47. Chocolate Enterprise
Date Written: March 31, 2019
Date Posted: March 21, 2020
Characters: Veneziano, France, Belgium, America
Summary: Italian cuisine was one of the best in the world! How come no one else could see that?
Notes:
If there was one thing Veneziano would ever fight to the death for, it was food. As a young Nation, his taste buds had set their sights on the finer points of cuisine. Herbs and spices were a commodity back in the day, and as the Venetian Empire, he had lorded it all over Nations. Because of all the goods that he had to offer, other Nations had no choice but to dig deep into their coffers and pay up. At one point, he had been practically drowning in his own wealth.
And from such an influx of new ingredients, his culture revitalized and gave birth to such scrumptious meals and tasty treats. Nowadays, Italian culture was not whole unless you made a mention of their food. It was only proper. After all, Italian cuisine was among the best in the world. If not, the best.
"My dear, I don't believe you're quite right about that. It was proven time and time again that French cuisine is just as good, if not better than yours." The representative of France had a way with flowery words, but that did little to soothe the barbs that were embedded in his voice. "I do believe mine outshines yours."
Before Veneziano could even attempt to defend his food's honor, not that it needed the defense, another Nation came into view. Like the other two, she was a European by origin and birth. She kept her flaxen locks that she inherited from Mother Gaul short while her dark green eyes glittered with mischief. For reasons unknown, she held a small parcel in tastefully hued paper in the crook of her arm.
"Well, hello there!" She called out with ready enthusiasm. "I was happy to find Romano, but instead, I see you two bickering."
At that segue, Veneziano beckoned for her input as he said, "Bella, do inform us: whose cuisine is better, Italian or the French?"
Belgium balked. She fingered the parcel that was held in her hands before shooting a suspicious look at both of her European coworkers. "Why must I choose between a close neighbor and a dear friend?"
France saw his opportunity and took it. "You don't think of me as a dear friend? I'm hurt!"
"Ah!" Belgium's eyes comically bulged out as a small gasp left her pursed lips. "That's not what I meant at all, France. Perhaps I should have been more tactful." A hearty blush dusted her cheeks, but the glimmer of mischief still decorated her eyes. "How honest should I be if I were to pass judgment?"
"Best to break out hearts, or rather, Veneziano's soon. Non?"
As Veneziano shot the older blond a venomous look that promised retribution should he get the Frenchman alone, the Belgian woman spoke. "Well, since you did ask nicely… I do believe that Belgian cuisine is perhaps the most palatable."
Veneziano couldn't help but send the Belgian woman a look that was equally as venomous as the one he sent the Frenchman.
"Belgium, perhaps you should get your hearing checked along with your tact," the Italian couldn't help but seethe. It was rare to see him so worked over such trivial matters, but he was Italy. And what was Italy most known for? Food! Food was the lifeblood, the conversation, the heart of every true child of his Nation. To dismiss Italian cuisine as something second rate was like spitting in the face of good taste. And his face. You just spat in his face, you monster. "Or, perhaps you're unfit to pass a proper verdict?"
If either of the two Nations were stunned at the Italian's overly emotional outburst, they didn't show it. Similar arguments concerning different aspects of one's culture had occurred in the past. While the Italian usually avoided confrontation, there were triggers that one never let go of. For the Romance Nations, they were very particular about their cultures.
Belgain's eyes narrowed. "Maybe you two should ask someone who has tasted both of your cuisines… and possible even more in order to form a more educated opinion."
France huffed. "And who has the stomach or the patient to eat many different foods to—"
"My dudes! Did someone say food?" A bouncing American bounded into the Europeans' space, a wide grin splitting his face in two. Normally, he would have entered the meeting a little later (but still earlier than most), but today was a day worthy of firsts. "Yo, my good woman, Belgium, that a gift for me?" He waggled his eyebrows in the box's direction before the blonde playfully swatted his arm.
"Ciao, America!" Veneziano greeted happily. "You've had experience with other Nation's foods, right? Whose is better, mine or France's?"
At that moment, America puffed up his chest in what appeared to be misplaced pride. Although he could be quite useful and hilarious at times, Veneziano found himself bristling with anticipation. The overbearing loudmouth of an American opened his mouth and said—
"Belgium!"
"Pardon," France asked sweetly as possible—a fact that was completely at odds with the menacing look on his face. "Italy happened to talk about French and Italian cuisine, not Belgian food."
"My good Frenchman, Belgium has the best chocolate in the world!" American pointed to the snickering woman, who raised her parcel (a box of chocolates) and shook it to emphasize her point. "Not to mention that she also makes the best waffles! What do you guys have? Snails? Tomatoes?"
"Crepes."
"Great! Then French cuisine."
Veneziano's mouth spoke faster than his mind could comprehend. "W-what about cannoli? Tiramisu? How could you choose them over me?"
America shrugged. "Can-a-what now?"
Veneziano turned away from the conversation, his shoulders slumped over in a classic pout.
It was a sad day when the world brainwashed themselves into thinking that Italian food was not worthy of praise.