DeMeglio Neapolitan Cooking

getting off the island

by Francesca Di Meglio

My mother is a first generation Italian American, and she married a genuine paisano. Both of my parents hail from the island of Ischia, off the coast of Napoli and neighboring the more famous Capri. Our house, and especially our kitchen, is distinctly Southern Italian. Every Sunday is a holiday, replete with prosciutto and fresh mozzarella for antipasto, homemade tomato sauce atop pasta al dente, rabbit per secondi and espresso and pastries for dessert.

If you ask them, they'll say we're Americanized, that we've changed so much since we got off the island. But if you ask me, not much has changed at all. My aunts, uncles and cousins still live mere blocks away from us and are very much a part of our daily life, we still speak Italian in the house (even the antiquated Napolitano dialect) and we still eat three course meals when Americans are scarfing down burgers and fries on the way out of the drive through.

But it's the women who keep up our traditions. Despite having been born in Astoria, my mama is probably one of the best preservers of the family history. To think my father thought she couldn't even cook! When my papa asked her father, Rocco Di Costanzo, for her hand in marriage, my grandfather said, "Okay but Regina doesn't know how to cook." The first afternoon they spent as a married couple, my mom prepared quite a lunch. And my papa asked, "But I thought you didn't know how to cook?"

"My father didn't tell you that I knew how to read," my mom said. "If you know how to read, you can cook!"

She was always willing to try out new recipes and she already knew all the popular Italian ones-- lasagne, marinara sauce, aglio e olio, zeppole, etc. She infused the family with a sense of adventure in the kitchen. She still does. We start young, too. Just a few weeks ago, she threw a party for the kiddies (her great nieces and nephews who range in age from 1 to 4 years old) to celebrate Easter. She taught them how to dye Easter eggs with red onion skins like our nonna did. (In fact, many old Italians swear that the store-bought dyes are poisonous.) She also baked cookies with them and made icing that looked like paint, so the kids could decorate them. Before the day was over, our "food really was art," and we had worked up one mean sugar high. Further proof that my mama really is a sweetheart. I'm not sure we'll ever completely get off the island. But I'm also not sure that we want to.

About Francesca: Francesca is 23 years old and lives at home in northern New Jersey with her mama and papa. She is currently an assistant editor at Ladies' Home Journal, where she writes about a variety of subjects including travel.

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		getting off the island by Francesca Di Meglio My mother is a first generation Italian American, and she married a genuine paisano. Both of my parents hail from the island of Ischia, off the coast of Napoli and neighboring the more famous Capri. Our house, and especially our kitchen, is distinctly Southern Italian. Every Sunday is a holiday, replete with prosciutto and fresh mozzarella for antipasto, homemade tomato sauce atop pasta al dente, rabbit per secondi and espresso and pastries for dessert. If you ask them, they'll say we're Americanized, that we've changed so much since we got off the island. But if you ask me, not much has changed at all. My aunts, uncles and cousins still live mere blocks away from us and are very much a part of our daily life, we still speak Italian in the house (even the antiquated Napolitano dialect) and we still eat three course meals when Americans are scarfing down burgers and fries on the way out of the drive through. But it's the women who keep up our traditions. Despite having been born in Astoria, my mama is probably one of the best preservers of the family history. To think my father thought she couldn't even cook! When my papa asked her father, Rocco Di Costanzo, for her hand in marriage, my grandfather said, "Okay but Regina doesn't know how to cook." The first afternoon they spent as a married couple, my mom prepared quite a lunch. And my papa asked, "But I thought you didn't know how to cook?" "My father didn't tell you that I knew how to read," my mom said. "If you know how to read, you can cook!" She was always willing to try out new recipes and she already knew all the popular Italian ones-- lasagne, marinara sauce, aglio e olio, zeppole, etc. She infused the family with a sense of adventure in the kitchen. She still does. We start young, too. Just a few weeks ago, she threw a party for the kiddies (her great nieces and nephews who range in age from 1 to 4 years old) to celebrate Easter. She taught them how to dye Easter eggs with red onion skins like our nonna did. (In fact, many old Italians swear that the store-bought dyes are poisonous.) She also baked cookies with them and made icing that looked like paint, so the kids could decorate them. Before the day was over, our "food really was art," and we had worked up one mean sugar high. Further proof that my mama really is a sweetheart. I'm not sure we'll ever completely get off the island. But I'm also not sure that we want to. About Francesca: Francesca is 23 years old and lives at home in northern New Jersey with her mama and papa. She is currently an assistant editor at Ladies' Home Journal, where she writes about a variety of subjects including travel. previous mother top of page next mother contact us membership agreement


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