Screwa di Jeannie Amidst all the merry-making, tree-trimming, and nog-drinking of this holiday season, I feel the need to take a step back and tell a story of heart-ache, and, more importantly, pecuniary loss.  Several days have passed since the incident of which I speak, and I now feel able to talk about my feelings.  More specifically, I am able to talk about my feelings of hate.  Hate for the family style dining at Buca di Beppo. Buca di Beppo, in addition to having a silly name that my mom loves to say over and over again with gleeful child-like bliss, is an Italian restaurant specializing in huge entrees and inequitable bill splitting.  The smallest portions are designed to feed 2 –3 people.  If a large group of friends has a hankering for big dish of immigrant Southern Italian cooking with a side of witty repartee from the sassy waiter, then Buca di Beppo is the place to be.  If however, you are a recluse vegetarian who enjoys eating in silence, I would recommend staying home and knitting. I unfortunately, made a rather expensive mistake.  Not only did I lose my life savings by investing in Segways, but I also agreed to dine with a large group of peers at Buca di Beppo.  Upon arriving, I realized that not only was I not very hungry, but that I was likely to be the only vegetarian in a group of 13 hungry boys and 3 ladies.  My friend Jay, who I do not blame for the Southern Italian malfeasances that ensued, made sure that there was meat-free food available to me, and bless his heart, there was – for approximately ten seconds.  I snatched two cheese-filled raviolis before the scavenging began, and before I had time to ask if it was Atkins-friendly, they were all gone.  Jay took pity on me, and slid me two additional raviolis, but the men were not satiated even after 3 meaty dishes and a good amount of cheese-ravioli that rightfully belonged to me.  Fueled by five liters of wine, (that I helped finance but did not partake in), they ordered fifty dollars worth of additional food.  Trying to be cool, I silently calculated the grand total in my head for a greater part of the meal. “4 entrees at 98 dollars– not too bad.  Someone got a big salad.  Add 15.  Divided by 16….  That’s still only seven per person.  Add the tip… the waitress is pretty good, but she told us to call her Mama Bucca, sort of scary – let’s say 15%.  So that’s about 8.  Two dollars a ravioli.  Oh well.  There was a lot of free bread.”  But there was talk of more food.  What?  We had 4 entrees meant to serve 4-6 people.  Who ate all that freaking food?  I know I didn’t.  I didn’t oppose to the merciless consumption of veal, so why are they punishing me?  “Ok, so now it’s about 160, split 16 ways.  An even ten.  Plus tip.  Mary mother of god, I am getting screwed.  Maybe I can just leave now, throw five dollars at the table and run.  Hold on, we’re splitting the wine now?  Come on.”  Jay, another non-imbibing diner, and I exchanged looks.  Mine said, “They can go to hell.  There are only three acceptable occasions to pay for others to drink.  1. It is their birthday.  2. You are a man and have no qualms about taking advantage of a drunk girl/guy.  3. You are Oprah and have billions of dollars and just paid for your entire studio audience to get loaded.” Jay’s said, “That’s unfortunate.  I guess we have to pay because I’m easy going and like these people.” I spent the remaining time willing people to be full and hoping for an electrical outage where I could disappear and possibly begin looting. No such luck. By the end of the meal I had learned a couple of lessons. First, 4 raviolis at 4.25 a piece taste much, much worse than those that come out of a can. It is the bitter taste of defeat. It cannot be masked with parmesan. Second, if you want a good deal on a meal at Buca di Beppo, round up a few lactose-intolerants or anorexics and when it comes time to split the bill, they really ease the burden. Fortunately, I got free water and I didn’t end up having to pay for the salad.