How to Offend an Italian (without meaning to)

A guide to the rituals only locals know -- and the timeless art of making do

I had a strategy for my first “splurge meal” in Italy.

I was in a short-term rental near the Vatican, where there was an osteria that was too tempting to ignore forever. But after an expensive move halfway around the world, I was on a tight budget. My meals were mostly simple pastas prepared in my tiny kitchen, with an occasional panino or slice of pizza al taglio when I needed a break.

Then came a small victory: an editor gave me my first green light on an Italy story pitch. I decided to celebrate.

I ordered a bistecca di manzo with a side dish -- nothing extravagant, but for me, a treat. The plan was simple: eat half that night, save the rest for the next day. So, between savory bites of steak, I filled up on bread and grissini. When I was halfway through, I told the waiter I was full and couldn’t possibly finish. Would he bring me a bag to take the rest home?

“A bag?” he repeated.

I’d only just started taking Italian classes. “Si, a bag. Or a box. For food.”

“Bag or box?”

“Si, per favore. Conoscere ‘doggy bag?’”

A look of recognition lit up his face. “Ah, si, si -- doggy bag.” He whisked my plate away and I began to imagine the steak sandwich I’d have for lunch the next day.

A few minutes later, he returned with a proud smile and a plump bag full of bones and other assorted kitchen scraps. He handed it to me.

“For you dog,” he said.

And that’s how I learned one of the many unwritten rules of Italian culture: doggy bags are not a thing.