Paula: — How about lunch tomorrow?
Tripp: — Sure. Wait. Tomorrow's Saturday.
Paula: — Sometimes I eat on Saturdays.

Soon we'll have a country where everyone is busy eating lunch.

— In Italy, lunch hour is from one to four.
— Three hours for lunch?
— Mr Armbruster... here we do not rush to drugstore for chicken sandwich and Coca-Cola. Here we take our time. We cook our pasta. We sprinkle our parmigiano. We drink our wine. We make our love.
— What do you do in the evening?
— In the evening we go home to our wives.