Politics and pizza

Last night Loralyn and I went to Divino.  I love their pizza as much as I love Zaffiro’s. The two are very different, it’s like apples and oranges. Well, maybe more like oranges and tangerines. Anyhoo. We were seated in a booth and I noticed that Loralyn was no longer invested in my scintillating discourse but was instead eavesdropping on a neighboring table where a gentleman, well, a man anyway, was speaking rather loudly to a young lady at another table. I turned in time to hear her say, “Actually, I think you are remarkable.” And after a pause she said, “Remarkably stupid.”

And then all hell broke loose. The guy started to yell that immigrants were ruining America, that they were lazy, filthy, uneducated and stupid. Yelling this. Ruining America. And then the woman, a young, very pretty blond woman told him to leave. And at this other people at different tables started yelling at him, Loralyn and I included. 

I had not yet seen the Homeland Security Secretary get hooted out of a Mexican restaurant but it was remarkably similar. Except that this particular douchebag was not a cabinet member. Although, I’m pretty sure he’s intimate with the liquor cabinet.

Our waitress who turned out to be a Native American did not get involved which, I am sure, is best practice for an employee, but I’d love for her to have explained to him that he’s an immigrant too. A lazy, filthy, uneducated and stupid immigrant. Actually, I don’t know if he’s lazy. He may not have been, but he was filthy, stupid and uneducated.

The pizza was transcendent. 


It was my nephew Peter’s birthday and my mom’s last day in Milwaukee before her month in California. We (not all of us, but some of us, there’s only so much family action one can deal with during the holidays) went out to Divino (formerly Palermo Villa), one of my favorite old fashioned Italian restaurants in Milwaukee. We had old fashioned Italian food and when it came time for his “birthday treat” (we asked for something special ahead of time but didn’t know what it would be) out came zeppole, little Italian donuts with candle and chocolate dipping sauce. It was perfect.

Just a few days before I had heard his mother say, “Peter is more of a donut person than a cake person.”