One of the many gaps in my knowledge - in fact my knowledge is nearly all gaps - is that I don't know any Italian. It looks and sounds melodic, romantic and beautiful, even if the subject matter is ugly, as it is (probably) in the passage quoted below. Dutch, by contrast, looks ugly and rather comical, even if it is about something delicious. (You can't get much more delicious than "slagroom", which means, whatever you may think, "whipped cream".)

Rosemary Righter writes - for that is what righters do - in The Times on her experience in an Italian hospital:

I was summoned to see Dottore Biscottini, the primario heading the hospital medical team. (Umbrian surnames are a constant delight. Biscottini means little biscuits, the cardiologist is aptly named Professor Fuoco – fire – and the intern on duty that day was an elegant beanpole called Gambacorta, “Doctor Shortleg”, she said cheerfully, in English.) I told him that London hospitals could not have matched his team’s speed, efficiency, thoroughness and good humour.

Dottore Biscottini is not the first Italian gentleman to be named after biscuits. This, as any fule kno, was Garibaldi. But not many people know that Garibaldi had a rather vulgar cousin, Giami Doggia.