spezzare gli spaghetti.
Noi italiani abbiamo tanti difetti, è vero, ma anche tanti pregi. Uno di questi è l'avere inventato gli spaghetti. Eh? Come dite? Li hanno inventati i cinesi? Questa è pura blasfemia! Correte subito a dire un paio di Ave Maria e non meno di dodici Pater Gloria! Have you ever seen a Chinese
groped to invent something? You put there, huddled in front of Google, looking for the right to counterfeit the invention. This is how they have always done: First they copied the almond eyes of their enemies of Japan, and with our spaghetti a couple of five hundred years ago and with Berlusconi today. Too bad that you have kept a copy and we have left the original.
Well, the noodles are good in all ways, in the true sense of the word sauce, carbonara, seafood, pesto, butter and olive oil, garlic, olive oil and ... Yet, they become inedible if reduced to shreds.
There's a reason why they are long, or is an unhealthy perversion of the Jewish lobby of the producers of pasta? Otherwise would have sold five centimeters long spaghetti and died there, we caused them to eat with a spoon, but who would never mattered? But no, I'm rude because they are able to use two utensils to avoid making the figure of the troglodyte, but you're fine, because if I had the knife, stained with sauce, you probably even the neck in an attempt to eat a plate of spaghetti ...
Sometimes I understand why even the monkeys have the opposable thumb.
"That is, if you please."
L. Pirandello.
0 comments:
Post a Comment