Italian Cuisine

As an immigrant nation, don't assume Americans only ranked people by skin color; even among white people, there were different social tiers.

After crushing a host of formidable rivals, the United States became an English-speaking nation. That meant ethnic groups from other regions were inherently a notch below those English bastards who had come over on the Mayflower.

To avoid being bullied, the others naturally huddled together for warmth, forming one ethnic community after another.

Not to mention anything else—just listening to them rattle off in their native languages made it impossible for outsiders to join in. That alone showed how strong the bonds within these ethnic groups were.

After dragging Henry into the studio and snapping a bunch of photos, the old white guy at the photography shop immediately introduced him to an enthusiastic Italian. The important part was that neither of them was from Sicily.

Otherwise, Henry would have had to worry about getting clubbed from behind and dragged into some dark alley to have his kidneys stolen.

Oh, right. He was a Kryptonian, so he wasn't afraid~

Anyway, having someone lead the way was better than stumbling around like a headless fly.

As for whether his guide had other intentions, having learned his lesson from Old Tom, Henry paid particular attention to methods that could expose lies. Things like heartbeat, breathing, eye movement speed, and abnormal sweating.

Fortunately, before he revealed that he had hundreds of thousands of Dao in assets, these Italians merely wanted to squeeze a little more money out of him.

Most importantly, the old white guy at the photography shop had quietly told his companion to ruthlessly make back whatever he himself had failed to earn! He had no idea that, to a Kryptonian's Super Hearing, it was no different from saying it right in front of Henry.

For regular customers, quote a hundred; for acquaintances, add fifty. The people you knew were exactly the ones you fleeced. Don't think knowing someone meant getting a discount.

Henry did not give the two Italians much time to coordinate, because it was already noon.

Coming from a society where eating was paramount, never missing one of three daily meals was the most basic responsibility to oneself. So Henry directly asked, "Is there anywhere nearby where we can talk business and eat?"

"Any dietary restrictions or habits?" The Italian was quite shrewd and asked an extra question.

Ever since the rise of the hippies, all sorts of strange dietary cultures had entered the public eye. Vegetarianism was the most ordinary of them. The countless bizarre religious groups had also introduced their own taboos and health doctrines, leaving ordinary people thoroughly confused.

Henry naturally did not have that many hang-ups. He replied, "No restrictions. As long as it isn't human flesh or shit, I can eat it. Of course, if you pick a restaurant that puts me in a bad mood, that probably won't be very good for our upcoming negotiations."

"Hey, don't worry." The Italian patted Henry on the shoulder, stroked his huge handlebar mustache, and said enthusiastically, "We're not English. Can you believe that their finest native cuisine is actually French food!"

"Ever since the Roman era, Caesar conquered from east to west for the sake of food. Then the Papal States and the Renaissance carried it forward. Italian cuisine has long been the best cuisine in the world, without question!"

"I'll take you to a restaurant run by people from our hometown. The food there will absolutely have you singing its praises, like holding the most beautiful woman in your arms and tasting kisses as sweet as honey."

Did Caesar really wage conquests over food? Was this guy taking advantage of how little I'd read? The Kryptonian began doubting himself.

One characteristic of Italians was that they used a great many gestures while speaking. When they talked, it was like watching a one-man stage play—one flourish after another, dazzling to the eye and immensely persuasive.

At any rate, Henry was talked into it. They did not even need to drive; after crossing two streets, they arrived at an ordinary-looking Italian restaurant.

The chef and waiter inside were a husband and wife, both broad-minded and stout, with cheerful smiles on their faces.

Since it was lunchtime, the restaurant was somewhat busy. However, the fragrance filling the place had Henry salivating before he had even tasted the food.

After leading them to an empty table in a secluded corner, the middle-aged woman warmly came over to greet them and brought out the menu.

She chattered away in Italian with her fellow countryman for a while before asking, "What would you like to eat?"

"One pesto clam pasta, one pizza, one order of fried rice balls. And a bottle of wine to go with the meal."

Henry's appetite earned him strange looks from both the Italian and the woman.

The thin-skinned Kryptonian could only explain, "The food here smells so good that I want to try everything. I'll start with these three today. Don't worry about waste—I can eat a lot."

Then he turned to the Italian and said, "Let's each pay for our own lunch. Don't worry about me eating you bankrupt."

The complimented woman beamed and responded with another burst of animated gestures. Henry secretly thought that he ought to find time to learn Italian, so he would not have to keep sitting there with a baffled look on his face and merely smiling along.

Oh, now that he thought about it, French, German, Swedish, Danish, Greek, Spanish, and Portuguese were all worth learning too. After all, he could encounter any of them in the United States.

Having been subtly told that he would not need to pay, the Italian ordered himself a serving of macaroni. Still as enthusiastic as ever, he said, "If you can eat that much, the food here will absolutely satisfy you."

Before the food arrived, the woman first brought over a freshly opened bottle of white wine.

Although Henry's Kryptonian physique meant he could not get drunk, wine was inherently part of European cuisine. French cuisine even used the term "Mariage" to describe the perfect pairing of food and wine. That was why Henry had ordered a bottle.

After pouring himself and the Italian a glass of Italian white wine, Henry took a sip and swirled it around his mouth. A wonderfully tart flavor stimulated the taste buds on his tongue.

However, Henry had not come here solely to eat. He set down his wineglass and said to the Italian, "You should have information on houses in your bag, right? May I take a look?" His gaze drifted toward the briefcase the Italian had brought.

"No rush, young man. First let me ask: what is your purpose in coming to Los Angeles? How long do you plan to stay? Do you have a budget limit? Would you mind sharing a place with someone? Tell me those things first, then I can help you narrow down suitable houses."

Mm, nothing wrong with that. Those really were things he needed to consider.

Henry said, "I want to find some opportunities in Hollywood. I don't know how long I'll stay, but at least over a year. As for the budget, nothing too expensive. An ordinary apartment will do. Don't go finding nothing but Beverly Hills villas or anything like that. As for sharing..."

He could share a place, and the rent would definitely be cheaper. But Henry had certain secrets, and he had enough money to spare. There was no need to gamble on whether other tenants would be easy to get along with, much less hope for a beautiful female roommate to become a friend with benefits.

As the saying went, money in the pocket kept the heart from panicking. Henry said, "I can afford to rent a place by myself. A larger home would be fine."