After a five hour plane ride and eating only Cinnabon, reheated airport pizza (the frozen kind that sits under heat lamps for 17 hours), and peanuts, one could almost give up on food altogether.
But not my brother.... No, he is a champion eater. It's like, as soon as he enters someone's front door, an undeniable force pulls him towards the refrigerator, leaving him no other option than to sniff around for some means of satisfying his caveman-like craving for "cibo" <--word of the week:)
It is borderline disgusting.....until I remember that 100% of his blood is Italian, and then it just makes sense.......still in a weird, disgusting way.
But - il mio fratello....well, he is the Michael Phelps of eating. We went to Maryland together last year and as soon as we arrived, our 'grammy' had spaghetti and meatballs on the stove....which still, was not soon enough for my brother... so he made his way towards - you guessed it - the fridge. (I'm telling you, it's the force...)
Anyways this ever so attractive picture of him (above) calls to mind the athletic ability that is deeply innate in any Italian man. Believe me, I was raised by one, I was a sister to one, I am married to one, and now, I am raising one...
And if he turns out anything like his Uncle - I am putting a lock on my fridge.