37th Birthday

It happened last month. Most of you forgot. That’s okay, though. I’ve been out of the country for more than a year now and I guess the memories are starting to fade. Besides, I don’t remember anyone else’s birthday, so why should you remember mine?

The day itself inconveniently fell on a Monday. The Tuesday was a public holiday. The greater majority of Italians were taking the Monday off, in an effort to repair what they call a bridge weekend (long weekend), except this ‘bridge’ was broken by the working Monday.

I am always torn between wanting to celebrate quietly and privately, and wanting to be amongst lots of friends, food and debauchery. This year, for a number of reasons, Gigi, Dana and I went to our local pizza restaurant for an early birthday dinner on the Saturday night. This place does great pizzas and we regularly enjoy their take away service. For my birthday, I wanted to have a nice dinner in a local restaurant, possibly somewhere that we could go again with visitors.

It started badly. We had a reservation for 9pm. We arrived just after 9pm, in accordance with Neapolitan custom, only to be told that they’d forgotten about our reservation and there would be a twenty-minute wait for a table. Great! There is nothing I like better than standing outside a restaurant waiting for people to hurry up, eat, drink, pay and leave. Gigi scurried off to buy some phone recharge, and Dana received a phone call, wandering away to talk in private. Of course, it moments later that the headwaiter bellowed ‘MIRTO’ and I slinked in alone, to sit at the table as the tablecloth was changed with a flourish and fresh cutlery and napkins thrown down with edgy panache.

We decided to order pasta. To my surprise, the waiter refused to take the order for three different types of pasta. His reckoning was that three different pans for different pastas were not possible. It was too much for the kitchen to handle. We needed to limit our selection to two choices. Gigi translated (although we understood) and half-heartedly tried to convince one of us to change our order. I say half-heartedly because he himself thought it was a ridiculous situation, and eventually he just insisted that the waiter take our order consisting of three different pasta dishes.

It was at this point that Gi’s mood started to turn sour. Of course having worked in restaurants, he knew exactly what it meant to have three pans on the stove at the same time. He was disappointed and frustrated at the service, and the food was yet to arrive. Our antipasto dishes were good; mine a simple marinated octopus salad, and Dana mozzarella with proscuitto ham. There was, needless to say, no rocket science involved in the preparation or serving of these dishes.

As we waited for our mains, a doorbell continually buzzed just above our heads. It was the restaurants internal system to let waiters know that the kitchen had food ready for serving. It was a truly irritating sound. The noise level steadily rose, and we watched with amazement as a small girl sitting nearby worked her way through a plate of octopus, then a whole pizza, followed by pasta and ice cream. To give you some context, I often struggle to finish a pizza.

Our pasta arrived, and Gi’s eyeballs rolled back in his head as he picked at the gnocchi with his fork, revealing the shredded bits of beef. The pasta sauce he had ordered is a traditional recipe from nearby Sorrento that usually doesn’t have meat in it. Tonight, it did. Dana had ordered pasta with tomato, a very simple yet tasty dish typical of Neapolitan kitchens. She kindly swapped with Gigi to accommodate his veganism, despite her preference not to eat gnocchi.

Unfortunately, Gigi and I knew after a couple of bites of pasta that we could cook better ourselves at home. However, you take this risk when you eat out in Naples.

In an effort to save the meal with a final fling at dessert, I took up Gigi’s recommendation to have some of the pear cake on the daily menu, while Dana ordered the stock standby tiramisu. I don’t really do the sweets here in Naples, they are just too sweet, but decided that Gi knew what I do and don’t like so his recommendation was safe. The cake arrived, coated with an inch of icing sugar. After blowing it away, sending a cloud of it onto the shoulders of nearby diners, I plunged my spoon in to find layers of sponge, cream and no sign of a pear. Two mouthfuls and I was done. Just not my thing, but it amounted to strike three.

It was all up a bit of a disaster. The food was average. The service was below average. The atmosphere was less than average. The only bonus was that I paid for dinner using some of the birthday money my parents had generously sent.

The other big purchases were a sleeping bag and a pair of trekking shoes.

With classes cancelled for the Monday, we had arranged to go hiking along the Amalfi Coast with friends. Sunday afternoon text messages flew back and forth that the weather forecast was for rain and it wasn’t suitable for trekking. The overnight hike was called off.

My actual birthday passed in a downpour of anti climax. The rain washed away any idea of celebrating. The highlights included:
· Gigi gave me the gift that I’d requested…an ironing board.
· The previous Friday I’d received a package from my sister Kim including DVD’s, books and a magazine
· On the Sunday Dana and I joined the riff raff and soaked up some of the spring sunshine on the rocks along the bay
· Gigi, Dana and I visited the famous National Archaeological Museum of Naples to see an Antique Amber exhibition, the Egyptian collection and the Pompeii artefacts.
· The best part of the day though was talking to each of my parents and sisters at length, catching up on their news, hearing about all the little things that we are missing.

Birthday 37 was all up a bit disappointing. We will still do the Amalfi Coast trek. We will find a local restaurant that’s up to scratch. I already love the ironing board. However, I was a bit disturbed by sister Kim’s question “So, what are you doing for your 40th?”. My what, my 40th? God, who knows, I responded. Why? “Because I’m celebrating mine in Paris,” she informed me. Imagine knowing what you’ll be doing in September 2011.

However, her conversation did spark in my head that I am now definitely closer to forty. There is no denying it, no hiding from it.

I do know that I won’t be in Naples. For while this city is starting to make its mark, infiltrating, getting into a corner of my heart and psyche, I know that some of the most important guests at my 40th birthday party will not welcome the idea of celebrating in Naples. Besides, there are thousands of other possibilities to consider. Perhaps Bangkok?