An Italian-American living la dolce vita in the Deep South

An Italian-American living la dolce vita in the Deep South

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

How Many Italians does it take to Change a Tire?

Today my mother and I were invited to a luncheon for the purpose of helping our friend Italia (that's really and truly her name) and her business partner, Stella, brainstorm ideas for their new catering business.

So, while we discussed marketing strategies and sample menus, Italia fed us minestrone, spaghetti alla carbonara, insalata caprese, assorted cheeses, salad w/ lemon juice and olive oil, peppers and onions, and wine; by the time we sipped our espressos, we came up with the following logo:

Stella and Italia: Bringing Authentic Italian Cuisine to Your Door

As a business luncheon, it was such a gastronomical feast. Italia is a fantastic cook; in fact, whenever my husband and I get an invitation to dinner, we clear our calendar. And she always sends us home with leftovers.

After lunch we kissed Italia and Stella goodbye on both cheeks (true Italians that we are) and walked outside to discover that my van had a flat tire.

Completely and totally flat.

Now, I consider myself fairly independent. I can make decisions, find my way through foreign airports, and deal with you-know-who being out of town for a week, but the one thing I cannot do is change a tire.

BUT, a flat tire wasn't going to stop Maria, Massimilla, Italia, and Stella.

It started raining, and there we were: Stella was trying to jack up the van, I was reading the car manual while holding an umbrella over Stella, my Mom was calling my father, and Italia was connecting a gazillion extension cords to an air compressor in the hopes that we could inflate the tire, at least temporarily.

Our numbers grew. A lady walked out of her house to offer advice. A retired gentleman walked up the street to help, and another man stopped his car to check on us. Soon, there were people crawling all over that van ... but no one could locate the spare tire.

By the time my Dad drove up, we had managed to get air in the tire, which lasted long enough for my Dad to follow me to Tire Kingdom to purchase a new tire. And while he stayed to supervise things, I drove his truck to pick up the boys from school (btw, truck + carpool lane = cool mom).

So, how many Italians does it take to change a tire?

Actually, I'm not really sure, but if you will please excuse me I have some delicious leftovers to eat.

5 comments:

tiziana said...

Che ridere!! Mi immagino la scena!! Quante persone sono servite per una ruota bucata?? Spero che non succeda mai a me una cosa simile, anche perchè devo pensare un po' per ricordarmi se il motore della mia macchina è davanti o dietro.
Comunque sono d'accordo con te, Italia è una meravigliosa cuoca e quando avrai l'occasione salutamela.

GrandmaK said...

Love it!!! Not so much the flat tire as all that wonderful FOOD!!! Perhaps a sample menu sent this way...Does she ship to Indiana?! Have a grand day! Cathy

Ua said...

DID YOU EVER FIND THE SPARE TIRE????????

Christopher said...

Its probably under the car or under the carpet under the car..... how lonv did all that take? Boy, i can just imagine that! Hahaha. Glad you fixed it. And i wish i could have seen Maria driving that truck!!

Lisa Novajosky Smith said...

3 letter = changed tire: AAA