Whenever my mom made spaghetti and meatballs, it was a big night in our family. Not only did everyone love it, but it had the added benefit of making me the most popular kid in my neighborhood, at least among my 6-year-old peers.
My mom didn't pass out samples. The attraction came in the form of my oldest brother, Scooter, who had many talents, but the most impressive was his ability to eat spaghetti and meatballs. "Eat" doesn't really do it justice. He would put on a show, and I was his eager assistant.
First I would line up my friends in front of a large picture window that had a clear view of our dinner table. There was always a bit of jostling as they jockeyed for the best position. After all, Scooter was a legend in eating spaghetti and no one wanted to miss a bite. What if this was the last show? What if this bowl was the one that made his stomach explode? No kid wanted to miss that spectacle.
Next, I would parade the bowl in which Scooter's spaghetti would be served in front of my friends, who gasped in amazement. My friends understood their role in the production, much the same way that a theater of moviegoers knows when to toss the toast at "The Rocky Horror Picture Show."
Of course, the bowl was not ordinary. It was certainly not the cereal bowl that my spaghetti came in. It was my mother's largest mixing bowl. It was a bowl so large no man could possibly conquer it.
But Scooter was not just any man. He was a tall, athletic, 19-year-old eating machine.
Once the audience was at the height of their anticipation, Scooter would make his appearance and, with a flourish, pull his seat from the table and sit down. My mother, who was a good sport about this bit of silliness, would serve Scooter his dinner first, so all my friends could witness the demonstration without the distraction of other family members at the table.
With a level of solemnity befitting the occasion, my mother would slowly enter with the gigantic bowl, filled to the brim with spaghetti and meatballs, and set it in front of Scooter, who would lean in, close his eyes and inhale the aroma. Then he would look at the admiring crowd and give a big thumbs up, after which the eating would begin.