Lost In Translations

Although my efforts and learning Italian before arriving weren't completely fruitless (as it turns out Rosetta Stone is much less likely to correct you than a true Italian), moments of true and complete understanding are few and far between. Though it has improved massively since my arrival, my vocabulary at first was sparce and my grammar apalling. I limped along with the little Italian I knew, and it didn't give me any trouble until a few days after my arrival.
On the third day, I was still suffering from jetlag and my Italian was wavering along with my energy. After the long trip to Loano, I could barely understand a word and was content to just nod my head and smile when spoken to in italian. At the resteraunt in the mountains, my host father began to jabber in spirited, post-wine Italian, and I nodded and smiled in tired despiration, unknowing of what I was agreeing to.
Moments later, a snail, or "lumaca" was passed down the table to me, dangling from a fork like a slimy, swinging pendalum. I looked to the snaily, then slowly up to my host father, who smiled and said "Mangia!". I clutched the fork in my hand, unable to eat the mucuosy morsel. After yet another hurried glance to my host father, I shook my head frantically no. "You promise! You promise!" he responded in heavily accented english, brandishing once again the skewered snail. My head shook with increased vigor; I was not going to eat the snail. After a few petrifying moments, he relinquished his efforts and popped the squirmy snail into his own mouth with a sitisfied smack of the lips.
whew.
Narrow escape.
Why oh why didnt I have my ditzionariolino.