Jeff Burkhart: When in Italy, do as the Italians do

The people who had just left were not Americans and they certainly weren’t Italians either. Which nationality they were I will leave up to your imagination.

We have all heard the term “ugly American” and when abroad it is easy to pick out one’s own countrymen. White socks are a sure-fire giveaway, as are cargo shorts,  flip flops, any sort of gym wear, up to and including yoga pants, regardless of their cost.

It is hot in Italy, and humid, and that type of weather all but assures shorts. But with American tourists looking like that, who would think Italy would have missed us?

Frankly I was surprised to hear that sentiment. “Why do you say that?” I asked the shopkeeper.

At first, she just shrugged. One thing I noticed on my trip is that many Italian service people don’t make suggestions. If you ask for something, they will get it, but they are not going to suggest a better or different choice. And sometimes that can be frustrating, like waiting for a cab for 20 minutes to take a five-minute circuitous ride that you could have easily walked in two minutes. But travel is a lesson in patience and adaptability.

“These people,” she said gesturing at the people who had just left. “They bring piles of money. ‘The best,’ they say. ‘Only the most expensive.’ Americans, they don’t throw their money around like that.”

“COVID?” I asked.

“No, even before that, there were fewer Americans.”

From a purely American business perspective, you would think that buying only the most expensive thing would be great. But from an Italian perspective — her perspective —  apparently it isn’t. Maybe that is because the service industry in Italy is more mom and pop, and far less corporate. The people who own the restaurant work there and they would like to be treated with respect rather than have money thrown at them.

There are some drawbacks, or idiosyncrasies, for sure. It’s not unusual for a server to disappear for a long time or for the owner to make change for your bill from his back pocket wallet.

“Why are you talking like that to me, in my home?” asked a different shopkeeper of a different customer of a different nationality.

It wasn’t his home, it was his restaurant, and he said it in English, which was weird because neither he nor his customer’s primary language was. I guess the linga franca of complaints is English. That troubles me on some level.

But there was another truth. In my experience no one has ever thought that someone who yells at the staff in a restaurant is cool, clever or sophisticated. Not your friends, not your spouse and certainly not any of the employees. As true in Italy as it is in the States. The complaining man’s wife’s shook her head, as did the people sitting at the next table and probably the ones at wine, too. One can only observe what other people are doing; it takes introspection to realize what we ourselves are.

“I was just doing my job,” said the waiter in English to a table of Italians.

Italy is a service-based country. The sheer number of restaurants and bars is astounding. Which could presumably lead one to conclude that their service is quite good. But that would be good by American standards and that is certainly not the case.

Some things you will not see at a restaurant in Italy:

• Bread plates. They will bring you bread, olive oil and balsamic vinegar. But they won’t  bring you a plate to put it on

• Chili flakes? I don’t think they even have them.

• The bill. They will not bring it until you ask for it, not under any circumstances and no matter how long you sit.

As we sat in another restaurant on a lovely Italian side street in a little Italian town, not asking for the bill. I heard someone say: “Hey Jeff!”

It was a couple I knew from Mill Valley.

Leaving me with these thoughts:

• The world really is a smaller place than we imagine.

• I wonder if that shopkeeper will feel the same way next year.

• The most expensive place in the world to eat out that I have found is right here in Northern California.

• Potato chips. Who would have thought that potato chips would be the go-to Italian happy hour treat?

• It might have an Italian-sounding name, but I dare you to order a Martini in Italy. Believe you me, you will be sorely disappointed.

Jeff Burkhart is the author of “Twenty Years Behind Bars: The Spirited Adventures of a Real Bartender, Vol. I andII,” the host of the Barfly Podcast on iTunes (as seen in the New York Times) and an award-winning bartender at a local restaurant. Follow him at jeffburkhart.net and contact him at jeffbarflyIJ@outlook.com