continue … It should be no surprise that the only Italian region with an autonomous culture of the cicchetto (Venetian translation of "snack") is the Veneto, and in particular, Venice. There, bar-hopping is one of the more popular sports. Being a bit drunk is a constant for much of the resident community (I know this because I am Venetian, and son and grandson of impenitent, inveterate drinkers). A glass of Clinton and a Bitter Spiz alternated with something salty to eat as an excuse to go on drinking.
Moving some thousands of miles away, there is Manhattan, world center and paradise of international cuisine.
In that affluent, happy island (is it a defect of island dwellers?), when invited to a party one mustn't assume that someone at some point will get busy with cooking in the kitchen. As you enter, you are given a glass and it will be in that company that you will enjoy the party (which becomes progressively more merry and uninhibited) and there will most probably be not a hint of food. Or, perhaps there will be snacks (which describes the number of serving dishes piled high with pieces of orange cheese surrounded with crackers). Snacks in Manhattan have the same function as the Venetian version mentioned above (which we will go into further in the section on Venetian cooking), but are worse, much worse. On the other hand, the more you drink, the more the wine improves.

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