What I Wish I’d Known Before Ordering Spaghetti Carbonara
Now, before we begin, I think it’s helpful to know that my family revel in seeing me squirm in embarrassment.
I was first introduced to the physical embodiment of Heaven that is spaghetti carbonara when I was thirteen. My dad made it one glorious night, and I couldn’t get enough of it. Though, adding sausages, bacon, the occasional peas, and grilling the whole thing essentially made our ‘carbonara’ a pasta bake — a pasta bake fit for Eden itself. But my judgement was clouded, soon learning the true taste of this Italian masterpiece during a family meal at the recently opened Ask restaurant.
‘Bex, look,’ Mum said, leaning across to prod at my menu. ‘They do a real carbonana.’
Ah. Yes. I should explain this. ‘Carbonana’ is my family’s name for the best pasta in the world. They know it’s wrong. It’s a little quirk we own. ‘Carbonara’ and ‘banana’. Don’t ask why. It’s like the family’s inside joke that no one else, or ourselves really, will ever understand. But who cares? We Mundies think it to be hilarious. It was such a successful inside joke at the time, though, that I didn’t actually know it was an inside joke. I hadn’t been shown any alternative name it could have. Remember that — it’s important.
Now, I was elevated to heights I never knew existed at the sound of this news. There were real carbonaras? Was I just having fake ones all this time? And, what’s more, I was going to have a real one cooked by a real chef. This was the highest level of professionalism I had ever been (and ever will be) close to. And, wait. I could add chicken? CHICKEN? God Almighty does exist! What could only make matters more amazing was the garlic bread to start — and my God, what little slices of miracles they are.
My excitement was already off the scale — and what’s more embarrassing than an overly-excited child or overly-excited adult? An overly-excited teenager. It’s an acceptable scale of excitement when on a child or adult. Children are children — they have an excuse. Adults, too. They have so much going on that it is understandable, and almost respected, when they briefly show some personality; while appearing somewhat crazy, it’s the little things in life that provide a mountain-load of relief. Someone in-between these stages is at the heart of irritation. They are old enough to think they are an adult, but young enough to show otherwise. Steams of cockiness, teen angst, ignorance, and teenage excitement oozed from that table in the corner; it’s either the cockiness or puberty fumes that creates a hard-to-ignore stench that suffocates the whole restaurant like a thick smog. Conclusion: an excited teenager isn’t cute or inspiring. It’s bloody annoying.
Of course, when it came to ordering, this excitement soon died.
‘And you, my darlin’?’
‘Oh, could I have the — ’ a wide, deranged grin for effect ‘ — carbonana, please?’
Who knew that such a pale face could turn so red? My family was in hysterics. My sister took to her sisterly duties, calling me the usual ‘nob’, ‘twat’, and ‘tit’, and turned to social media to shame me globally. Wasn’t it punishment enough to be at the beginnings of puberty?
What a perfect metaphor for this little imbecile’s journey through school, and a perfect foreshadowing for the future: it doesn’t get any better. Embarrassment is as natural to me as breathing now.
Yes. Simple. I wish I’d known the correct pronunciation of my favourite meal before ordering it. Maybe I wouldn’t be the terrified, shriveled creature that we see today, constantly awaiting the eventual, perfectly timed embarrassment. I haven’t joined my family’s ‘carbonana’ craze since that day, just to spite it. I clearly couldn’t feel more grown up.
With thanks to Rebekah Tennant
