Italian Cuisine

As an immigrant nation, don't think Americans only judge by skin color; even among white people, there's a strict hierarchy.

After defeating a host of rivals and making the United States an English-speaking country, it meant that ethnic groups from other regions were inherently inferior to those British descended from the Mayflower.

To avoid being bullied, others naturally banded together, forming one ethnic enclave after another.

Never mind anything else—just hearing them rattle off in their native tongues leaves outsiders with no way to join in. That alone shows how strong the bonds within these ethnic groups are.

Anyway, the old white man at the photo studio, after dragging Henry into the photography room and snapping a bunch of shots, immediately introduced him to a passionate Italian guy. Key point: neither of them was from Sicily.

Otherwise, Henry would have to worry about getting knocked out and dragged into a dark alley to have his kidneys stolen.

Oh, right—he's a Kryptonian, so no worries there~

Either way, having someone to guide him is better than flailing around like a headless fly.

As for whether the guide had ulterior motives, after learning his lesson from Old Tom, Henry paid close attention to anything that could be used for lie detection. Things like heartbeat, breathing, eye movement speed, and whether there was any unusual sweating.

But luckily, before revealing that he had hundreds of thousands of dollars in assets, these Italian guys just wanted to squeeze a few extra bucks out of him.

The main thing was that the old white man at the photo studio quietly told his buddy to make back every cent he hadn't managed to earn from Henry! He had no idea that, to a Kryptonian's Super Hearing, it was no different from saying it right in front of Henry.

For a regular person, they'd ask for a hundred; for an acquaintance, they'd add fifty. The trick was to rip off people you knew—don't think knowing someone gets you a discount.

Henry didn't give the two Italian guys much time to coordinate, because it was already noon.

Coming from a society where eating is paramount, never missing a meal is the bare minimum of self-respect. So Henry asked directly, "Is there a place nearby where we can talk and grab a bite?"

"Any dietary restrictions or preferences?" The Italian guy was sharp enough to ask that extra question.

Ever since the Hippies kicked off, all kinds of weird food cultures had entered the mainstream. Vegetarianism was the most basic; countless bizarre religious groups had also introduced their own taboos or health regimens, confusing ordinary people to no end.

Henry didn't have that many hang-ups. He replied, "No restrictions. As long as it's not human meat 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 great for our upcoming negotiations."

"Hey, don't worry." The Italian guy patted Henry on the shoulder, stroked his big handlebar mustache, and said enthusiastically, "We're not Englishmen. Can you believe their best local cuisine is French food?

"Since the Roman era, Caesar conquered from East to West just for the sake of food. Then came the Papal States and the Renaissance spreading it far and wide—Italian cuisine has long been the best in the world, bar none!

"I'll take you to a restaurant run by one of our countrymen. The food there will blow you away. It's like holding the most beautiful woman, tasting her sweet-as-honey kiss."

Caesar really conquered for that? Are you trying to fool me because I haven't read much? The Kryptonian was having self-doubts.

One trait of people of Italian descent is that they use a ton of hand gestures when talking. They speak like they're putting on a one-man stage show, one act after another, dazzling and incredibly persuasive.

Anyway, Henry was sold. They didn't even need to drive—just two blocks over, and there it was: a very ordinary-looking Italian restaurant.

The chef and server were a married couple, broad and cheerful, with smiles all around.

Since it was lunchtime, the place was a bit busy. But the aroma wafting through made Henry's mouth water before he'd even tasted a bite.

The guide found a secluded empty table and sat down. The older woman came over warmly to greet them and handed them menus.

First, she chattered away in Italian with her fellow countryman, then said, "What would you like to eat?"

"A serving of pesto clam spaghetti, a pizza, a plate of fried rice balls. And a bottle of table wine."

Henry's big appetite earned him a strange look from both the Italian guy and the older woman.

The thin-skinned Kryptonian had no choice but to explain, "The smell of your food is so good, I want to try everything. I'll just start with these three today. Don't worry, I won't waste any—I eat a lot."

He turned to the Italian guy and added, "Let's split the lunch bill. Don't worry about me eating you out of house and home."

The complimented older woman beamed, waving her hands and dancing around in response. Henry silently thought he should find time to learn Italian, so he wouldn't have to sit there looking clueless and just smile along.

Oh, come to think of it, French, German, Swedish, Danish, Greek, Spanish, and Portuguese would all be worth learning too. He'd have a chance to hear them all in the United States.

The Italian guy, subtly told he wouldn't be paying, ordered himself some macaroni. His enthusiasm undimmed, he said, "If you can eat it, the food here will definitely satisfy you."

Before the dishes arrived, the older woman brought over a freshly opened bottle of white wine.

Henry's Kryptonian constitution meant he couldn't get drunk, but in European cuisine, wine is part of the meal. In French cuisine, they even use the term 'Mariage' to describe the perfect pairing of food and wine. That's why Henry ordered a bottle.

He poured himself and the Italian guy a glass of Italian white wine, took a sip, and swished it around his mouth. A wonderfully astringent taste stimulated the taste buds on his tongue.

But Henry wasn't here just for the food. He set down his glass and said to the Italian guy, "You should have some property listings in your briefcase. Can I take a look?" Henry's gaze flicked to the briefcase the Italian guy had brought.

"No rush, young man. Let me first ask—what's your purpose in Los Angeles? How long do you plan to stay? Any budget limits? Would you mind a shared rental? Answer those questions first, and then I'll help you pick out some suitable places."

Yeah, fair enough. Those were all things to consider.

Henry said, "I'm looking for opportunities in Hollywood. I don't know how long I'll stay, but at least a year. Budget-wise, nothing too expensive—just a regular apartment. Don't go looking at Beverly Hills mansions or anything. As for sharing..."

He could share—rent would definitely be cheaper. But Henry had some secrets, and his funds were sufficient, so there was no need to gamble on whether roommates would be easy to get along with, let alone hope for a hot female roommate who could be friends with benefits.

As the saying goes, money in the pocket keeps the heart steady. Henry said, "I can handle the rent on my own. A bigger place is fine."

New book requesting follow-up reads, collections, and recommendations—thank you~~