The waiter has just placed my dish on the table. I grab my fork and get ready to start when I see him coming with a wooden tool. "Some pepper, Sir?" I take a closer look at that dark brown club: what I had at first taken for a stick, is actually a half meter long pepper mill. I haven't had the time to reject his offer: I look at him fervently grinding his pepper, while a blanket of spice is coating my pasta. Anyway pepper is fine with me, I forget about it and start to eat.
During my meal I keep watching the waiter that walks with his tool around the hall. Sprinkling pepper on pasta and eating garlic bread: somebody spread the word that they are Italian must-does. With his left hand he holds the grinder in the middle, while the right one on top is ready to mill. He offers every patron two turns of the knob.
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