It's nice and pleasant to have lunch or dinner with friends at someone's home, but sometimes it's fun to go out together to a pizzeria. I can imagine readers objecting already: but I can't take my son there...... my daughter is too restless...... the wheelchair makes it impossible, and so on and so forth—all of it outdated thinking!
It started years ago. My children were small and easily agitated, and going to the pizzeria used to be exhausting...... until we found Sandro and his wife. From the very first visit, they welcomed Luca, Andrea, and Barbara with open hearts—the way all children should be welcomed in restaurants. They didn't insist the children sit still through the whole meal. Instead, to keep them occupied, Mario the pizza maker would give each of them a handful of pizza dough to play with (by the end it had turned rather dark—brownish—and any pizza made from that dough would certainly have been unusual, perhaps tastier); the kids could go up to the register and help out.
So why not go there with all the other restless, highly agitated friends—in wheelchairs and without?
The first time, there were just a few of us: about forty! Giorgio immediately befriended Sandro the owner, Mario the pizza maker, and the various customers. Every time someone in uniform came through the door, he'd shout (but quietly) "Mamma mia, the carabinieri!" and plop himself down in his seat. You can imagine the shouts of joy and enthusiasm when a couple of them gave him a military salute!
Carlo, naturally, spent the evening charming everyone with stories and invitations to his place, and ended the night with a dance. Vincenzo's eyes were shining (though perhaps they always shine). Giorgina wondered why all the pizzas arrived at only one end of the table; I had no problem helping myself from the plates of whoever (who were they?) had ordered spaghetti! To celebrate our first evening there, the owner treated us to champagne and, in a very cheerful mood, everyone said goodbye with "see you at the next pizza night."
And that wasn't just a figure of speech. We came back (also with friends from Parma who will bring us a film on their next visit) and went to other places too: everything always went well, and our worries about disturbing or bothering anyone remained just that—worries.
In fact, the last time—pizza to celebrate Carla's birthday—the evening turned out even better than usual (I wasn't there, but I got a full report). Everyone settles in, there's talk and laughter, pizza is ordered and they start eating. Carla, who I think had already told almost everyone about her birthday, notices a man dining alone and—it seemed natural and obvious—she goes over, chats with him, and invites him to join their table where they were singing. He declines at first, but Carla doesn't accept a simple no; she insists, and he joins them. It quickly comes out that it's Carla's birthday:
"Then let me buy you something to drink" "No thanks" "Then something to eat" "We just finished" "I insist"
Plates of salami, prosciutto, cheese, and olives arrive (and mind you, I wasn't even there!!!!) and they continue merrily eating, joking, telling stories, singing (the gentleman performs "O Sole Mio"). I imagine the atmosphere was quite lively. When it's time to say goodbye, Carla's friend—because that's what he's become—offers to pay the bill for the whole group and does it: certainly a lovely birthday gift on top of a pleasant evening!
I'll spare you the report from another evening at a pizzeria in Trastevere!!!! or the gelato in Piazza Navona!!!! where someone tried to cheat us but ended up getting cheated instead!!!!!!!
So, when will we see you next at the pizzeria?
Ciao
Rita C., 1980