My good friend "Irish" emailed me a cultural piece about growing up Italian in America. Our email group were the babyboomers who grew up in the late forties and 50s. We're Italian, Irish, Polish, etc). Most of us are seconnd generation. All the grandparents and some parents came over on the "boat".
After I read this piece, all the Italians related to just about every bit of it. Our experiences growing up Italian were so similar you would think we all belonged to the same family. Here's some of the nostalgia from the email. More posts to follow sporadically.
Sunday Dinner for Italians
Italians have a $40,000. Kitchen, but use the old gas stove in the basement to cook.
There is a religious statue somewhere; in the hallway, living room, bedroom, front porch or backyard.
There's a bowl in the living room that's filled with old wedding favors; stale white almonds wrapped in a white net tied with a white bow (they are too pretty to open).
A portrait of the Pope and Frank Sinatra hangs somewhere in the house.
God forbid if anyone EVER attempted to eat Chef Boy-are-Dee, Franco American, Ragu, Prego or anything else in a jar or can (tomato paste is the exception).
Meatballs are HUGE made with Pork, Veal and Beef. Italians don't care about cholesterol.
Turkey is served on Thanksgiving, AFTER the manicotti, gnocchi, lasagna and soup.
ITALIAN WEDDING SOUP is not served only at weddings.
You came home from church, stuck a chunk of Italian bread in the GRAVY pot and snuck out a fried meatball. It's not red sauce, it's red gravy.)
Sunday dinner started at 1:00 and ended around six. The meal went like this...
Homemade wine and bottles of coke are on the table.
First course, Antipasto-change plates. Next, Macaroni (All pasta is called Macaroni)...change plates.
After that, roasted meats, roasted potatoes, overcooked vegetables... change plates.
THEN and only then (NEVER AT THE BEGINNING OF THE MEAL) would you eat the salad (HOMEMADE OIL & VINEGAR DRESSING ONLY)...change plates.
Next, Fruit & Nuts - in the shell.
Espresso with Anisette and hard Cookies (Biscotti) to dip in the coffee.
The kids go play...the men go fall asleep in the living room. They slept so soundly you could perform brain surgery on them without anaesthesia..the women clean the kitchen.
The true Italians will love this and those of you who are married to Italians will understand this.
But go to this link. It's incredible, but not surprising, of another Italian posting his memories which are so much alike to mine. Link: The Joy of Growing Up Italian American.
Regards and have a great day.
Cap'n
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