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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