First Person: The Italian Goodbye

The author, Brent Petersen, and his girlfriend, Karen, demonstrate “The Long Goodbye.” Photo courtesy of Brent Petersen 

I grew up in a “children should be seen and not heard”  household in the suburbs of Chicago in Barrington, Illinois. Though it was an unsupervised — almost feral — childhood at times, when my father got home, it was time to be quiet.

So I was completely unprepared for life in Rhode Island when I moved there for a job as a young adult. I can still remember my arrival in the Ocean State. I had driven twenty hours from Chicago in a spiffy Honda Civic loaded down with all my worldly possessions, mostly clothes, a stereo and albums (remember those?).

I was sitting at a red light on Jefferson Boulevard waiting for it to change so I could make a lefthand turn and start my exciting new life at the radio station WRX. When the light turned green, there was no arrow, so I waited for the traffic to clear.

A family-style Italian feast. Photo via Getty Images/Lumi Nola

Apparently, this was an unforgivable sin, as the driver behind me sped around, laid on his horn, flipped me the bird and cut off two lanes of oncoming traffic to make his own left turn.

I remember praying that the driver wasn’t my new boss.

After seeing that maneuver repeated multiple times, I dubbed it the Rhode Island left. You can even look up Rhode Island left online on Urban Dictionary. It’s a thing.

My girlfriend, Karen, had a decidedly different upbringing. A third-generation Italian American born and raised in Johnston, there was definitely no “seen and not heard” creed.

So when we first started dating, there were some things I had to get used to. Like the huge family gatherings for no particular reason. Dinners that were so loud I had to retire to another room for a quiet break. And “The Long Goodbye.”

When the evening is coming to an end, Karen’s family starts to say their goodbyes. If the group is large, this can take a while. But after we say goodbye to everyone, it’s time to go … or so I think.

Someone will invariably bring up another
topic for discussion: tomorrow’s dinner, weekend plans, the Patriots’ latest rotten performance, whatever.

When this happens — it always happens — I smile and try to inch closer to the door. But I soon find this to be a fool’s errand. That’s because I’ve fallen for “The Goodbye Head Fake.” In basketball, your opponent might move his head in a way to make you think they’re going to take a shot. You jump to block it and they dribble past for an easy layup. Same with “The Goodbye Head Fake.” This goodbye is all illusion and those who succumb to it are rookies.

Petersen digs into pasta on his travels. Photo courtesy of Brent Petersen 

After “The Goodbye Head Fake,” you might think that’s the end of the evening and it’s time to leave. Oh no. Next comes “The Tupperware Goodbye.” This is where the host or hostess realizes that they have a massive amount of food left over and begins packing it up for you in plastic containers, aluminum foil, the dog’s scarf, whatever’s handy. Much debate ensures during “The Tupperware Goodbye.”

Containers are packed up for guests to take home. Photo via  IStockGetty Images Plus/Carlo Franco

“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly …”

“Please, what am I going to do with all this food?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, please take it.”

“Well, maybe a little lasagna.”

The lasagna is packed up and handed off, and it starts all over again.

“Now, who’s taking the green beans?”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly …”

Goodbye veterans recognize all these steps and never put on their coat until at least two main dishes, three sides and a dessert have been packed up and handed off.

You might be tempted to watch TV or grab a snack during “The Goodbye Head Fake” or “The Tupperware Goodbye.” That’s another rookie move.

Your partner, seeing you sit down, eating, talking or relaxing in any way will take this as a sign that you’re not ready to go.

Goodbye veterans put a detailed plan into action. This will not decrease the length of “The Long Goodbye,” but at least it won’t extend it.

Here’s how it’s done: At a set time before you want to leave — it can be up to two hours —start laying the groundwork for leaving. Phrases like “Are you ready to go?” and “Remember, we have that thing later!” are especially helpful.

Whatever you do, don’t act like a whiny five-year-old with rounds of “C’mon, let’s goooooooo.” Take it from an experienced “goodbye veteran” who has thrown all kinds of tantrums. People frown upon throwing yourself on the ground and yelling “This is sooooo boring!”

Next, about an hour before you’re ready to go, another sweet reminder of “Ready to go, honey?” is whispered as you put on your coat. Whatever you do, don’t take off your coat, no matter how long “The Goodbye Head Fake” or “The Tupperware Goodbye” lasts. That’s a sign of weakness. “The Long Goodbye” feeds on weakness.

During this time, casually check your watch and nod your head. A well-timed yawn is also a good tool. I also like to employ “The Head Tilt.” When Karen glances over at me, I tilt my head towards the door, reminding her that “The Long Goodbye” is coming to an end.

She gathers up the food that will feed us for the next week, and we finally leave.

So, that’s it, right?

Wrong!

Karen enjoys dessert and a drink. Photo courtesy of Brent Petersen 

The last phase of “The Long Goodbye” is “The Driveway Goodbye.” Aunts, uncles, cousins and family friends who didn’t get enough “Goodbye Time” follow you to the car. This is where “goodbye veterans” must remain focused. Get the food in the car and whatever you do, after getting in, DO NOT ROLL DOWN THE WINDOWS! I’ve been caught for over an hour, engine idling, during “The Driveway Goodbye,” making plans for the near and far future.

Stay strong, keep the windows rolled up, and, most importantly, keep the path clear as you back up. You don’t want to clip Uncle Tony while you make your escape.

Wave and smile.

Only after you make it out of the driveway and onto the street is it safe to roll down the window and shout, “Great seeing everyone! We’ll do it again next Sunday!”

Petersen enjoys some wine on his travels. Photo courtesy of Brent Petersen 

________________________

Brent Petersen currently lives in Portugal but called Rhode Island home for twenty-two years, working at the late, great radio stations WRX and The Edge. He is a writer who publishes food and travel stories at destinationeatdrink.com. He also hosts the podcast Destination Eat Drink where guests share food and travel stories from around the world.