It rolled off the table and onto the floor…

Last week, my husband and I celebrated our 21^st wedding anniversary. Our teens opted to stay home, so I made a hasty reservation for an available table at one of our favorite spots, and John and I headed out to dinner—just the two of us.

John ordered a lovely Italian salad, and I picked a caprese salad that comes with arugula, sliced grape tomatoes, and crispy breaded eggplant. On the top, the piece de resistance, is a shimmering ball of fresh mozzarella, drizzled in olive oil and balsamic vinegar. I’ve had this restaurant’s caprese before, and it never disappoints.

Our plates arrived. We admired them, and I took a quick photo before digging in. The camera always eats first, as they say.

The mozzarella is the best part, so I was starting in on the arugula and saving the mozzarella for a bit. John and I were deep in conversation, and I was taking a sip of water when I felt something brush against my leg.

It was the mozzarella. It had slid off the stack of eggplant, tomatoes, and greens on the plate and dropped to the floor. I sat and looked at it, far beneath our hightop table, still shimmering but no longer edible.

I suppose I could have cut my losses and let it go. Maybe that would be the right thing to do. But fresh mozzarella is fresh mozzarella. It is the gold in the mine. The gift in the package. The fudge on the sundae.

So, when our waitress stopped by to check on us, I told her what I had happened. I thought she would handle it very matter-of-factly, but she thought it was hilarious. She got the attention of a bus boy, who laughed as he cleaned up the cheese. We all had a good laugh together, and the waitress promised to bring more mozzarella.

Even though we had all been friendly enough earlier, the whole mood changed for the better. We were no longer simply diners in the restaurant. We were characters in a story. We were that lady whose mozzarella fell on the floor and her husband.

Any boundaries between us were gone. We were all in this together. The waitress delivered the cheese, and the maître d’—also suddenly more of a friend than a stranger—stood ready to remove the plate and enjoy a laugh, too.

I was struck by how the tiniest incident can bring people together.

We are all craving connection. We are looking for a smile and a laugh and a moment of experiencing life’s joys together.

None of us want the cheese to fall on the floor, but we also can appreciate the humor in the moment. An hour later when we were paying the check and saying goodbye, we had a deeper connection.

It was all thanks to a ball of mozzarella and gravity that pulled it to the floor.

And now “On Top of Spaghetti” might be stuck in your head, too. You’re welcome.

Copyright © 2025 Catholic Review Media

 Print