Royally too. I am to repay a lost bet by cooking dinner for an Italian. Not something I fear in the least. On the contrary, given the amount of smack he's been talking about my cooking skills, I'd love nothing more than to provide a meal that leaves him speechless. But. Since making the bet, I've found out that my little Italian Boy works for the Italian School of Cooking, Dublin. He's not a chef, thank god, but still. I've been suckered. So, how can you help, you may be wondering.
Well, now that I know about his dirty little secret, I want to bury him. I want to astound him. I want to leave him wondering if he ever knew what Italian was supposed to taste like. (Yes, I am this competitive. If you don't know that by now, review my family structure: middle child) And here is where you come in, my lovely friends. If I have ever made any Italian dishes for you that you absolutely loved and are still marveling about to this day, let me know what they are. Nothing is too ambitious at this point, save making my own pasta, but only because I don't own a pasta roller-thingy. (pretty sure that's a technical term there) Let me know as soon as you can, exactly what it was I served you. I need to revise my menu drastically before this time next week. I'll let you know what I've decided on and how it went. Unless he laughs and I bludgeon him a wine bottle. :-) Pretty sure that won't happen though. It's wine, come on. What a waste that would be.
Thank you for your support. (does anyone even remember that pitch other than my brother?!)