An Italian Banquet: A Lesson in Limits

Dear Italian Governor, let me invite you over for dinner. Let me pull up the chair for you so you can comfortably sit in front of a deliciously and meticulously set table. You see, I prepped everything to perfection: the soft-linen napkins I graciously folded before your arrival, the long-stick candles I carefully placed in the centre, a flickering light separating my gaze from yours. It is all for you to enjoy. 

Dear Italian government, let me now serve you dinner - The Italian Way. Let me fill your glass to the brim with glorious, aged wine from Toscana, so red it will stain your lips at the first sip. A heavy drop had already made its way down the slippery glass to the white, lacey cloth I was sure would get stained. 

Let me serve you not one, not two, not three courses only. To be truly Italian, our meal must be endless. Appetizer, main course, delicious home-made pasta from the hands of our grandmothers, who hid in the shade of the 50 degrees roaring Sicilian heat to roll the precious dough - one died last summer. The second, a fish so big it must have tilted the boat of the sailors who caught it this morning. They laughed when it did because fishing is such a game of luck these days. And cheese... a beautifully artisanal one from the Alps, you can taste its freshness only looking at it, and your mind my rest in peace knowing it comes from “happy cows” that roam freely in the vast grazing lands - only they aren’t just roaming, they are rather climbing, as vegetation changes and pastures shrinks. And dessert, I won’t forget the dessert, an indulgent lemon cake, made with fresh lemons from the South, their juice dripping down your throat as you eat, carrying with it the few drops of water they managed to grasp to ripe. 

What are you saying, Governor? You are full? It’s too much?  What an insult! The most despicable form of offence! Isn’t this our culture? I won’t take “no” for an answer; you must keep eating. Like nonna used to say, “eat so you can grow big! Bigger!”  That’s what Italians do, that’s what we do, we eat and eat and eat until our stomach is so full we can’t move, till our mouths are so crammed we can’t speak, don’t say it’s enough! It’s never enough! Pick up the fork and take another bite! Aren’t you hungry?!

Or maybe, Governor, I can let you down easy, for tonight at least.  Maybe there is another way to do this. After all, my nonna also used to tell me “pace yourself, darling, don’t eat too fast”. Did we get so glutinous to forget she said that in between one bite and the other?  Maybe it is time to listen and put down the fork because we no doubt have eaten enough... Why should we keep going if it only makes us sick? What is the point of an endless meal in a finite stomach? One day, we will turn around and realize we’ve eaten it all, one course after the other, in a blind, foolish craving feast.

And that day, we will know what it means to be truly hungry. 

Gaja grew up in the Italian countryside, with the majestic Alps framed by her bedroom window. From an early age, she developed a deep fascination with the natural world-whether observing tiny insects or witnessing a moose cross a gravel road during her time living in Canada, where she moved after finishing school. Later, she returned across the Atlantic to study Politics and International Relations in a small English town. Shortly after graduating, she fulfilled a childhood dream by working at WWF.

Driven by an increasing desire to understand the forces threatening the environment she cherished, Gaja made the difficult decision to leave her dream job and move to Paris. She is now on the verge of earning a Master's in Environmental Policy, ready to apply her expertise and international experience to shaping a more sustainable future.