Eating

I was sitting next to Chiara at Genevieve’s birthday. We had helped ourselves to our food and taken a seat at the large, rectangular, granite-topped table that comfortably accommodated all 16 of us. Genevieve had a supply of outdoor chairs that she’d brought inside so that we all had a seat around the table.

I asked Chiara how the New Zealand experience compared to that of her homeland, Italy.

‘’We don’t help ourselves to the food,’’ she replied. ‘’That is all dished up and served by our mother and nonna (grandmother). And we eat what we are given,’’ she added, inferring this was a non-negotiable part of the meal. To not do so would be insulting to the hosts.

I have watched numerous Australian food shows and had already seen the importance of food and the partaking of it to the Italians when these have been participants. Food and family seem to go hand in hand to these people. I know Italians are not unique in this trait and I think back to my own childhood where it was similar. My father carved the meat and put it on one plate at a time (little girls first), handed it to my mother who piled the vegetables on top, who then handed us our plates. Once we all had our meals, grace was said and we ate. That included everything that had been dished up to us. As children we had one vegetable we didn’t have to eat, (mine was silver beet) but apart from that it meant everything. Once everyone had finished, it was our job to clear the table and bring out pudding. I never had any problem cleaning that plate up. No one left the table until everyone had finished eating.

When my own kids were little, I dished out their food but that was about the last time I did so. Now days I just place the food on the table and Stephen and I help ourselves. If we have more than eight people to dinner, we end up finding nearby seats to sit on, as our dining table is a small one. In these instances, I usually place the food on a smaller side-table and everyone helps themselves.

It was lovely at Genevieve’s on Saturday, all being able to sit at the same place and I thought how different it would be if we still had the traditions of the past as Chiara was explaining. Imagine how much power that would have given me, as I am both the mother and the nonna. I had a naughty little chuckle to myself as I thought about that. My ex was also present. I could have dished up his plate with all the things he didn’t like. Now imagine how satisfying that would have been! But I also thought about how it reinforced that the matriarch was the head of the table at each meal. it gave her mana.

The good thing about helping ourselves, is that we each find that bit that we like. Some prefer chicken legs while others like the wings or the breast. Some like crunchy potatoes while others like the opposite. Some like more salad while others prefer more meat. So, when our plates are full, they are with the things and the proportions we like. Plus, we learn that there are others who come after us, so not to be greedy.

No, I wouldn’t have done that to my ex if I had been serving. I would have treated him just as I would everyone else, hoping I filled everyone’s plates with the choices they liked. And if I missed out on something myself, I would have had the satisfaction of knowing that others were happy. And I am sure this is exactly how the nonnas in Italy feel each time they eat.