“Just a burger and fries,” said Carter. He reached into the bag, extracted both, and began to unwrap the hamburger. The bun was overflowing with shreds of dried-up lettuce and some sort of sauce oozing out of the sides.

Giancarlo looked on aghast, his face suddenly taking on an expression of acute dismay. He had a pronounced aversion to fast food of all types, and the sight of this talented student about to consume it right before his eyes produced a visceral response that was exquisitely painful.

Upon noting his teacher’s obvious discomfiture, Carter paused before taking a bite. “Something wrong?” he asked.

“No,” replied Giancarlo at first. Then, “Well, actually, yes. But it’s not your fault. It’s just that I can see that I will have to teach you a little bit more about Italian culture than just the language.”

“Like what?” Carter asked, sincerely curious.

“Well, a little bit about food wouldn’t hurt,” his teacher replied as delicately as possible. “You see, there are things one eats, and there are things one shouldn’t eat unless it’s a matter of dying of hunger. And then there are yet other things that one doesn’t eat even if it does mean dying of hunger.”

Carter broke out in a smile. “Are you telling me that you disapprove of fast food?” he asked with something of an impish look as he took a chomp from the hamburger.

“What I’m telling you, Signor Quinn,” intoned Giancarlo somberly, like a father counseling a wayward son, “is that I will forgive you this one time for eating that in front of me, but you would do well not to do it again.”

“Okay,” chuckled Carter amiably as he gobbled down some of the fries. “I get the message. But if it would make you feel better right now, I could just toss the rest of this in the trash.”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” Giancarlo told him. “Let’s just say that I will endure it just this once as a proper penance for my lack of good manners—and leave it at that.”