Domenico the Italian lives in our basement.
We gave Dom our basement and within hours he had exploded all over it, making it his own. He had a pretty sweet setup down there - his own bathroom and shower, the nicest in the house. A full sized fridge full of premium beer and non-premium soft drinks. A washer and dryer (but banned from use, like everybody else in the house not named Ana). My kick ass 1980's stereo and a five channel surround sound home theatre system. My two guitars and small, but impressive collection of Bolivian charangos. A cold room full of my father-in-law's home made Portuguese jungle juice wine, guaranteed to paralyze your brain cells and activate your bowels. Yeah, he was rocking in the free world down there. The first thing he did was to hang this giant Italian flag over the glass door. I thought it was to provide himself with privacy, but I soon learned it was not that at all. It was a daily reminder to us that he is from the greatest country in the world, from whence comes the greatest (insert any word here) in the world. And who were we to doubt it? Especially as he was living with us through the worst season of the Canadian year when the imported Mexican vegetables are completely tasteless and we are left eating white-limbed potatoes six times a week.
I expected we'd quickly tag him with a good nickname. The Dom-inator, The Italian Stallion, Rom Com Dom, Dom the Bomb - these were the obvious ones, but none of them stuck to his olive oil aura. So it was just Dom. Or "Domenico", when I had to occasionally yell it into the basement as he was running late in the morning.
Dom was easy to have around. One thing did perplex me, though. We do a lot of cooking during the winter, and I'm not afraid to say that our kitchen produces some ass-popping good meals. Rib-eye steaks, beef stew, pork tenderloin, grilled salmon, slow-smoked ribs, roasted chicken, chicken biryani, Chinese stir frys, custom chili dogs, homemade bread, vegetables of all varieties. He was always satisfied, but never seemed overly impressed. Until, that is, Ana brought home a bag of Food Basic's cheapest frozen garlic bread as filler food one Wednesday night. Eight of them were placed on a sheet then after five minutes per side under the broiler they were tossed unceremoniously on the table beside the chicken tenders and microwaved brown beans. Dom's lovely blue eyes began to sparkle as he had his first bite. He was in heaven. The two slice quota per family member was obliterated as he tore into them like an Italian Cookie Monster. He told us with a straight face that this was the greatest food he'd eaten in Canada. Our cheeks burned red with the backhander compliment. And it didn't stop there. Ana brought home raisin bread one day. The expression on his face after taking a bite of extra-buttered raisin bread toast was one of great joy and unbelievable pleasure. Then, the ultimate discovery. And I'll say, I shouldn't have been too surprised, but I thought maybe it would be different with an Italian. Every international person we've ever introduced this dish to has fallen in love with it. What is this magical dish, you ask?
We knew when we were beat. Marty gave him a few slices of the Meat Lovers Special and the whole conversation ended right there and we never spoke of it again.
We had an amazing time. We drove through snow squalls on the way to Detroit then had our van ripped apart at the border, where the guards even opened a bag of sealed popcorn to look for concealed drugs or Mexicans then spilled innocent kernels all over the seats while we waited patiently inside for the stone-faced agents of law to issue Dom a visitor visa. We saw an incredible Battle of the Bands competition at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. We visited two amazing art galleries. We had a rollicking foosball tournament. We played blackjack. Magnus got his ear pierced at a grisly tattoo joint. We ate out in restaurants. We went for a morning polar dip in the chilly waters of Lake Erie. And we ate fresh Krispy Kreme doughnuts. It was a magical weekend.
But now, it's back to just Ana, Stella, and I as Dom has moved on. The garlic breads have been piling up in the freezer because nobody's eating them. The raisin bread has gone stale. The Kraft Dinner...well, the Kraft Dinner's fine and we're still eating that.