“What’s for lunch, Mamma?” asked Antonio.
“Your favorite, dear – spaghetti!” she answered.
“Bravo!” cried Antonio, clapping his hands.
Antonio loved pasta, and most especially spaghetti. He sat at the table on the terrace, and his mother brought him a heaping plate of spaghetti. Antonio joyfully slurped the first piece of spaghetti, waiting for it to slap sauce against his cheek before disappearing through his lips. But to Antonio’s surprise, the string never ended, as the entire plate was made of one single piece of spaghetti.
But that was not all. When he finished the plate, he saw that the string of spaghetti trailed back into the kitchen.
So, being a pasta lover, he slurped the spaghetti into the kitchen and past his mother, who was busy putting a bowl away in a high cupboard.
“Don’t forget to wash your hands and face before you go out to play,” reminded his mother.
“Schlokay!” responded Antonio, as he slurped out the kitchen and onto the road.
Antonio pursued the spaghetti down the road and then through the front door of the village grocer, Guiseppe. He followed the spaghetti past the fresh vegetables and the bottles of olive oil, and into the back of the store. Before Antonio slurped out the back door, Guiseppe offered him a shiny, red apple, which he turned down saying, “lo schlanks!”
The spaghetti string continued along the road, taking Antonio into a small building with a sign that read, “Primo Pomodoro.” Here the best tomato sauce in the village was made. Antonio chomped his way past the large, simmering kettles of tomato sauce. The sauce splattered workers nodded to Antonio and cried, “Buongiorno!” to which Antonio replied, “Ronschlurdo!”
The string of spaghetti showed no sign of ending, so Antonio, pasta lover that he was, continued to dutifully slurp and chomp. He followed the spaghetti next to Gatta Lata, the village dairy farm. The spaghetti led him right underneath the cow Signor Gatta was milking, and then into the house, where Signora Gatta was making some of her beloved Parmesan cheese. As Antonio was slurping out of her house, Signora Gatta gave him a sloppy kiss on the head and put a chunk of Parmesan cheese in his pocket for his Mamma.
By this time, Antonio was quite tired, but there was still more spaghetti to eat! So, he slurped the spaghetti up a hill and then down into a valley where there was a little house with a smoking chimney. This was the house of Maria, a plump old woman who made the best pasta in town.
Antonio slurped the string of spaghetti through the front door of Maria’s house and then up to her table, where she was just starting a new batch of spaghetti. Just as Antonio reached the table, his string of spaghetti came to an end.
Antonia gave a final slurp, made a little burp, and said, “Excuse me!” He plopped himself down on a chair at the table and let out a sigh.
“Antonio! It’s so nice to see you!” cried Maria, looking up from her doughy hands. “How is your Mamma?
“Fine, thank you,” responded Antonio.
“And your Papa, how is he?” asked Maria.
“Very good, thank you,” answered Antonio.
“And how is your darling little sister?” asked Maria.
“She’s well, thank you,” he answered.
“Oh, that is very good to hear,” said Maria.
“Maria?” asked Antonio.
“Yes, dear.”
“Did you forget to turn on the spaghetti-cutting machine again?”
“Oh Mamma Mia!!” cried Maria, throwing her hands up in the air. She then leaned over to turn on the spaghetti-cutting machine, muttering, “I never liked machines.”
“Antonio, don’t tell me you came all this way just to tell me this?!” said Maria. “You must be starving! Let me prepare something for you!”
“Oh no, that’s O.K.” protested Antonio. “I had a little snack along the way. There’s no need to…” But before he could finish his sentence, Maria placed a plate of creamy fettuccini on the table before him.
And, pasta lover that he was, Antonio began to slurp.
“Your favorite, dear – spaghetti!” she answered.
“Bravo!” cried Antonio, clapping his hands.
Antonio loved pasta, and most especially spaghetti. He sat at the table on the terrace, and his mother brought him a heaping plate of spaghetti. Antonio joyfully slurped the first piece of spaghetti, waiting for it to slap sauce against his cheek before disappearing through his lips. But to Antonio’s surprise, the string never ended, as the entire plate was made of one single piece of spaghetti.
But that was not all. When he finished the plate, he saw that the string of spaghetti trailed back into the kitchen.
So, being a pasta lover, he slurped the spaghetti into the kitchen and past his mother, who was busy putting a bowl away in a high cupboard.
“Don’t forget to wash your hands and face before you go out to play,” reminded his mother.
“Schlokay!” responded Antonio, as he slurped out the kitchen and onto the road.
Antonio pursued the spaghetti down the road and then through the front door of the village grocer, Guiseppe. He followed the spaghetti past the fresh vegetables and the bottles of olive oil, and into the back of the store. Before Antonio slurped out the back door, Guiseppe offered him a shiny, red apple, which he turned down saying, “lo schlanks!”
The spaghetti string continued along the road, taking Antonio into a small building with a sign that read, “Primo Pomodoro.” Here the best tomato sauce in the village was made. Antonio chomped his way past the large, simmering kettles of tomato sauce. The sauce splattered workers nodded to Antonio and cried, “Buongiorno!” to which Antonio replied, “Ronschlurdo!”
The string of spaghetti showed no sign of ending, so Antonio, pasta lover that he was, continued to dutifully slurp and chomp. He followed the spaghetti next to Gatta Lata, the village dairy farm. The spaghetti led him right underneath the cow Signor Gatta was milking, and then into the house, where Signora Gatta was making some of her beloved Parmesan cheese. As Antonio was slurping out of her house, Signora Gatta gave him a sloppy kiss on the head and put a chunk of Parmesan cheese in his pocket for his Mamma.
By this time, Antonio was quite tired, but there was still more spaghetti to eat! So, he slurped the spaghetti up a hill and then down into a valley where there was a little house with a smoking chimney. This was the house of Maria, a plump old woman who made the best pasta in town.
Antonio slurped the string of spaghetti through the front door of Maria’s house and then up to her table, where she was just starting a new batch of spaghetti. Just as Antonio reached the table, his string of spaghetti came to an end.
Antonia gave a final slurp, made a little burp, and said, “Excuse me!” He plopped himself down on a chair at the table and let out a sigh.
“Antonio! It’s so nice to see you!” cried Maria, looking up from her doughy hands. “How is your Mamma?
“Fine, thank you,” responded Antonio.
“And your Papa, how is he?” asked Maria.
“Very good, thank you,” answered Antonio.
“And how is your darling little sister?” asked Maria.
“She’s well, thank you,” he answered.
“Oh, that is very good to hear,” said Maria.
“Maria?” asked Antonio.
“Yes, dear.”
“Did you forget to turn on the spaghetti-cutting machine again?”
“Oh Mamma Mia!!” cried Maria, throwing her hands up in the air. She then leaned over to turn on the spaghetti-cutting machine, muttering, “I never liked machines.”
“Antonio, don’t tell me you came all this way just to tell me this?!” said Maria. “You must be starving! Let me prepare something for you!”
“Oh no, that’s O.K.” protested Antonio. “I had a little snack along the way. There’s no need to…” But before he could finish his sentence, Maria placed a plate of creamy fettuccini on the table before him.
And, pasta lover that he was, Antonio began to slurp.
