Speaking generally, Italy is a country where failure to eat what is put in front of you is often met with disappointment. Sometimes the disappointment is internalized and then becomes a bit aggressive. “You don’t like it?” (Disappointed.) Why not?” (Vaguely accusatory.)

While in Florence, at a perfectly adequate restaurant, I did not feel like a big supper after a big lunch.

The other five people at the table had at least one plate, some of them two.

When I said I would have l’insalata Caprese, and that would be fine, thank you, the waiter immediately said: “What, are you on a diet?”

He was openly hostile to me for the rest of the evening. (Including butting in to a conversation, of which he knew nothing.) It was not pleasant. Arriving at his restaurant without being ravenous was, apparently, rude.

And I don’t mind naming the restaurant: Il Profeta. Which generally gets good reviews but produced the rude waiter and also is particularly expensive (it’s noodles, for goodness sake) and especially for its signature “mystery” dish, the John Travolta, a teeny bit of pasta in a sort of lobster bisque sauce.

(One member of our party, reacting to a direct question, told the owner he “hadn’t loved” the mystery dish, and the proprietor reacted as if our companion had intended “dire insult” rather than “honest answer”.)

So, two days later, when we rolled up to an agritourismo farm/restaurant just north of San Gimignano, I feared the worst. Especially when one review read: “Too much food. Too much wine.”

My fears were not unfounded.

Agritourimso generally means a rustic eatery based on a farmhouse and serving traditional dishes incorporating ingredients preferably found in the local area. And usually lots and lots of food.

And the woman in charge … let’s call her Latizia … urged everyone to “Eat! Eat!”

The Americans sat at one end of a U-shaped “family style” table. We had a group of eight, and I counted 26 people eating — all of us on the same menu on the same schedule.

First up: antipasto of bruschetta (excellent) and prosciutto/salami (perfectly fine, but far, far too much of it) and salad. Latizia made clear she expected us to eat all of it. Every few minutes, she came by to see how we were progressing, and hector us about finishing.

So by the time we were done with the first round, probably all of us had eaten a quarter-pound of ham. Maybe twice as much as we would have had without Latizia’s “joking” prompts/threats. “No dessert for you!” Et cetera.

Next up: The pasta dish, which was mounds and mounds of pici al ragu. That is, particularly thick noodles, a specialty of the area, with a meat sauce with wild boar and other meats. A bowl of it was fine. A second bowl was a bad idea. A third bowl was necessary if we were to satisfy Latizia.

(A teenager sitting near us was given an entire serving plate of the dish, an amount that would have been plenty for four, and was expected to eat all of it. He somehow managed it.)

About then, one of our neighbors, who was staying at the bed and breakfast on the grounds, warned us that the meat dish was still to come.

Third dish: Skewers of pork, chicken, pork sausage (salciccia) and peppers. Again, too much. Again, pressure to consume. One member of our group, urged to have another skewer, held up the three empty sticks from skewers he had consumed. Latizia backed off.

Fourth dish: Cheese and honey. The former was two types of pecorino, the later was from bees on their farm. It was fine (though the young/soft pecorino was a little weird) … but I had lost interest in eating back at the pici dish.

The dessert: Tiramisu, which I was told was good.

As for wine, they served a local red, and we could have had as much as we liked … but it was about three bottles for the eight of us, over the 2.5 hours we were there.

At the end, a bottle of grappa was placed on the table, and coffee was offered. By this time, Latizia had given up harassing us. Thank goodness.

The food? Fine. The pici al ragu was very good, but in retrospect I associate it with pain.

The service. Fine, including what may have been grandchildren. None of them insisted we clean our plates — aside from Latizia who was, admittedly, the primary server.

So, yes, too much of a good thing can easily be achieved while traveling. Especially in Italy, where not eating big or not finishing is considered bad behavior. Maybe Americans didn’t actually invent super-sized portions.