Chapter 38: Italian Meal

As an immigrant nation, don't think Americans only rank people by skin color; even among white people, they're split into tiers high and low.

Defeating a host of strong enemies and making America an English-speaking country means that ethnic groups from other regions are, from the start, a notch below those English blokes who came off the Mayflower.

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

Say no more—just listening to them firing off in their mother tongues leaves no room for outsiders to jump in. That alone tells you how strong the bonds inside these ethnic groups are.

In any case, the old white guy at the photo studio, after dragging Henry into the photography room and snapping away with click-click-click-click, immediately introduced Henry to an enthusiastic Italian bloke. Key point! Neither of them was from Sicily.

Otherwise Henry would have to worry about getting coshed and dragged into a dark alley to have his kidneys harvested.

Oh, I'm a Kryptonian, no fear~

Regardless, having someone lead the way is better than buzzing around like a headless fly, crashing into things blindly.

As for whether the guide has other intentions, after learning his lesson from old Tom, Henry pays special attention to the usual lie-detection cues. Like heartbeat, breathing, eye-movement speed, and any signs of abnormal sweating, and so on.

Still, fortunately, before exposing that he has a few hundred thousand krypton in backing, these Italians only want to squeeze a bit more money out of him.

The main thing was the old white guy at the photo studio whispering to his partner to ruthlessly recoup the share he hadn't earned! Completely unaware that to a Kryptonian's super-hearing, this was no different from saying it right in front of Henry.

For ordinary buyers, the asking price is a hundred; for acquaintances, add fifty. The scam is to scam the people you know—don't think being acquainted gets you a discount.

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

Coming from a society where food is king, not missing a single meal is the most basic responsibility to oneself. So Henry asked directly: "Is there anywhere nearby where we can talk business and also eat?"

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

Mainly since the rise of the hippies, all sorts of bizarre food cultures have entered the public eye. Vegetarianism is the most ordinary one, and those wild religious groups have each pushed their own taboos or health doctrines, leaving ordinary folks totally confused.

Henry certainly didn't have that many quirks. He replied: "No restrictions. As long as it's not human flesh, not poop, I can eat it. Of course, if you pick a restaurant that puts me in a foul mood, that probably won't help our upcoming negotiations."

"Hey, relax." The Italian patted Henry's shoulder, smoothly stroking his big handlebar mustache, and said warmly: "We're not English blokes. Can you believe it—their best cuisine at home is actually French food!

"Since the Roman era, Caesar conquered from east to west all for the sake of food. Later the Papal States and the Renaissance carried it further—Italian cuisine has long been the world's best cuisine, bar none!

"I'll take you to a restaurant run by one of our countrymen. The food there will absolutely have you singing its praises. Like holding the most beautiful woman and tasting her honey-sweet kiss."

Caesar really went conquering for that? You're not pulling a fast one on me for being uneducated, right? The Kryptonian is second-guessing himself.

One trait of Italians is that they use a lot of hand gestures when talking. They chat like a one-man stage play, one routine after another, dazzling to watch and extremely persuasive.

In any case, Henry was sweet-talked into going. No driving needed—just two blocks down, an Italian restaurant that looked pretty ordinary.

The chef and waiter inside were a married couple, broad and cheerful, all smiles.

Because it was the lunch rush, the restaurant was a bit busy. But the aroma wafting through made Henry's mouth water before he'd even tasted a dish.

After leading him to a secluded empty seat, the older lady came over warmly to greet them and handed over the menu.

First she rattled off a string of Italian with her fellow countryman, then said: "What'll you have?"

"One pesto clam linguine, one pizza, one fried rice ball. And a bottle of table wine."

Henry's huge appetite drew a strange look from the Italian and the older lady.

Our thin-skinned Kryptonian had no choice but to explain: "The food smells so good here, I want to try everything. Let's start with these three today. Don't worry, I won't waste it—I can really eat."

Then turning to the Italian, he said: "For lunch, let's each pay our own. Don't worry about me eating you out of house and home."

Flattered, the older lady beamed and responded with another flurry of animated gestures. Henry secretly thought: I should find time to learn Italian, so I won't have to stand here clueless, just smiling along.

Oh, thinking about it, French, German, Swedish, Danish, Greek, Spanish, and Portuguese are all worth picking up too. Because you might hear any of them in America.

The Italian, who'd been hinted he didn't need to pay, ordered himself a plate of macaroni. True to his warm nature, he said: "If you can eat it all, the food here will absolutely satisfy you."

Before the dishes came, the older lady first brought over a freshly opened bottle of white wine.

Although a Kryptonian's constitution means Henry can't get drunk, in European cuisine wine is part of the meal itself. French cuisine even has the term 'Mariage' to describe the perfect pairing of food and wine. That's why Henry ordered a bottle.

He poured a glass for himself and the Italian, took a sip, and swished it around his mouth. A wonderful astringency stimulated the taste buds.

But Henry didn't come here just for the food. He set down his glass and said to the Italian: "You should have the house listings in your bag, right? May I take a look?" Henry's gaze flicked toward the briefcase the Italian had brought.

"No rush, young man. Let me ask first—what's your purpose in coming to Los Angeles? How long do you plan to stay? Any budget limits? Do you mind sharing a place? Tell me about these first, and I'll screen some suitable houses for you."

Mm, fair enough. Those are indeed things to consider.

Henry said: "I'm looking for opportunities in Hollywood. I don't know how long I'll stay, but at least over a year. Budget-wise, nothing too expensive—a regular apartment will do, don't go finding me a villa in Beverly Hills. As for sharing…"

Sharing would definitely be cheaper. But Henry has some secrets, and besides, his funds have plenty of room—no need to gamble on whether other tenants would be easy to get along with, let alone hope for some beauty of a roommate to be a bed buddy.

As the saying goes, money in the pocket, calm in the heart. Henry said: "I can cover the cost of renting a place alone, and a bigger place is fine."

New book—please follow, bookmark, and recommend. Thanks~~



(End of chapter)