I found this in my archives and it went with the photo I took in Medford:
Clerk: What are you making?
Customer: Eggplant parmagiana. It’s for my restaurant.
Clerk: Italian restaurant?
I want to eat at this place. It looks like a good solid Wisconsin supper club where you can get a good old fashioned, which is the drink my dad mentioned a few days before he died. My aunt Pat showed up the next day at the hospital with a pitcher of old fashioneds.
Customer: Dino’s, up the street.
Clerk: There are no real Italian restaurants here. They always add something they’re not supposed to.
Customer: Ours tastes like it’s supposed to.
Clerk: Bah. I’m from Naples, Italy. I know Italian food.
Customer: We’ve been in business for over 100 years. The food in the restaurant tastes just like what I ate at home when I was a little boy.
Clerk: Where you from?
Customer: Sicily. [leaves]
Clerk: Sicilians don’t know s*** about food.