Eating Asian in Italy

"What do you think of this?" Lynette held up a small bottle of El Paso guacamole. " I really want green sauce. I think I'm gonna get it." I nodded my head in agreement as she lowered the bottle into our basket. We were on a mission to find something other than Italian food. Pasta, although delicious, had run its course after the twentieth meal in a row. We were both craving the variety of foods that we had at home.
"Oooo! I found tortillas. What could we make?" I waved the one euro package of Spanish bread. We spent twenty minutes exploring the isles of the store looking for some kind of filler for our beenie blankets, but our venture was unsuccessful. I returned the tortillas to the shelf as Lynette stumbled across a package of ramen noodles.
“We can make Asian!” She declared triumphantly. I agreed in excitement, and we wound through the maze of isles another time to discover more ingredients. A frozen box platter of assorted seafood was added the the cart along with a package that appeared to contain some kind of Asian sauce. A bottle of Chianti red wine was included to complement our dinner ensemble. Groceries purchased, we rushed back to the apartment in the rain eager to try out hand at cooking.
In the kitchen we laid out all of our stuff. “How about we start with the seafood?” Lynette suggested while pulling a frying pan out of one of the small cabinets. The pan was settled onto one of the burners of the gas stove, and the gas was turned on. Lynette used a sparker to create a glowing flame under the black metal. I tore into the packaging of the frozen shrimp, oysters, and squid and removed all of the plastic until I held in my hand a block of ice and fish.
“Should we break it up or something before cooking it?” I questioned. “There is a lot of ice on the bottom.” The two of us studied the seafood iceberg for a few minutes. We had no idea what to do with it.
“I’m sure it will be fine if we just cook it like that.” Lynette finally decided, so we tossed the fish and ice into the pan to fry. Nicole, Lynette’s roommate, strolled into the kitchen to assess our progress on the dinner. She surveyed the pot of boiling water that would contain the noodles and stared quizzically at the slowly melting seafood before walking over to the refrigerator.
“Here lets add some zucchini, onions, and garlic.” Nicole offered placing the items on a cutting board and slicing them with a large sharp knife. She was the residential cooking aficionado. Nicole finished dicing the additives and tossed them into the pan with the fish. The ice had melted by now and everything was frying correctly. We added the noodles to the boiling water, and minutes later the food was ready to be taken off the stove.
Lynette used a bowl to mix the noodles with our seafood concoction and an Asian sauce. The bowl and an appetizer of dipping chips and the guacamole were added to the table. Nicole and I doled out plates, forks, and napkins. Finally we were ready to eat. I served myself a decent potion of the noodles while munching on the green dipped chips. Using a fork, I scooped up a bite of the meal and plunged it into my mouth. The taste of the food on my tongue was unlike anything I had ever tried before, but it was fairly good. Our chef experience had ended well. The three of us stuffed our faces until we could not fit anything else into our stomachs. My first home cooked meal was a delicious success.