If you’ve never sat for one of those boisterous, chaotic, noisy (and often drunken) Italian meals, you’re seriously missing out. We’re talking about those meals during which the banter with the flirty waiter is only silenced by a clamorous “tanti auguri” for the birthday at the table over, during which the house wine definitely flows thicker than the blood to your brain, during which you laugh, cry, cry from laughing and laugh from crying with the people you love most. We’re talking about those meals during which time and worries feel suspended and the 3+ hours go down easier than the 3+ courses + espresso (+ digestivo, maybe, for good measure). 

The aftermath of such events–when diners are done and pant buttons undone–are just as chaotically beautiful: crumpled napkins, discarded pizza crusts, sugo-stained white tablecloths (our team may single-handedly fund the bleach market in this country). An upturned sugar sachet has created a grainy dusting on one end of the table, while a few stray olive pits have rolled off the other side onto the floor. A crust of bread–the slice was too big for the required scarpetta–lies abandoned. Wet circles pay remembrance to the wine glasses that the aforementioned flirty waiter just bussed. 

This chaos is a fleeting imprint, a collaborative artwork, of the food that was eaten, but also the time that was had, soon to be washed away and replaced with a new canvas–polished silverware and a fresh, crisp, hopefully bleached tablecloth. A chaotic table doesn’t necessarily have to come from a celebratory event or large group, however: as long as time was taken to sit and enjoy a meal, the chaos of the table can speak for itself. So you know you’ve had a good meal (and a helluva time) when your table, if only for a few minutes, looks like this: