Mi Chiamo Giuseppe

Probably thousands of books have been written about differences between various world cultures, or between one country and another. While living in Italy on and off over the past almost 40 years, I've had the opportunity to see and experience the gulf between that country and the U.S. firsthand. Of course, I hasten to insert that people are people wherever in the world you go, but there is one huge difference that stands out head and shoulders above all others, in Italy waiting tables is a respected profession, and a highly desired career. One of the many reasons for this is that over there the meal takes a much higher place in the order of things than here, and dining out is an occasion in itself, not something you rush through before or after the main event of the evenng. Restaurants have only one sitting per night, because the clientele is expected to relish every moment of the experience, from the first bite of focaccia dribbled with olive oil, to the last glorious sip of grappa, and no cameriere would ever rush to get you the check and try, even subtly, to nudge you on your way. The closest we come to waiting tables as a career is in New York delicatessans where, like in Italy, the waiters don't age a day as the years pass, but there too there's a difference. The Italian is a genial and doting guide, the New York counterpart is half Henny Youngman and half juggler on speed, flinging schtick at you along with the side of sauerkraut, cracking acerbic jokes that rise about the incessant clatter of dishes, and letting you know from the moment you walk in the door that your time's almost up.