"Grazie." he unceremoniously grabs one of the biscotti to stop growling under his breath. Then his eyes start to water. "Perbaccho," he coughs. "Those are... nice." They do go well with the wine, he notices, while trying to wash the damn crumbly thing down.
"Oh, the Portingales brought lovely spices. And some of the things the Porte sent... were just as marvelous. What are those?", he wheezes around a second one.