Tacos and Cheese

My friend Lorenzo often cooks me dinner since we live nearby each other and are working on project together. When he invites me over for dinner I already know what the meal will be. Without a doubt it is always pasta; pasta with pesto, pasta with ragu. Once he mixed it up and boiled some ravioli.

I am not putting this noodle down. Comparable to a chameleon, it can transform into fantastic shapes and sizes. But no matter what you put on it, it is still pasta.

As a girl that comes from a country that is raging a war against carbs, eating the staple of the motherland each day and sometimes twice a day, is a “no-no.” Not to mention my behinds worst nightmare. But of course, I cannot explain that to Lorenzo.

So when he invited me over for dinner tonight, I just kept thinking about how long it has been since I have had something with beef in it and how many miles I would have to walk to work off this meal.

I sat at the white marble table that he always sets before my arrival. There were more than white plates and clear glasses. A bright yellow packet of taco seasoning lay all by its lonesome on the table. I almost died.

I have not seen taco seasoning for over half-a-year. My mind went racing. If he has taco seasoning then that means I have not been shopping in the right isles at the local Coop.

“Where did you get this,” I asked.

He bought it when he went to the States. Okay, so I may have to put taco seasoning on my list of “things to send me.” I was a bit disappointed. But then my frown turned into joy when he said “I am making tacos for dinner.”

I had a real American dinner. There was salsa and chips and cheese. Granted the cheese was real (it was mozzarella), but just the same. He warmed tortillas in the microwave and served me Coke. I normally do not drink soda, but did in honor of this special meal. There was a lacking of sour cream, since it does not exist in Italy, but nonetheless I was a happy girl when I filled my tortilla with the spicy beef.

While we ate our soft shell tacos, I confessed that I was getting sick of eating pasta everyday.

"But there are so many different kinds," he said

I love pasta, and I appreciate and enjoy that he cooks it for me. Moreover I love the fact that I do not even have to pick up a dish when the meal is through. What I do not understand is how someone could look forward to eating cooked noodles for at least one meal of each day of the week.

I know the Tuscans reading this are "tsk tsk"-ing but sometimes the body needs some bad food. And today my body's craving was completely satisfied.