Last week Rachelle and I were invited by some friends to attend a cooking class and tasting menu at the LCBO flagship store in Toronto. A Chef from Italy, who insisted on being called “Padrone,” was teaching us how to make Risotto. The crowd was primarily comprised of middle-aged women, and they seemed smitten by the passion and charisma of the Chef, as well as the handsome and polished translator who interpreted his words and gestures into English for us.
There were perhaps 20 people there, and each person, very eager to please, asked questions to prove how attentive and invested they were in the class.
“Padrone, what role does the Po River have in rice production in Italy?” one woman inquired.
Another woman asked the translator where he lived, presumably curious as to whether he was native to Italy or Canada, and when he responded that he was from Toronto, I piped up and said, “I think she was looking for a much more specific answer.”
This got big laughs from the crowd.
Rachelle patted my arm, “my little hambone,” she whispered.
Encouraged, I made a few more remarks and for whatever reason, people were just howling with laughter.
I was on fire.
At one point we were asked to guess how many grains of rice were contained in 1000 grams. Everybody got three-glasses-of-wine excited and began shouting out different numbers as if they were on The Price is Right. After most guesses had been made, I raised my fork like it was an auction paddle and quietly said, “I bid one million dollars.”
The crowd, being drunk, thought this was the funniest thing ever uttered.
This infuriated the Chef who did not like that I was honing in on his audience. He glared at me, making a stabbing motion with his spoon while speaking furiously to his translator who said, “ Ha, ha, Padrone thinks it is a funny remark, but would be very surprised if the little man in the dirty clothes had a million dollars.”
“I am wealthy in love,” I responded, gesturing to Rachelle. “We’re getting married,” I added, “in a baby lamb petting zoo.”
Everybody cheered this good news, with several people yelling out, “throw some rice, Padrone, throw some rice!”
The Chef grabbed a fistful of rice, threw it at me and began to speak very quickly to the translator, all the while looking directly at Rachelle.
“Padrone wants everybody to know that rice is a symbol of fertility, so surely the impotent man with the yellow teeth and big mouth needs much rice! Padrone also says that he owns two Ferraris and that he very much likes women. Cooking is a sensual art. Padrone loves women. Particularly tall blondes with the blue eyes. Like the one sitting by the little man. She must be fragrant like Saffron. He would cook for her a beautiful meal and make love all night long. But that is just him. Padrone would like to know what sort of car the little man drives.”
Rachelle, flattered by the attention, shouted out, “He doesn’t even know how to drive let alone own a car!”
After the tittering died down, I asked the translator if he could inquire of the Chef at what age it was that he started to get fat.
And then we fought in the parking lot.
I thought I could count on the crowd but it turned out I could not.