Host a barbecue for all the Italian skaters plus some friends from the rink. Forty five people show up at my house for dinner.
The coaches want to make sure their kids stay lean, so I focus on fruits, veggies, chicken and green salad. I also order a platter of sushi.
One of the mothers mentioned earlier in the week that it might also be nice to have an American-style barbecue with hot dogs, hamburgers and steak tips, so I add these to the menu. Someone brings guacomole and chips. Someone else brings potato salad. Another mother brings a chocolate cake and a fruit tarte.
My husband grills everything. He gets a little pissy with me when I check his work at the grill, accusing me of "micro-managing" him. You would, too, if you saw the first batch of hot dogs which looked like stage props from the movie Backdraft.
The evening is wonderful. The kids all get along playing volleyball and some word game which challenges their communication skills as none of the Americans speak Italian and only few of the Italians are fluent in English. The time flies by and, before I know it, it is 10 p.m. and they have to leave to pack to go home.
As I review the leftovers, I realize that we have corrupted them. Their favorite foods seem to be hot dogs, steak tips, potato salad and chocolate cake.
Mamma mia.
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