While I have eaten many times with Italian friends in restaurants, one thing that I have wanted to do since coming to Florence is to enjoy a traditional meal in an Italian home. This opportunity finally came. With excitement my friend Karen, Libby and I headed on the train to Prato to spend the afternoon and night in the home of an old Italian friend of Karen's. She warned me to be prepared for all of the food and wine. We skipped breakfast and lunch wanting to make sure that we were famished when we arrived.
The trip took an unexpected twist when as we arrived in Prato and Libby began to diarrhea in my Michael Kors purse. She had been fine the night before, so to say that I was shocked as I dared to look into my purse was an understatement. Just as we were trying to decide what to do with a dog covered in diarrhea and a purse that smelled....well you can guess...Karen's friend pulled up. Like a true Italian he did not see it as a big problem. While Italians are very passionate it really does take a lot to get them upset. With most things they have a "this is not a problem" attitude, which is probably why they out live us North Americans.
As we arrived at Orianno's home I handed Libby over to his wife so that I could deal with what I saw as a molto grande problema - diarrhea all over the lining of my Michael Kors purse. Purse hanging on the line to dry and Libby bathed it began - the on-slot of food and wine starting with the traditional Italian before dinner drink of prosecco. I was full after the second course, but the food just kept coming. After the second course I remember sitting back in my chair trying to breath while thinking to myself you cannot go throw up from being so full; if they think it is an insult to turn down more food they for sure would see it as an insult to go throw up. Saying I was full was not an acceptable response when I was asked if I wanted yet another serving. To an Italian you can always make room for more. In between courses I had to take Libby out as clearly she was not feeling well. And when she didn't make it outside my gracious hosts did not bat an eye about Libby having accidents in their home. Thank God Italians love their dogs as much as they love their children.
I was up all night with Libby. As the night passed I became more and more worried about her. It became clear that something was seriously wrong with her. As I sat in the bathroom the next morning feeling as though I was having birth contractions it hit me; the chicken. Libby and I both ate some of the same chicken the previous day before heading out to Prato. I ran into the kitchen and pulled the zip lock back out the fridge and as soon as I opened the bag it was clear, Libby had food poisoning. Thank God I had only eaten a very small amount. When we figured this out Orianno, our kind host, took matters into his hands. He called his vet at home and explained the situation. Despite it being Sunday morning the vet insisted on coming into the city and seeing Libby right away. While I knew it was urgent that Libby see a vet I must admit on the drive to the clinic I was thinking that this was going to cost hundreds of euros. In Canada it costs $175 just to walk into the door of an emergency veterinary clinic, before a vet has even seen your much loved pet.
The vet could not have been kinder. After a thorough examination he concluded that indeed Libby was victim to the spoiled chicken. He gave me some shots to give her and some pills, as well as special food to help settle her stomach. As the vet was getting the medicine together for Libby I expressed my gratitude to Orianno for taking me to this wonderful vet, and my shock that he actually left his family to come into the city on a Sunday morning to see Libby. Orianno explained that this is normal care for their much loved dogs here in Italy. I told him that I was worried about the bill, given the cost that I would have been facing in Canada. Orianno was shocked at what I would have paid in Canada and suggested that we tell the vet. I said, "Not until he gives us the bill". We had a chuckle. After receiving a bill of 45 euros, yes only 45 euros, we explained to the vet what this visit would have cost in Canada. The vet was shocked and suggested that such fees were robbery, as he gave me his number to call him anytime if Libby did not get better within a few hours. While Canadian fees may be robbery, I don't know how he makes money with his fees. But who and I to argue with how Italians love heir dogs.
As we arrived back at Orianno's home at about 12:30 pm he looked at his watch and proclaimed, "The crisis is solved so now it is prosecco time". And then it began again; the food and the wine. As we were getting ready for lunch Mamma, his 85 year old mother, came out of her room. She had slept all through the previous night. Mamma eyed me up and down and even with my bad Italian I could tell that she was shocked by my height. By Italian standards I am a giraffe at 5 ft. 9". Mamma may be all of 5 ft and 100 lbs wet. As we stretched between courses Mamma came up to me and with zest grabbed my breasts with both hands and exclaimed, "Molto bella!". Seems my height was not the only thing Mamma was eying. Poor Orianno was mortified and apologized for his mother as she has Alzheimer's and therefore is not always able to filter her thoughts and actions. Karen and I laughed hysterically about Mamma's admiration of my breasts. I asked Orianno if this was a case where it would be appropriate to say "Oh, Madonna". Italians only use this phrase in extreme circumstances as it is considered profane. He laughed agreeing that his mother grabbing my breasts would be considered such an extreme case where it was permissible to use the phrase. While we were all laughing I said to Orianno, "If my dog can diarrhea all over your house and you take it in stride, your mother can grab my breasts anytime". With that we sat down to yet another course of delicious food and another glass of wine.
While my dream of enjoying a traditional meal in the home of Italians was not quite what I imagined with Libby getting so sick, I will never forget the hospitality shown to me by this wonderful family, and most of all I will never forget dear sweet Mamma.
