Eating American Food (Germaine)

[Arlo Pecatti]

There has always been a typical impression people get about food that comes from America. French fries, hamburgers and Kentucky fried chicken were the main three that came to mind for the young Italian boy that had recently moved to America. Unfortunately for him, it seemed those were what was on offer that day at Hammel and he was therefore stuck with having to eat something along those lines for lunch. His eyes scanned over the food on offer before he eventually decided he would go for the option of French fries with a salad. He didn't see the point in having the two together but it was the most appealing of the options there. He much preferred food he had cooked himself, preferably not involving the types of food on offer there. He had a rather sickening feeling he would be eating a lot more of it though in the next few years.

Arlo took the plate of food - not that he liked to call it that - back to a table he decided he was claiming as nobody else was occupying it yet and he sat at one of the seats around the table, unsure of which thing on his plate he should attempt to digest first. He decided to try one of the French fries first, picking one up and examining it like it was the first time he had ever seen one before. In truth, he had seen them, eaten them and then felt ill for days afterwards. Maybe it had been dodgy or something? He tried desperately to tell himself this food was safe. It had to be. It came from a school, right? They wouldn't serve anything dangerous to the students.

He forced himself to eat the French fry he had been examining, not particularly liking how salty it tasted and wishing he had been given the option of whether to add salt to it or not as it might just about have been bearable if it hadn't been quite so smothered by salt. Arlo wondered whether American's genuinely liked their food to taste that salty or whether they just put up with it because they didn't know any better but how would he ever know the answer to that? Well, he wouldn't, would he? He wasn't an American after all.

He looked at the rest of the food on his plate and frowned a little. Would it all taste the same? He hoped not. He would need something to eat while he was there. He picked up a slice of tomato next, looking at it carefully as if searching for salt or some other small thing that could be on the surface of the tomato. He was so engrossed in examining his tomato slice that he barely noticed anyone else approach the table.

[Germaine Sharpe]

Lunch. Lunch had always been Germaine’s favorite part of the school day next to physical education. There were a lot things that made lunch awesome. Food, people, no grades. It had everything she loved (except sports) and lacked everything she hated about school. It was for such reasons that she stood in the lunch line everyday, practically bouncing with excitement as she waited to be served and chattered with the people standing on either side of her (whether or not they were interested in what she had to say).

On this particular day, she approached the lunch ladies with a big grin and had them pile on the grub. Gerri wasn’t exactly the largest person on the planet, being a slim, average height fourteen-year-old and all, but she had a large stomach that could challenge that of sharks. Greedily she scooped up the plate, plopped it down on a tray, then grabbed another plate of food for good measure. There wasn’t a single piece of green on either dish, and an overwhelming amount of gooey cheese and grease. Yum.

Satisfied with her selection, the girl toddled off to find a table. However, after scanning the cafeteria a few times, she realized that her favorite person wasn’t present and all her friend’s tables were already full. With a disappointed pout, she scanned again for a free seat and spotted a boy sitting by himself. Gerri had no idea who the boy was, but she had no qualms with meeting new people. Skipping up to the table and slamming down her tray, the fourteen-year-old plopped down in the vacant seat next to him and waved her hand in greeting. “Hello! My name’s Germaine Anika Sharpe, but you can call me Anni or Gerri,” she squeaked. “Who are you?”

She could tell that this boy was younger than her, but that didn’t really concern her. What she did find concern in, however, was his choice in food. She eyed his plate for a moment before bluntly stating, “That’s a weird choice of food...and salads are gross.” Not that Germaine had any room to talk, seeing as her own food selection consisted of pizza slices (American style, of course), hot dogs, fries, and nachos. If Arlo was looking for an American to redeem themselves of his opinion on their poor diet, he had not found his girl.

[Arlo Pecatti]

The tray landing on the table was what made him first realise there was somebody else there. That was closely followed by a female a little older than himself sitting down at the previously unoccupied seat. His eyes scanned over her plate - No, two plates - of food and he briefly frowned at their contents. It seemed his assumption was right; Americans actually did like this stuff. He shook his head a little to himself more than anything and then his eyes returned to her again as he realised she had just spoken and he had practically ignored her.

He replayed her first sentence over in his head; "Hello! My name’s Germaine Anika Sharpe, but you can call me Anni or Gerri". Well that made sense to him. Enough sense anyway. "My sister is named similarly.. Sort of. She is Giovanna and likes her name to be Anna," he commented, his Italian accent coming through quite strongly as he was nowhere near used to attempting anything too American yet. He then realised that she hadn't needed to know that the name of his sister and he frowned slightly. It just came out before he could stop it. He often spurted useless information around people he didn't know very well because he was quite shy and wanted to say something rather than saying nothing at all. "My name? Arlo. Arlo Xiomar Pecatti," he smiled a little, knowing his name was odd. He had never met another person with Xiomar as part of their name before but he quite liked it.

Hearing her comment on the food, he smiled. Food was one subject he knew a lot about in several languages so he could probably talk about that fairly easily. "To me, your food is... What was that word? Gross?" he smiled at her. He didn't mind the fact that she liked the weird things the Americans classed as food. He just knew he would never be able to stomach it, much preferring making his own food. Unfortunately, every time he tried to cook at that moment, he passed out. "Damn you, heat resistance!" he thought to himself. He wasn't sure how long he would survive eating American food. Well, technically it wasn't going to kill him. He just preferred to cook for himself or get someone Italian to do it for him. He had a preference for Italian food, that was sure enough.

Arlo looked at her food again and he frowned slightly, "What is that, anyway?" he asked curiously. If she was willing to talk about food, he would probably refuse to shut up. Other subjects though, he would sit in silence and avoid people asking him too many things because his English wasn't brilliant when it came to... Well, most things.

[Germaine Sharpe]

Germaine giggled inappropriately when the boy spoke. She had assumed he was an American, because she never met a new student from out of country who was so young. Usually they were older transfer students from one of the other schools. His accent surprised her. It also intrigued her, because she had never met an Italian before and didn’t recognize it. Unfortunately, she wasn’t cultured enough to hold her tongue. “You talk funny. Were are you from?” She wasn’t exactly the best with words either. It wasn’t like she meant to sound mean (Gerri never tries to be mean), but sometimes she could be too blunt.

Luckily, she was distracted by his accent and didn’t notice how out of context his first response was (not that it would have bothered her anyway). “Arlo,” she echoed with a grin. “I like it! Do you have any other siblings, Arlo, or just the sister? I have a brother. His name is Ernie, and he’s very annoying but I love him anyway.” It would have been nice if Gerri gave the kid a chance to answer her question, but she had a tendency to ramble. So on she talked. “I have another brother, except he’s not really my brother. He’s like a brother, though, so it totally counts. His name is Sammy and he goes to school here too.” She paused long enough to take a few bits of pizza before tacking on, “I also have a pet panther.”

The fourteen-year-old mirrored the boy’s smile, unfazed by his opinion on the food. “Oh, yeah, totally,” she agreed, despite the pile up of food on her plates. With a small nod, she continued. “Most people think cafeteria food is the worst too, and it totally is. I just like food, so I don’t really mind it, but, like, I totally get what you mean.” The statement was a little skewed, as Gerri was indeed a picky eater. She didn’t eat green things, particularly not broccoli, and she rarely went for true meat. The girl’s diet literally consisted of junk food and the types of greasy foods that currently lay in front of her. It was the fast track to obesity, but fortunately the girl spent enough time everyday either working out or playing sports to avoid gaining weight. That wouldn’t sustain her forever, however.

When Arlo questioned her food choice, Gerri immediately quipped, “It’s lunch!” Then with a giggled she added, “Well, this is pizza, those are nachos, this is a hot dog, that’s tater tots, and I guess you know what fries are ‘cause you totally have some on your plate.” She pointed to eat object as she named them, then gave the boy a friendly smile. “Wanna try something? You’re totally welcome to pick off my plate.”

[Arlo Pecatti]

Arlo briefly looked confused by the giggle, then he remembered he sounded different to everyone else and he just smiled. He understood that some people had never heard a foreigner speak let alone a foreigner from Europe, and he knew his accent was quite different to those that were common in America. What he didn't understand though was why the American accent seemed so hard to mimic. Sure, he'd get it eventually. In the mean time though, he would sound different. And he didn't overly mind sounding different either. He just wished he could sound somewhat more American sometimes. "I have been in America since one month. I was born in Italy and I lived in Italy before I move here," he smiled slightly. That didn't sound very American. That sounded like a foreigner that had forgotten several words so used others instead. He may have been young but he had spent a lot of time just listening to Americans talking. It hadn't helped him as much as he had hoped though.

Arlo was grateful she hadn't focused too much on how random his first statement had been but he found it nice that she continued that subject anyway. He knew more words about family than about some other subjects so at least it seemed somewhat promising that he might manage a conversation. As she spoke of her brother and her sort-of brother, Arlo nodded a little. That didn't make much sense to someone who was American, he was sure of that, so how was he meant to work out what a sort-of brother was? He guessed he wasn't meant to. Instead he decided to answer the question she asked, "I have two older brothers and three older sisters. Alessandro is my oldest brother. He live in France. Carlotta is my oldest sister. She still lives in Italy. Then there's Giovanna, who is study in Britain. Silvestro is the brother who I move to America with. And then Florentine is my youngest older sister who is still at school in Vicenza," he laughed. He had a big family. It didn't seem so big in Italy but there it seemed huge somehow. Her family seemed to fit a more normal American family than his did at least, that's for sure. He was a little surprised by her revelation about having a pet panther. What exactly was a panther? He wasn't entirely sure. "Panther?" he repeated the word, trying to remember if he had heard it before but he couldn't recall a time when he had done.

Arlo smiled a lot more when the subject came back to food. He could talk forever about food. Okay, not forever. Just for a very very long time. "I like food," he agreed with her, although looking down at his plate it didn't seem much like he did. He could understand that people might not believe him if he were to say that he liked food. "I think this not food here. It is not food like food I eat anyway. Not like Italian food," he smiled a little, then noticed the pizza. "Well, that-" he pointed to the pizza "-That is Italian food. But it cooks the American way so it more bad for eating," he laughed a little. He found most of the stuff there to be far too unhealthy.

At her response to her food being lunch, Arlo smiled. It seemed she liked to joke. And talk, guessing from how much she had said already. He felt almost like he had heard far too much talking already. He liked her though. What she said seemed to make sense to him. "I know what pizza is.. It comes from where I come from," he laughed a little. "But those other things I don't eat before. They look like odd things that I don't want to eat," he laughed a little more. Her food choice almost scared him, after all.

[Germaine Sharpe]

((I apologize for my incredibly slow posting rate. @.@))

It did take Gerri some time to decipher what the boy had said, although it wasn't too hard for her to do so. She was use to improper grammar--whether she herself was using it or one of her friends were--and the fact that he had trouble with it as well wasn't a major hindrance on her part. If anything, it was the accent that gave her issues. "That's cool!" she commented with a grin. "'Ve never been to Italy before, or met an Italian. I live over in Colorado, though." She paused for a moment and shoved some nachos in her mouth before hastily adding, "That's in the west." The girl didn't know how familiar this kid was with American geography (she certainly didn't know Italian geography), so she figured it was better safe than sorry to mention that.

The brunette gaped at him as he told her about his family. Not only was it substantially larger than her own "average American" type set up, but they lived all over the world. That was awesome. If it were at all possible for people's eyes to sparkly with envy, hers definitely were. "You moved to America with your brother? Where are your parents?" she asked in curiosity, not even considering the fact that it might be a touchy subject or something to that effect. "And where is Valencia?" As previously mentioned, she wasn't very educated in the geography department. She smiled when he asked about her panther, more than happy to talk about him. It didn't occur to her that he was having a vocabulary problem. "Yeah, he's big and black and has really soft fur! And he purrs a lot," she happily chirped. "He saved me from falling in the pond and drowning, and let me ride on his back." She didn't mention how terrifying and disappointingly uncool riding on a panther turned out to be. Or the fact that she hadn't seen him since.

Food was one of the many things Germaine could go on talking about as well, although there were very few things that she didn't enjoy talking about. She didn't really understand what he meant about the food not being food, however. If it was edible and didn't make you sick, then it was food, right? She kind of missed the point that this food wasn't edible for everyone. She looked down at her pizza with furrowed brows, her ignorance ready to burst through. "Really? I didn't know there was a difference." She couldn't really be blamed. It wasn't as if people casually called the American version of pizza "American", and there were so many distinctions that she just assumed that it was the original version.

She grinned back when he smiled at her joke, though. "Oh, right. I guess I kind of wasn't thinking of that," she excused herself. Gerri didn't think it was right for him to assume that he wouldn't like rest of the food, so she slid her tray closer to him. "How do you know until you try it?" she asked, eyes gleaming. "Go on, take a bite of something. I promise it won't bite back." She giggled at her own joke and ate another nacho.

[Arlo Pecatti]

((No problem. I wasn't in the mood to post for a few days so sorry the reply is a little late as well! And it appears I said Valencia in the post about where Arlo is from rather than Vicenza >.< I play a Spanish character on another site from Valencia so I think I got the places mixed up lol. Sorry.))

Arlo wondered if he had said something wrong but then she responded and he guessed he should perhaps talk slower or something to try and make himself easier to understand. "Well you meet an Italian now," he said and smiled at her, then looked back down at his plate and picked up a slice of cheese. That looked a bit more edible. "Colorado?" he repeated and nodded slightly. Another place to add to his list of American places he knew. "It is nice there?" he asked before returning his gaze to his slice of cheese and then eating it. It wasn't as bad as he had expected, actually. It did at least taste like cheese.

He barely noticed the envy when he spoke of his family, seeing as he was almost used to that by now. People often found his family large and slightly strange to live everywhere all over the world. "My parents?" he repeated, frowning slightly. "I don't know. They travel everywhere but not going home often," he shrugged lightly and shovelled another couple of slices of cheese into his mouth, deciding he liked it. "Vicenza is in the north east of Italy," he replied with a smile. Arlo imagined a big black creature and nodded, almost thinking that explained what one was. He imagined it to be somewhere between a horse and a dog but he wasn't entirely sure. "He sounds good," he smiled again at her. "He is friendly?" he asked, thinking the creature in his mind was far from friendly but then he always had a vivid imagination.

Arlo was somewhat surprised by her not knowing that there would be a difference between foods from different countries. He assumed then that she didn't travel much. He didn't want to upset her or annoy her by stating they were very different but he didn't want her to continue to believe they would always be the same regardless of the country. "I think the water is different. The water changes the food taste," he said with a slight shrug. He didn't know for sure given that he had barely cooked anything in America.

Arlo eyed her tray suspiciously and then cautiously picked up one of the nachos. She seemed to be eating them and not dying or anything so he hoped they might at least be tolerable. He turned it over in his hands before eventually nibbling on the edge of it. It wasn't putrid but it wasn't the nicest thing in the world either. It was the texture he didn't like though, he was sure of that much. "They feel weird," he commented, shrugging slightly as he picked up another piece of cheese.