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- Ешь, молись, люби
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What
I
love
is
that
we
all
had
this
conversation
over
a
nice
relaxed
dinner
,
while
looking
at
the
wall
itself
.
"
More
wine
,
honey
?
"
asked
Maria
.
But
my
newest
best
friend
in
Italy
is
,
of
course
,
Luca
Spaghetti
.
Even
in
Italy
,
by
the
way
,
it
’
s
considered
a
very
funny
thing
to
have
a
last
name
like
Spaghetti
.
I
’
m
grateful
for
Luca
because
he
has
finally
allowed
me
to
get
even
with
my
friend
Brian
,
who
was
lucky
enough
to
have
grown
up
next
door
to
a
Native
American
kid
named
Dennis
Ha
-
Ha
,
and
therefore
could
always
boast
that
he
had
the
friend
with
the
coolest
name
.
Finally
,
I
can
offer
competition
.
Luca
also
speaks
perfect
English
and
is
a
good
eater
(
in
Italian
,
una
buona
forchetta
-
a
good
fork
)
,
so
he
’
s
terrific
company
for
the
hungry
likes
of
me
.
He
often
calls
in
the
middle
of
the
day
to
say
,
"
Hey
,
I
’
m
in
your
neighborhood
-
want
to
meet
up
for
a
quick
cup
of
coffee
?
Or
a
plate
of
oxtail
?
"
We
spend
a
lot
of
time
in
these
dirty
little
dives
in
the
back
streets
of
Rome
.
We
like
the
restaurants
with
the
fluorescent
lighting
and
no
name
listed
outside
.
Plastic
red
-
checkered
tablecloths
.
Homemade
limoncello
liqueur
.
Homemade
red
wine
.
Pasta
served
in
unbelievable
quantities
by
what
Luca
calls
"
little
Julius
Caesars
"
-
proud
,
pushy
,
local
guys
with
hair
on
the
backs
of
their
hands
and
passionately
tended
pompadours
.
I
once
said
to
Luca
,
"
It
seems
to
me
these
guys
consider
themselves
Romans
first
,
Italians
second
and
Europeans
third
.
"
He
corrected
me
.
"
No
-
they
are
Romans
first
,
Romans
second
and
Romans
third
.
And
every
one
of
them
is
an
Emperor
.
"
Luca
is
a
tax
accountant
.
An
Italian
tax
accountant
,
which
means
that
he
is
,
in
his
own
description
,
"
an
artist
,
"
because
there
are
several
hundred
tax
laws
on
the
books
in
Italy
and
all
of
them
contradict
each
other
.
So
filing
a
tax
return
here
requires
jazzlike
improvisation
.
I
think
it
’
s
funny
that
he
’
s
a
tax
accountant
,
because
it
seems
like
such
stiff
work
for
such
a
lighthearted
guy
.
On
the
other
hand
,
Luca
thinks
it
’
s
funny
that
there
’
s
another
side
of
me
-
this
Yoga
side
-
that
he
’
s
never
seen
.
He
can
’
t
imagine
why
I
would
want
to
go
to
India
-
and
to
an
Ashram
,
of
all
places
!
-
when
I
could
just
stay
in
Italy
all
year
,
which
is
obviously
where
I
belong
.
Whenever
he
watches
me
sopping
up
the
leftover
gravy
from
my
plate
with
a
hunk
of
bread
and
then
licking
my
fingers
,
he
says
,
"
What
are
you
going
to
eat
when
you
go
to
India
?
"
Sometimes
he
calls
me
Gandhi
,
in
a
most
ironic
tone
,
generally
when
I
’
m
opening
the
second
bottle
of
wine
.
Luca
has
traveled
a
fair
amount
,
though
he
claims
he
could
never
live
anywhere
but
in
Rome
,
near
his
mother
,
since
he
is
an
Italian
man
,
after
all
-
what
can
he
say
?
But
it
’
s
not
just
his
mamma
who
keeps
him
around
.
He
’
s
in
his
early
thirties
,
and
has
had
the
same
girlfriend
since
he
was
a
teenager
(
the
lovely
Giuliana
,
whom
Luca
describes
fondly
and
aptly
as
acqua
e
sapone
-
"
soap
and
water
"
in
her
sweet
innocence
)
.
All
his
friends
are
the
same
friends
he
’
s
had
since
childhood
,
and
all
from
the
same
neighborhood
.
They
watch
the
soccer
matches
together
every
Sunday
-
either
at
the
stadium
or
in
a
bar
(
if
the
Roman
teams
are
playing
away
)
-
and
then
they
all
return
separately
to
the
homes
where
they
grew
up
,
in
order
to
eat
the
big
Sunday
afternoon
meals
cooked
by
their
respective
mothers
and
grandmothers
.
I
wouldn
’
t
move
from
Rome
,
either
,
if
I
were
Luca
Spaghetti
.
Luca
has
visited
America
a
few
times
,
though
,
and
likes
it
