Here we must immediately make a premise: when it comes to food, WE are the anomaly.
The life of the Mediterraneans, Italians in the lead, revolves around food: when, where, what, how much are ABSOLUTE DOGMAS.
Our intolerance is abysmal; we are literally unable to conceive another way to eat that its not our way.
We even feel pity for how other peoples eat. For example, if a Polish guy explains to us all the delicacies that his mother will prepare for Christmas, we smile politely, but inside ourselves we think: "poor thing, how disgusting."
The British, for their part, will hardly tell you about food, recipes or embroidery of tablecloths. They know that they don't know.
That said ... as usual in the UK there is some little oddity (anomaly).
1- WHEN.
At 4pm the restaurants in the city centre are full. I've been wondering for years: what the hell is the name of what the are eating at that time? Lunch, snack, aperitif, dinner???
On the plates they have chickens, chips… a normal meal! And here a major dogma is in discussion, because lunch is at 1pm, dinner at 8pm, children are given a snack at 4pm: How do they dare to eat when they like?
For us it is unbelievable.
Also because, if you eat something we call ‘lunch’ at 4pm, then at what time do you have dinner. At midnight? Or, if it was ‘dinner’, then don't you get hungry before you go to sleep? Do you have another dinner later?
This is a dilemma for us. A real trouble.
Another panic moment is when THEY invite you for tea.
At 5.30 pm (this is normally planned a month in advance, so you have to fill your house with post it to remember it).
Finally the fateful day arrives and you go, convinced to have the classic English tea (which among other things THEY invented), but instead you find a leg of lamb and baked potatoes.
It's a dinner.
But at that time you are not hungry!
It's called tea, but it's a dinner! What a confusion... In fact it could also be a real tea, served with sandwiches and sweets, a typical afternoon tea.
In both cases, it's a mess for the average Italian, because at 8pm it's time for dinner and he doesn't know if he should eat something, maybe even just a snack… dilemma, dilemma, dilemma.
All our dogmatism is messed up.
If you're the one inviting them it's even more complicated. The negotiation is long and complex, get ready for a stalemate.
You tell them: come at 7 pm (a time that represents a compromise for you).
They ask you if they should come with the empty stomach or not, which is not at all obvious for them, and then they ask you if you are inviting their children too, which is taken for granted for us, but not for them, because their children eat at 5.30 and go to bed at 7.30pm, even on Saturdays or New Years Eve.
So, a negotiation opens that normally wears out the average MED, who gets depressed and doesn't want to invite anyone anymore.
You can't blame us, we are people who, when we think of going for dinner at our friends house, we send a text message to warn. That's it.
In the UK it is very different.
Ease in human relationships does not exist. Put it in your head.
For a two-hour dinner, consider to write at least 7 or 8 emails. A month, a month and a half of preparation.
And don't complicate things, don't try to ask silly questions like: Sorry but can you take with you that fucking baby and if it gets sleepy we put him on the sofa with a blanket?
What happens to your children after 7.30pm? Do they turn into Margaret Thatcher ??
You will regret when you were in Italy and you lived in the main street of the town (autobiographical example) and at 7.45 pm someone punctually rang the bell (it is called: self-invitation to dinner) and you even played dead. You even did the Swedish accent on the interphone pretending to be someone else.
No, you won't regret that, sorry I went too far.
2. HOW LONG
About the duration, it is soon said.
Two hours.
Maybe a little less, I'd say an hour and 45 minutes.
If you go at 1pm for a Sunday lunch at 2.30pm you will begin to notice signs of impatience and at 2.45pm you are out the door.
If you were bored, it is perfect. If you were having fun, it is traumatic.
For a Mediterranean it is incomprehensible. When the Mediterranean thinks of happiness, he closes his eyes and thinks of someone who finally gets up from the table around 5 in the afternoon and says: Do you want another coffee?
And someone punctually replies: Only to sick people you ask if they want something.
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