Che Si Dice

There's Nothing Like Good Pizza

2012-02-04T07:27:00.000-08:00

I guess this past Thursday was pizza day at the Super bowl and from what I read I can see that Madonna (is she really of Italian descent?) knows nothing about pizza.

TMZ reports that Madonna bought 50 pizzas Thursday night for her entourage. She went with a local Papa John's while earlier in the day the New York Giants had pizzas flown in from New York (see below)

Thursday morning, Gaetano Corteo, manager of Umberto's, had a police escort to La Guardia airport in Queens. Special arrangements had been made at the airport to get the pizzas, in heat-retaining bags, through security quickly. The flight from La Guardia to Indianapolis is only two hours and 20 minutes non-stop, so the pizza was there for lunchtime.

Now someone should tell our NewEngland Patriots of the famous Umberto Sicilian style pizza from Boston's North End.

A Tale of Two Italy’s

2012-01-20T05:09:00.000-08:00

Capt. Schettino

The recent event of the cruise ship disaster off the coast of the island of Giglio in Italy sheds light on the lack of attention to detail and the unprofessionalism that finds the country on a downslide. The tale of two Italy’s is defined by two players in this evolving story. The Italy on the downslide is represented by Captain Schettino who seems to have taken a page out of Silvio Berlusconi’s book as one who kept telling the public that everything was ok when all around them things were in shambles.

As I read the details that are coming out in the days after the tragedy and watching and listening to the interviews of the people that were on board that ship, I have many questions. One of them is where was Captain Schettino when the ship hit rock? As one pieces together all the details from various sources the conclusion that can be made is that the captain was either in a stupor of that maybe he was in a cabin shacking up with some woman.

Another disturbing detail is that of the Captain who is to remain with his ship until he’s done all he can to salvage the lives of the passengers, but in this case runs away. This cowardly act brings to mind the history that has plagued Italy since the last World War, a history of people running away.

Out of this disaster we find a hero figure in Captain Gregorio Maria De Falco, the head of operations atthe Port Authority of that area. It is a stretch to call him a hero when all he was doing was dutifully performing his job something that Captain Schettino had shirked. So in light of Schettino’s inactions he comes across as a hero.

Capt. De Falco

It is Captain De Falco who spots Schettino on land and reprimands him, yelling, “Get back on board! Damm it!” "It is an order. Don't make any more excuses. You have declared 'Abandon ship.' Now I am in charge."

Schettino resisted orders to return to his ship to direct the evacuation, saying it was too dark and the ship was tipping perilously.

Italy

is sinking under the weight of their financial burdens and is looking for a leader to direct the country to make them get back on board.

Minorities in the NBA

2012-01-18T04:39:00.000-08:00

Hats off to these three Italian born basketball players currently playing in the NBA

Andrea Bargnani, center
Toronto Raptors

Marco Bellinelli, guard
New Orleans Hornets

Danilo Gallinari, forward
Denver Nuggets

Mangia Tiella

2011-12-27T05:51:00.000-08:00

Kudos to Nicola Tarallo for his wonderful book, Mangia Tiella, which has authentic Italian Recipes for the famous dish from Gaeta, Italy.

La Tiella consists of two thin layers of dough crimped around the edges to enclose a filling of seafood or vegetables. Its name comes from the pan in which it is baked. In Gaeta, the local dialect uses the word ‘tiella' to refer to a pan with low sides which flare out. Therefore, the dish created in this pan is also called tiella. The book includes many pictures and videos.

A Classical Italian Christmas Song

2011-12-09T03:50:00.000-08:00

The melody and original lyrics for "Tu scendi dalle stelle," translated "You come down from the stars," were written by Alphonsus Maria de Liguori, a prominent Neapolitan priest (later canonized) who founded the Redemptorist missionary order. In 1744, while staying at Convent of the Consolation, one of his order's houses in the small city of Deliceto in the province of Foggia in southeastern Italy, he put together the "Little song to Child Jesus".

Here it is performed by Andrea Bocelli

The Bluntness of Gov. Chrisite

2011-12-08T04:39:00.000-08:00

Even though I may not side with some of his political views, and that he endorsed Mitt Romney for president, but I do like his ability to communicate and for not being afraid to speak his mind. He may have become a person who people, dealing with a weight issue, have gravitated to especially in having to defend the stupid comments about his weight being a hindrance to becoming president. He is also categorized as being what Ray Barron would call “Gaelic and garlic,” simply because of his Irish and Sicilian descent (mom’s maiden name Grasso).

Here he is wearing his Irish/Sicilian roots on his sleeve.

"King George" Giorgio Napolitano

2011-12-03T05:19:00.000-08:00

Henry Kissinger is said to have called him his “favorite communist.”

The Italian edition of Wired magazine named him its man of the year.

He was respected enough to become one of the first Italian Communist officials to visit the

United States

back in 1978.

Some are calling him King George who enjoys an approval rating of around 8o percent.

Many appreciate his dynamism and courage especially remarkable for a man of his age and it is said that, “He is the only man capable of holding at bay the circus of ferocious beasts that is the Italian Parliament.

He is 86 year old Giorgio Napolitano, the rock that Italians cling to during the current financial turmoil.

Italians Never Put Cheese On Clam sauce, etc...

2011-11-16T04:42:00.000-08:00

If you want a real insight at what makes Italians tick I suggest you read Beppe Severgnin's books, La Bella Figura: A Field Guide to the Italian Mind and his new one Mamma Mia! Berlusconi’s Italy Explained for Posterity & Friends Abroad

Here is a small sample from Severgnini:

Italy

is a very tribal culture. There is a very tribalistic attitude toward politics. There are people who would vote for the devil if it would keep the other side out.

If you tell me that most Italians are flirtatious when they see a pretty woman, even when they shouldn't be; yes, it's absolutely true.

On Berlusconi - He wants to be loved, but also to sell something to his brothers. He's a very strange combination of a great salesman and a very insecure man who needs to be appreciated.

Like the main character of Woody Allen’s film, Berlusconi turns into innumerable different men, according to the person he is talking to. “He’s a family man and a lady’s man, an entrepreneur and a worker. He is youthful and elder, from Milan in Milan and from Naples in Naples. If he happens to go to a basketball game he even walks out taller”

Every Italian feels like Robinson Crusoe, a castaway on a crowded peninsula.

In an appearance-obsessed nation, image is key. In Italy, making the right impression wins hands down over doing the right thing.

Italians, in other words, would just as soon look good as be good. The country suffers from an ethics deficit, most clearly visible in the attitude toward taxes. Lying outrageously about one’s income is considered normal. In the United States the public regards tax evasion as morally reprehensible. If he were to cheat on his taxes in Italy, Mr. Severgnini writes, “two neighbors would come round to ask me how I did it, and two more would loathe me in silence.” No one would report him.

By the way, It is NOT correct to put cheese on clam sauce or any other type of fish sauce. Cheese tends to overpower the delicateness of fish sauces.

Ciao, Silvio

2011-11-13T04:51:00.000-08:00

A reporter from the NY Times described the atmosphere in Rome on Saturday, Nov. 12 as follows;

"Feels like Italy has won world cup. Flags, horns, crowds"

They were celebrating the resignation and departure of Sivio Berlusconi

"What the heck are you saying George?" "Calamar...calamar...where can I get me some calamar?"

Say It Ain't So, Joe

2011-11-08T14:07:00.000-08:00

I am not here to cast the first stone, but just to vent about how sad I am to hear of the disgusting news that's surfaced from of all places, Happy Valley, PA. It makes me relive the not so distant clergy sex abuse scandal in the Boston Archdiocese and it makes me lose faith in some people's decision making process.

I maintain this blog to write about my Italian heritage and try to find some individuals who are making a positive contribution in light of all the negative media stereotyping of Italians. As a kid growing up loving sports, I took a liking to the Nittany Lions from Penn State, one for their unique uniforms and two for their coach whose last name ended in a vowel.

As I read the accounts of a former defensive coordinator being arrested Saturday and facing charges that he sexually abused eight boys over a 15-year period, I ask why was this allowed? Why wasn't this nipped in the bud? I'm highly disappointed at one of my favorite coaches who failed to act unlike the paternal and fatherly way as his name (Paterno) implies. How could you be a father to thousands of boys who were in your football program over these many years and yet fail to make the right decision
when you were told of the horrific and disgusting abuse perpertrated by one of your coaches? You may have reported the incident to an athletic director but that was not acting paternal.

It seems that you may have put your football program ahead of trying to save those eight boys from being sexually abused. At the least I would have expected that you would have reported this to the police if you felt it was too much for you to face the beast that was on your staff.

I still have a hard time understanding your actions and I keep saying to myself, say it ain't so, Joe.

Happy Mamma's Day!

2011-05-07T14:51:00.000-07:00

Mamma, thank you for who I am

Thank you for all the things I’m not

Forgive me for the words unsaid

For the times I forgot

Mamma, remember all my life

You showed me love, you sacrificed

Think of those young and early days

How I’ve changed along the way

(Along the way)

And I know you believed and I know you had dreams

And I’m sorry it took all this time to see

That I am where I am because of your truth

And I miss you, yeah, I miss you

Mamma, forgive the times you cried

Forgive me for not making right

All of the storms I may have caused

And I’ve been wrong, dry your eyes, dry your eyes

‘Cause I know you believed and I know you had dreams

And I’m sorry it took all this time to see

That I’m where I am because of your truth

And I miss you, I miss you

Mamma, I hope this makes you smile

I hope you’re happy with my life

At peace with every choice I made

How I’ve changed along the way

‘Cause I know you believed in all my dreams

And I owe it all to you, Mamma

2011-04-09T12:38:00.000-07:00

How Could You Tell If He Was Italian?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Step back now to those thrilling days of yesteryear (50’s and 60’s) and see if you can answer this question.

In high school how could you distinguish an Italian boy from the rest?

You may have said:

1. by his swagger

2. Or even by his clothes
3. How about his DA haircut
4. Maybe by the olive skinned complexion
5. Or maybe by the gold chain and crucifix around his neck

Yes those are all fairly good indicators, but think hard because there was ONE sure fire sign that told you someone was Italian.

OK, if you haven’t got it by now you never will.

Answer –he was the kid carrying the brown lunch bag with the (olive) oil stain on the bottom.

I bring you back to 1961, the basement cafeteria of Boston Latin School; at that time an all boy’s school with a strict dress code and discipline; a school that taught you time management by giving you the least possible amount of minutes to get between classes or suffer the pain of a misdemeanor mark; a school where a good percentage of students were of the Jewish persuasion and Latin was required for all six years, that’s if you started in the seventh grade - Oh, the abuse those poor sixies (seventh graders) took from the upper classmen.

Peek into a window of the typical short lunch time a student had (I think it was about 23 minutes). I would meet a group of kids from Eastie and the North End for lunch and we’d sit at a fairly long table. Over to our right were the non-Italians. You could tell them by their neatly folded and creased little flimsy brown bags (bags bought specifically for lunches) made to house two slices of Wonder bread with either one slice of bologna and cheese or PB&J. That brown bag could be neatly folded and reused for weeks for the contents did no harm to it.

Like many of the other Italian kids, our brown bags were big, thick and sturdy, for in their previous life they probably carried a few loaves of bread or a few pounds of peppers or onions, you know the number 15 industrial strength bags and weren’t so neat looking – no nice crease folded in but a top that was rolled up as best as possible and oh yes, the (olive) oil stain that by 11:30 had really permeated the bottom.

When an Italian kid was about to open his lunch bag the whole table to the right would go quiet, a precursor to the E F Hutton commercial of today as all eyes would turn to see what you had brought for lunch. Well number one you knew you had no Wonder bread but a corner of a bastone or slices of scali or French or maybe even a nice spacchi roll. This was wrapped in waxed paper that was very oily by this time and thankfully your mom had the foreknowledge of what this would look like five hours later and would always include some napkins (oh, God Bless them for they thought of everything). Inside this delicious bread was for most times the previous night’s leftovers. One of my favorites was sausage and broccoli rabe and eating one of those required using both hands. None of my sandwiches were ever cut diagonally nor could they be easily handled by two fingers as were those perfect ones that the other kids had.

We had eggs and whatever combination; with peppers, or potatoes or onions etc; all kinds of omelets between the Italian bread. Veal and eggplant parmigian, meatball subs, and cold cuts, etc. My mom was afraid that the cold cut sandwich would be too dry by itself so she always put something oily in the middle such as fried peppers for fear that I might choke. Friday was the day that you couldn't eat meat, and if I didn't have a frittata I would have tuna - no, not the one packed in water, but the Italian tuna (Genoa or Pastene) which was packed in, you guessed it, olive oil.

These were the days before plastic wrap or plastic containers so the bread became the conduit for carrying part of last night’s meal. Sometimes I would feel bad for some of those very pale white thin kids and give them a piece of my sandwich, a sandwich made with enough to last you in the event that you had to stay after school or got delayed on the T. Mom was always thinking ahead.

Our bags could not be recycled like the others and there were a few drawbacks for having such a lunch. One was that the afternoon classes were a killer because my full stomach would often times cause me to doze off. The other was that you had to be careful carrying your lunch especially on a packed Green Line train. You didn’t want to have that sandwich smashed for you would cause an oil spill. I carried my brown bag in the same hand that held on to the overhead rail.

Hey, 90% of the time we brown bagged it. The only thing I liked in the cafeteria was hot dogs and brownies – but now that I think about it my mom would also occasionally chop up some hot dogs and make a frittata; eggs and hot dogs.

We had very little but never expected that the school would feed us for nothing. We had loving parents and grandparents who loved us and made sure that we were well fed. You can keep your Betty Crocker, we had our moms who would send us off with the Italian Good Seal of Approval - tho olive oil stain on the bottom of the brown lunch bag.

What Was So Special About the North End?

2011-04-04T18:12:00.000-07:00

I came to the United States when I was not yet 9 and my widowed mom and I went to live with her uncle in Medford. I don't know exactly what happened but my mom had to leave for health reasons and we moved to the North End. The year was 1956 that found me trying to transition from a two family house in the suburbs to a cold water flat on the fourth floor at 161 Endicott Street. The building was owned by the Carusos. Mr and Mrs. Caruso had three children, two boys and a girl. Mr. Caruso was a lawyer and I remember seeing him faithfully, the first of each month as he would come knocking to collect the monthly rent of $28 for the three rooms and small bathroom which was inside the apartment unlike others that were outside and had to be shared by two families.

We left the Medford residence with our personal belongings only. My mom had to start to furnish the apartment from scratch. I remember the first night eating on the floor for we had yet to get a table. I remember that we purchased a used refrigerator that was missing the panel that covered the area on the bottom where the motor was. I remember the motor rested on two two by fours and occasionally I would see it spark when it kicked on and never suspected that a month or so later that it would be the source of a fire that engulfed the apartment.

It was around midnight when I heard and felt my mom frantically tugging at me to get up. I thought that she was joking when she said that there was a fire. The refrigerator sat between the two windows that overlooked the back enclosed courtyard where on the opposite side you could see the back of a building which fronted North Margin Street not far from the infamous Pizza Regina. Around each of the windows were sheer curtains that had already gone up in flames, flames that had now caught on to the frame of the bedroom door; flames that we foolishly would go through instead of using the fire escape; flames that were being fed by the linoleum flooring.

I remember standing in front of 154 Endicott St. in my pajamas looking up watching the firemen doing their best to put out the fire. It didn't take long to put it out since we didn't have a heck of a lot. The main damage was to the kitchen and thankfully the bedrooms weren't touched. When all was said and done we were told to stay out of the apartment for at least a week, the time needed to clear the air of the gaseous odors and smoke. Where do you go when you have no relatives? Going back to Medford was out of the question since my mom's uncle had taken ill.

This is where the true story of what the North End meant to me really starts. Without batting an eyelash, Mrs. C. who lived on the second floor offered to take me in for whatever time was needed to clean up the apartment - I had on occasion baby sat her two boys and they were all excited that I would be with them. At the same time the landlady had made a similar offer to my mom.

Even though we had no one, these two families stepped up alleviating the fears of where we would eat and sleep. Thanks to them my mom was able to continue to go to work and I didn't miss a beat in school. Each night would find us on separate floors eating supper with people who just a month earlier were total strangers. People who didn't have much space to share but made some for us.

These two families were a microcosm of what the rest of this one square mile area was all about. People helping people.

Inside those cold facades of various colored bricks were some of the warmest and caring people on earth. It was the people that made the North End the special place that it was and will always be in my heart.

2011-03-29T14:08:00.000-07:00

The Ballad of Joe and Sal

Down through the years
We've been blessed with some famous teams
But the likes of these two
Are what spoil many of a man's dreams

I laughed at Laurel and Hardy
Abbott and Costello too
Then I met Joe and Sal
What a fine how-do-you-do!

Their adventures took place
On the night shift at the P.O.
Struggling to keep their eyes open
Chasing the mail they would happily go.

Sal being older
Would tell Joe what to do
Unless there was a mistake
The he would renege on him too!

Joe and his pal
Had the routine down to a T
The things that they did
Norris never did see

Then one fateful night
While Sal was a 'keying
Many girls passed him by
Joe started laughing at what he was seeing

With one eye on the girls
And the other on the mail
Sal struck the repeat key
Making the good entries now fail

Sal and Joe went home
With a smile from ear to ear
They were called by Mr. Norris
"What the hell happened here?"

Sal started to stutter
Joe said it was a stroke of bad luck
While Sal was keying
Thunder and lightning struck.

I witnessed Dave's face
Turn from beet red to blue
He was cussing and swearing
And repeating, 'what am I going to do?'

Just at that time
Top tech Kevin came a strollin by
He said Dave don't worry
They were all business reply

Well before Joe met Sal
He had teamed up with Kevin
This was a match
That was surely made in heaven

Well Sal has retired
And Norris is babysitting
As for Joe and Kevin
Well, they're never quittin.

2011-03-29T14:00:00.000-07:00

My Father

My father, who was he?
I simply have no clue,
I never had a chance to talk to him,
He never told me what to do

I know he was a fisherman,
Gaeta, Italy he called home.
It was on this gorgeous peninsula
Where a rowboat became his throne.

He worked hard to make a living
Every day he would cast his net,
And hope that the Lord would bless him
With a catch that would pay off his debt.

He never took me with him
Oh, how I wish it wasn’t so.
He never had the opportunity
The Lord called him and he had to go

I was in my mother’s womb.
It was December of forty six,
The war had just ended
My father was twenty-six

With a coastal storm a’ brewing
A concern of tangled nets,
Brought the fisherman to Serapo beach
To what would be his last catch

As a daughter of a fisherman
My mother learned of the peril
When one deals with storms at sea
You are playing with the devil.

She had warned him many times
But his stubbornness took control
In his fight to save his nets
His last catch, a mine, would explode.

Deep inside my mother’s womb
I could feel that something was wrong.
I was at my father’s side,
One day later he was gone.

I could sense that he truly fought
To stay alive to be with me.
Oh, how I wish I could have touched him
But it just wasn’t meant to be

Two months later I came into the world
Never realizing what was missing,
You see my mother’s brothers and sisters
Played a big part in my upbringing.

I owe quite a bit to my uncle Luigi
I pray to the Lord God to rest his soul
He sacrificed eight years of his life
To be my father figure was his goal

It wasn’t until my teenage years
When I started to feel a void.
I think you too would start questioning
Some of the things you had been told.

At the age of eighteen I was given a gift
What this did for me no money could buy.
It was a picture of my father
Finally seeing him brought tears to my eyes.

I carefully framed it, kept it nearby
So that I could be close by his side
I think of him more with each passing day
And of what could have been if he were alive.

2011-03-11T08:27:00.000-08:00

Lasagna Lures a Loser

There’s a saying that, “The fastest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” It seems that police in Rome took this saying to a new level in capturing a fugitive who had eluded them for ten years.
Working on a tip as to how the fugitive had an affinity for his wife’s lasagna the police waited for Fat Tuesday, the last day of Carnival, to make their move knowing that many Italians make lasagna on that day. When the police burst into the house Giancarlo was surprised to hear, "put the lasagna down and your hands up!"

At the start of the Lenten season many people vow to give up something for the 40 day period. If you were to ask what Giancarlo Sabatini was giving up I’m sure he’d tell you lasagna and his freedom for the next three years.

Moral of the story never make a good cook your wife.

http://www1.whdh.com/news/articles/bizarre/12003744570761/lasagna-trail-leads-police-to-fugitive-in-italy/

2010-12-05T11:55:00.000-08:00

Ron Santo

As a boy growing up following some miserable years by the Red Sox, I would also have some favorite classy ball players on other teams that I followed with interest such as Roberto Clemente for the Pirates and Al Kaline of the Tigers. It's sad to hear that another of those classy players passed away at the age of 70. He was Ron Santo of the Chicago Cubs. A nine-time all-star in his 15-year career, Santo was widely regarded as one of the best players never to gain induction into the Hall of Fame.

“Ron was an inspiration to everyone as his life was defined by overcoming obstacles. It is a sad day for all of Chicago and everyone in the sports world,” said Chicago Blackhawks president John McDonough, who spent 24 years in the Cubs organization as a marketing guru and later as president.

A nine-time all-star in his 15-year career, Santo hit .277 with 2,254 hits, 342 home runs and 1,331 runs batted in. He also won the Gold Glove award five times.

Santo battled serious medical problems after he retired as a player, having undergone surgery on his eyes, heart and bladder after doctors discovered cancer. On his legs alone, he underwent surgery more than a dozen times before they were ultimately amputated below the knees—the right one in 2001 and the left a year later. He showed up in spring training in 2003 with one of his protheses wrapped in Cubs’ colors.

It feels like I just lost a piece of my past.

2010-11-16T07:18:00.000-08:00

Salvatore Giunta

For all who have been brainwashed into thinking that Italians are what the media portrays them to be - stereotyping them negatively and lumping them all together with the fictitious Soprano family et al, today will get a glimpse of the byproduct of a true family as a young man from Iowa, 25-year-old staff Sergeant Salvatore Giunta, will become the first living soldier to earn the Medal of Honor since the Vietnam War.

It's the nation's highest military award for heroism in battle and it's given for acts of extreme bravery in the face of almost certain death.

Staff Sgt. Giunta earned this honor for his actions on a remote hilltop in eastern Afghanistan on the night of Oct. 25, 2007, for repeatedly running into enemy fire to save American lives and rescue a fellow soldier from the hands of the Taliban.

I wonder how much hype will be given to this act of heroism in comparison to what is unjustly lavished on the fictitious negative portrayals.

Thank you and may God Bless You and family.

2009-08-01T04:07:00.000-07:00

BRONX, NY

An anonymous tipster has sent in the above picture of two of the men who are alleged to have taken part in the roughing up and threathining of the owner of Frankie's Gravy. It appears that there's been a running feud between Frankie from Boston and Frankie from NY about who is the rightful owner of said name.

Well last night the two men pictured above, Frankie "the meatball guy," and Sal "call me after eight," paid a visit to Frankie from NY and tried to settle the beef in an amicable way but one word led to another and a skirmish broke out. Eyewitnesses said they heard Sal threathen Frankie from NY saying, "You better leave my friend Frankie alone, if not you're going to get it," and then pointed to something hidden in his left pocket. Then just before leaving they took four jars of Frankie's gravy and poured it all over the premises.

The picture above shows them leaving the premises and they are heading for a black Mercedes that was ready to pick them up. These men are armed and dangerous. If you know their whereabouts please call the Bronx police and ask to speak to SGT. Fish, an expert on marinara sauce, who's handling the case.

2008-08-31T10:34:00.000-07:00

When will it stop????

Once again Italian/Americans have been offended. This time around the offender is a Mr. Perry Garfinkel (wonder if this is his real name), who writing in the Octobe issue of AARP magazine takes an unnecessary low blow to the 99% of the law abiding citizens of this country.

I wonder if Mr. Garfinkel's only exposure to Italian/Americans has come solely from watching The Sopranos. How else can you explain the following statement he made in the article," A cultural guide to New Jersey:"

" We New Jerseyans are not all Italian and we do not all try to kill our colleagues and bury them in the Pine Barrens."

Mr. Garfinkel, thanks for that inciteful information about the culture of New Jersey. I wonder if you make the same ignorant statements with all other ethnic groups. Please get your facts straight before you publish such garbage.

As for AARP, I am amazed that they would publish such slanderous garbage. I'm glad, I never joined your biased organization.

You owe an apology to all Italian/Americans.

2008-05-11T13:37:00.000-07:00

Famous Italians from Kenosha

The more I study the migration of Italians to this country the more I’m amazed at the places they made their home. Today I discovered that some famous Italian Americans came from, of all places, Kenosha, Wisconsin.

If you’re as old as me, you will remember that the New York football Giants had a large following in New England. I remember as a boy of ten watching the likes of Andy Robustelli, Sam Huff, Jim Katcavage, Roosevelt Grier, Roosevelt Brown, Charlie Conerly, Frank Gifford and others on TV every Sunday in the Fall. I can still hear Chris Schenkel’s voice as he broadcast their games into my living room. I was a big fan and was heartbroken when they lost the Championship game to the Baltimore Colts in 1958.

For me that game still ranks as one of the best games, even though “my team” lost, that I’ve ever seen. That Colts team had many stars and were led by the great Johnny U, Johnny Unitas. The man that broke my heart was running back, Alan Ameche. He scored the winning touchdown.

To this day, I always thought that Alan Ameche was part American Indian, but lo and behold, I just discovered that he was one of the famous Italians to come from Kenosha, Wisconsin.

Lino Dante “Alan” Ameche nicknamed “The Horse” played six seasons for the Baltimore Colts. He was a Heisman Trophy winner in college at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. He was elected to the Pro Bowl in his first four years in the NFL and is famous for scoring the winning touchdown against the Giants in “The Greatest Game Ever Played.”

Alan Ameche’s parents emigrated from Italy in 1930 and settled in Kenosha. Actors Don and Jim Ameche are Alan’s cousins. Alan teamed up with Gino Marchetti also from the Colts and founded the Gino’s Hamburgers chain.

Old #35, was the second pick in the first round of the 1955 draft and was named Rookie of the Year. He was named to the NFL 1950’s All-Decade Team and was inducted into the Italian American Sports HOF. He is also in the College Football HOF and is one of only four players to have their number (35) retired by the Univ. Of Wisconsin football team.

Now that I learned that the Giants were beaten by an Italian American, I feel that some of the sting has finally dissipated.

2007-12-29T10:19:00.000-08:00

As the New England Patriots stand at the threshold of setting a multitude of records in this 2007 season, I can't help but think of how one man has failed to get his true recognition. That man is Gino Cappelletti who played for the original Boston AFL franchise, the Boston Patrions.

Gino Cappelletti kicked the first field goal in AFL history in the Patriot's opening game against the Denver Broncos.

Cappelletti was both a kicker and a wide receiver and was named the player of the year in 1964 when he scored 155 points by catching 7 TD passes and kicking 25 field goals and 38 extra points.

Cappelletti was the American Football League's Most Valuable Player in 1964, and a five-time AFL All-Star. He is one of only twenty players who were in the American Football League for its entire ten-year existence, and one of three who played in every game their teams played in the AFL. He is a member of the Patriots All-1960s (AFL) Team.

He led the AFL in scoring five times and holds two of the top five scoring seasons in NFL history – 155 points in '64 and 147 points in '61 ... Patriots' third all-time leading receiver with 292 catches for 4,589 yards ... holds the Patriots' records for extra points attempted (353), made (342), FGs attempted (333) and FGs made (176) ... five-time AFL All-Star.

He deserves to be in the NFL Hall of Fame.

2007-11-07T03:53:00.000-08:00

Thank You CBS, Thank You Joe Mantegna

Thank God that someone had the guts to portray an Italian American in a positive role for a change. Italians for years have been portrayed as gangsters and hoodlums on the screen and TV so much so that they've gotten stereotyped as such.

These characters that have been portrayed as the "typical" Italian only represent less than one percent of the Italian American population yet I'm sad to say that it's mainly Italian Americans who devote their time, effort and money to exploit the small negative side of an ethnic group of people that have made such a positive impact throughout the history of the world. Unfortunately all the good gets buried by the glorification of some mobster and it's a shame that more Italian Americans don't speak up. Many don't realize the ramifications.

How could anything good come about (except to profit the few that are involved in such films) when one continuously portrays the one percent that's bad and holds it up to the many that don't have a clue as the heroes and role models of the Italian community ?

You say I don't have a sense of humor and that's how you escape from your ignorance. I have a sense of humor, but I can only stand to hear the same joke over and over again. The language I grew up with wasn't laced with language that can only emanate from the sewers and gutters. The four letter words that were revered in my family were work, love and pray.

I ask you Italian Americans, what would happen if the same proliferation of glorifying the bad were done to another ethnic group, how long do you think they would wait before they started complaining? Certainly not as long as us.

You're too sensitive is another line I'm hit with. Yes, you are absolutely right. I think that I have a certain threshold when it comes to sensitivity, but how much longer can I stand the negative onslaught. Maybe you've brought up your children by feeding them ninety nine percent negativity. Maybe you've brought your son or daughter to meet Don Ciccio and told tham that he was "nice" man. If so, I can see your sensitivity clearly; in my neck of the woods it's called being a cafone.

I'm sorry for getting so far off track, I intended to praise Joe Mantegna and CBS for coming out with a series called "Criminal Minds" that has Italian characters portrayed in a positive role for a change.

I haven't see the show yet but I understand that Mantegna's character's name David Rossi was no accident and was insisted on by Mantegna, and is fashioned after a Los Angeles Policeman, and meant to introduce another "positive" portrayal of an Italian American, as he has in previous roles. Mantegna joins former Chicago cop and fellow Italian American Edward Allen Bernero, the producer/ head writer on the CBS series.

2007-11-06T00:48:00.000-08:00

Send a Card To a Recovering American Soldier

A conversation overheard in front of Modern Pastry went something like this;

Agostino - "Hey Frank, che si dice, come stai?"

Frank - "Non c'e male e tu?"

Agostino - "Bene, bene, la signora me mantene sempre busy. Today I got to to the Post Office and buy one hundred stamps for Christmas. I think she still thinks stamps are a nickel. Shesa gotta this idea of mailing cards to our soldiers."

Frank - "Hey Gus, that'sa nice. You are a patriotto."

Agostino - "Oh I don't know about that, it's my wife who deserves the credit. It's her idea. I justa hope that sfaccimo of a clerk is not behind the counter today. You know sometimesa he comes to work a little umbriaco and the bossa don't wanna send him home because they gotta nobody else to take his place. Everytime I complain, they tell me to calla Masha. Onna time I call Masha and they told me she was out because she fella down the stairs. Frank, I felt so bad that I apologized to the secretaria."

Frank - "Gus, don't feel bad. See the guy over there in front of the Cafe?"

Agostino - "Who, the guy witha colla?"

Frank - "Yeah, him. Hees a mailman who got hurt on the job. The other day he was telling some people in the cafe how his bossa, a woman named Marsha, fell down some stairs after coming back from lunch. She had one too many martinis and I guess she got a little umbriaco and fell. So don't you feel bad. Shesa gonna get paid for stayinga at home."

Agostino - "Frank please, don't a tell me anymore, my stomach is starting to get acida."

The moral to this story is don't let some rude and obnoxious clerk, or the drunks at the P.O. keep you from buying stamps to send Christmas cards to our soldiers.

Follow Rosina 's (Gus' wife) lead and send a card or two or a hundred to:

A Recovering American Soldier
c/o Walter Reed Army Medical Center
6900 Georgia Avenue, NW
Washington, D.C. 20307-5001

A card might seem insignificant to you but to a person who's struggling to get back into life's mainstream, it will mean a great deal.

2007-09-06T01:18:00.000-07:00

Luciano Pavarotti

Today the world is saddened with the loss of one of the greatest lyric tenors that I've been privilidged in seeing and hearing in my life. Luciano Pavarotti the son of a baker from Modena, Italy won the hearts of all music lovers.

Even though his forte was in singing opera, Luciano was also at home singing with the likes of Bono and Frank Sinatra. He is probably well know for singing with the Three Tenors, Carreras and Domingo. who were together for fourteen years.

From his small beginnings, Pavarotti rose to great heights, performing in front of 500,000 people in New York's Central Park -- a concert seen by millions on television -- and before another 300,000 at Paris' Eiffel Tower.

He won five Grammies and was named the United Nations Messenger for Peace by Kofi Annan. His humanitarian efforts manifested themselves in the "Concerts" for Bosnia for Afghanistan and for Kosovo that raised millions for the refugees from these areas.

His signature aria was "Nessun Dorma" from Puccini's Turandot was chosen as the theme music for 1990 soccer World Cup hosted by Italy. He also performed this aria in the opening ceremony of the 2006 Winter Olympics in Turin.

Luciano tonight "nessun dorma" (no one sleeps) mourning your loss. In consolation we will all always have your recordings to soothe us.

On the website www.lucianopavarotti.com there is a miling picture of him with this following quote, “I think a life in music is a life beautifully spent and this is what I have devoted my life to.”

Addio Luciano

2007-08-28T19:55:00.000-07:00

A Great Radio Show on NPR

I've recently discovered one of the most informative and entertaining Radio shows - it's called Car Talk. The show is broadcast nationwide on NPR, National Public Radio, which emenates locally at WBUR.

The very witty and cheerful guys who host Car Talk are Tom and Ray Magliozzi and I believe they're from Cambridge, MA.

You can get more information at www.cartalk.com .

2007-08-22T16:10:00.001-07:00

A North End Treat

It’s the dead of summer, the 20th of August
A gentle balmy breeze greets the evening dusk
As two impatient buddies keep checking the time
Not knowing that I'm stuck on that dreaded Orange Line

Tresca’s Restaurant was our destination
Some jibber-jabber mixed with a bit of libation
“How you been?” and “How you dooin?”
Said Frankie over a Martini droolin.

“Here’s to you,” Sal’s Limoncello raised
As I sipped on a Campari feeling somewhat dazed.
A Wellesley grad, Tara her name
Stopped by to tell us of her claim to fame.

“Time to go,” said Frankie. “My nephew’s a waiting.
“Hold on,” muttered Sal, his socks a raising
“You like these beauties? They’re Giorgio Brutinis
Frankie outmatched him flashing his Oleg Cassinis.

Imagine the thought of an innocent bystander
“Those guys are gay,” they’d surmise by the hosiery banter.
They would have no doubts if they could see
How Sal’s always placing his hands on Frankie and me.

Giacomo's was only one block away
We were surprised at the crowd for a Monday.
The streets were littered with confetti and trash
Remnants from the Fisherman feast – last weekend’s bash.

Frankie’s nephew Chris said, “Wait in line, don’t worry.
Relax; it won’t be long, what’s your hurry?”
A mailman, a girlfriend, long time friends from the hood
Made the wait time seem short from where we stood.

What quickly impressed me was not the place
But the hard working staff, always a smile on their face.
We were escorted inside to a table for four
Located near the window right next to the door,

It didn’t take long to see why people would wait
As I ventured a peek at the food in each plate.
Merlot, soon followed by mussels in red spicy sauce
As Frankie told Sal to put away his lip gloss.

Since mussels and me don’t seem to agree
I settled for an order of fried calamari.
I watched the two goombas dipping their bread
For a moment all I could see was the top of their heads

Sal finally came up for air saying, “This is hot.”
Replied Frankie, “The mussels in sauce really hit the spot.”
For a fourth time glasses of wine were raised in cheer
As the people outside observed with a jealous leer.

It was hard to decide, Chris made recommendations
Everything I saw seemed to be wonderful creations.
Two orders of fusilli, shrimp and lobster in sauce
Veal Marsala over linguine for me OK boss?

All around I could see smiles and looks of satisfaction
Behind me a local entered yelling creating a distraction.
Without looking up I mumbled, “Chi e stu cucuzzu?”
Then I was told it was Frankie Favuzzo.

The wait staff quieted him with the gift of a buck
We ushered his exit with a toast of good luck.
From over my right shoulder appeared a large dish
Butter nut squash ravioli followed by “Uncle try this.”

“Mm, mm, mm,” was the grade for this dish
Kudos to the chef for marrying the ingredients in culinary bliss.
This was soon followed by the piece de resistance
Lobster, shrimp and sauce dressed the fusilli in elegance.

If one could commit the sin of lust from looking at food
I can expect St. Peter to tell me. “For you it’s hell, dude.”
A wonderful meal in Giacomo’s cozy environment
A family atmosphere and waiter added to the enjoyment.

“Don’t rush, relax, and finish your wine.
Don’t worry about all those people waiting in line.”
Chris took good care of his uncle and hosts
It’s to you that we offer thanks in our final toast.

Off to Graffiti for caffé and Sambuca
Look it’s the accordion player Mr. Pagliuca.
‘Hi, how are you, how’s your sister and family?”
It’s Bobby DelloRusso, everyone’s so friendly.

Once again it’s Sal showing me his socks
As if he’s some hot and handsome jock.
We enter Joe Tecce’s, they’re about to close
“Don’t worry,” says Sal, “I’ll flash my hose.”

It was getting late and the bar was empty
I decided to have a glass of Hennessey
One final toast to wish all good health
You could tell Sal was full he loosened his belt

I’ve seen some women get attention by lifting their skirts
But I never thought socks could be used to flirt.
Causing the hot flashes one gets with menopause
All stemming from Sal and his fetish for gauze.

2007-08-17T04:06:00.000-07:00

Dolores HART

Did you know that Ms. Hart is the niece of Mario Lanza?

Rumours have it that Ms. Hart had romantic attachments to Elvis Presley.

She starred with Elvis in Loving You (1957) and King Creole (1958). She left Hollywood in 1963 to become a Benedictine nun at the Abbey of Regina Laudsi in Bethlehem, CT. and eventually became Prioress.

A little tidbit about Mother Hart that would make for an interesting trivia question is that she now holds the unique distinction of being the only nun to be a voting member of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences.

2007-08-14T17:09:00.000-07:00

Joe Petrosino

I've just been informed that;

The John D. Calandra Italian American Institute (Queens College, CUNY)

and CUNY TV Studios is presenting the screening of the film

Joe Petrosino (2006)

directed by Alfredo Peyretti

as part of RAI Italian Fiction Week

(24-28 September 2007)

Thursday, September 27, 2007, 6:00 PM

CUNY TV Studios
CUNY Graduate Center
365 Fifth Avenue, Suite 1400
New York, NY 10016

Discussion to follow.

This event is free and open to the public. Seating is limited: RSVP at 212.624.2094.

Joe Petrosino (2006) stars Giuseppe Fiorello, Cristina Capotondi, and Anna Ammirat, and was written by Jim Carrington and Andrea Purgatori. "Joe" (Giuseppe) Petrosino (1860-1909) was an NYPD officer who was an early pioneer in the fight against organized crime. The various crime-fighting techniques he implemented during his career are still practiced today by law enforcement agencies in the fight against crime.

Petrosino came to the United States in 1874 from Padula (Salerno, Campania). In 1883 he joined the New York Police Department. In 1895, Theodore Roosevelt (then police commissioner of New York City) promoted him to Detective Sergeant in charge of the department's Homicide Division. The first Italian American to lead such a division, the height of his career came in December of 1908, when he was promoted to Lieutenant and placed in charge of an elite corps of Italian-American detectives (The Italian Squad) specifically assembled to deal with the criminal activities of the Mafia and other illegal organizations, which Petrosino considered a blight on Italians in both his adopted country and back home in Italy.

On March 12, 1909, Petrosino was gunned down in Piazza Marina in Palermo, Sicily, while on a secret mission to combat the Mafia.

2007-06-26T12:12:00.000-07:00

DO YOU REMEMBER........

1. What the City of Boston would hand out free of charge to all kids in playgrounds on the Fourth of July?
2. What was one of the first sitcoms to be spun off from a previous program?
3. The name of the boy in which the Leave It To Beaver sitcom revolved around?
4. The opening pronouncement to the TV show, The Lone Ranger?
5. The name of the two programs in 1954 where the main hero was a dog.
6. Who was the first female actress to be awarded an Emmy award (TV) for Best Supporting Actress in 1954.
7. Which TV show started with the following; "The story you are about to see is true. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent."
8. The stage name used by Frederick Picariello from Revere, Mass. Who had a hit song “Tallahassee Lassie?”

Answers

1. Hoodsies These were ice cream cups, half vanilla and half chocolate. They came with a wide wooden stick a few inches long--about half a tongue depressor, I would say.
2. Pete and Gladys spun off December Bride
3. Theodore “Beaver” Cleaver
4. “A fiery horse with the speed of light. A cloud of dust and a hearty Hi-Yo, Silver! The Lone Ranger!”
5. Rin Tin Tin and Lassie
6. Vivian Vance who played Ethel Mertz on the I Love Lucy Show
7. Dragnet
8. Freddy “Boom Boom” Cannon

2007-06-04T16:23:00.000-07:00

Frank Susi - A Nice Man!

The Celtics of the 50's and 60's were a dynasty and today's New England Patriots are also considered a dynasty. Being considered a dynasty means that you and your team are superb. You are always on top of your game. But sadly many dynasties come to an end.

I recently got somber news about the future closing of the Abruzzese Meat Market on 94 Salem Street in Boston's North End. Mr. Frank Susi has provided the finest choices of meats for almost as many years as the New England Patriots have been in existence. He has serviced hundreds of thousands of customers with a smile. He has strived to sell the finest quality meats from as little as the two sausages that a young girl recently purchased to the hundreds of pounds he sells to the local eating establishments.

Other than being a professional butcher, a dying breed, Mr. Susi is also a fine man, one that the Bible would label as "the salt of the earth." His life has been devoted to serving people and serving them with a smile. Mr. Susi's other passion is the love of soccer and he follows the Italians League with devotion. He was in seventh heaven the last time Italy won the World Cup and he could be found celebrating with his Abruzzese amicos on Hanover Street.

The closing of the Abruzzese Meat Market is going to leave a void in a markedly changed North End (it's not my father's North End) and an empty pit in the stomach of all of his customers who were also his friends.

If you are in the area in the next few weeks, take a moment to stop in and wish Frank the best as he is forced to retire.

Frank Susi, Grazie, e tante belle cose !

2007-05-10T04:26:00.000-07:00

Congratulations to the Parziale Bakery family on the celebration of their 100th anniversary. They have been the backbone of this neighborhood providing many with fresh bread, cookies and pizza. They don't have the notoriety of some but they should be proud of their reputation.

The following story from the Boston Globe

http://www.boston.com/news/local/articles/2007/05/10/party_draws_upper_crust/

begs the following question to be asked?

When have you ever seen a politician put his hands in his pockets to pay or help pay for anything? They all show up for a free photo op dishing out someone else's product for free. Isn't it nice to be what my mom would call a "mangia franca," i.e. freeloader?

Here's wishing 100 more years to the Parziales.

2007-02-02T13:27:00.000-08:00

A QUESTION FOR THE ITALIAN AMERICAN COMMUNITY.

HOW LONG WILL WE TAKE THE INTOLERABLE BEHAVIOR BY THE ENTERTAINMENT INDUSTRY, THE MEDIA, AND INDIVIDUALS TOWARDS ITALIAN AMERICANS?

Join the Italian American One Voice Coalition national activist network.

http://www.italianamericanonevoice.org/iaindex.html

Their intent is to improve the use of the power of the internet to let those who disrespect our ethnicity know that we will no longer remain silent in the face of abject defamatory. If you truly care about righting our negative image in American society we urge you to join our efforts.

2007-01-27T14:18:00.000-08:00

Constantino Brumidi

I received an e-mail today from The Italian American One Voice Coalition which is working very hard to eliminate the negative stereotypes and the intolerable behavior towards Americans of Italian descent asking to petition your senators to support S-254. This is to award posthumously a Congressional gold medal to Constantino Brumidi.

Here’s a little background if you don’t know who Constantino Brumidi was.

He was born in Rome of an Italian mother and a Greek father.

He became a citizen of the United States as soon as he was able, embracing its history, values, and ideals.

Beginning in 1855 he designed and decorated 1House and 5 Senate committee rooms in the Capitol, as well as the Senate Reception Room, the Office of the Vice President, and, most notably, the President’s Room, which represents Brumidi’s supreme effort “to make beautiful the Capitol” of the United States.

In 1871, Brumidi completed in just 11 months his masterpiece, “The Apotheosis of Washington,” in the eye of the Capitol dome.

In 1871, he created the first tribute to an African American in the Capitol when he placed the figure of Crispus Attucks at the center of his fresco of the Boston Massacre.

In 1878, Constantino Brumidi, at the age of 72 and in poor health, began work on the Rotunda frieze, which chronicles the history of America.

On February 19, 1880, Brumidi died at the age of 74, four and half months after slipping and nearly falling from a scaffold while working on the Rotunda frieze.

Constantino Brumidi, proud of his artistic accomplishments and devoted to his adopted country, said, `My one ambition and my daily prayer is that I may live long enough to make beautiful the Capitol of the one country on earth in which there is liberty.'

Constantino Brumidi's life and work exemplify the lives of millions of immigrants who came to pursue the American dream.

Let’s work to get this man the recognition he deserves and stop glorifying all the negative Italian stereotypes that are portrayed in the media.

2006-11-26T08:34:00.000-08:00

A Message from Sal

**********

You can call me Sal
Or you can call me Pal
But don’t call me ‘til after eight
And don’t be late!

You see before eight
I always dedicate
A little time for my tenants dear
To tell me how much they care

About their plush accommodations
Or maybe of some frustration
Such as a leaky toilet
Or of a squeaky cabinet

If you call me after nine
All you will hear is a voice message chime
“Hi this is your pal Sal
Can’t come to the phone, ‘cause I’m with my gal”

She’s sipping the merlot
To accompany the escargot
While I stay loyal
To a double shot of Crown Royal

Here’s to you all the faccia brutts
Good health, good cheeer, Salut!

2006-10-23T03:38:00.000-07:00

San Giovanni da Capistrano

Many have heard of the Mission San Juan Capistrano in California but few probably know about who it’s named after.

Capistrano is a village in the diocese of Sulmona in Abruzzi, Italy. This is where Saint Giovanni was born and that is why the name San Giovanni da Capistrano (John Capistrano).

Saint John was a very interesting man to say the least. He studied law at the University of Perugia and became a magistrate. In 1412 he was appointed governor of Perugia. When war broke out in 1416 between Perugia and Sigismondo Malatesta, John was sent as ambassador to broker peace , but Malatesta threw him in jail.

During his captivity he put aside his new wife with the claim that the marriage had never been consummated and began studying with St. Bernardino of Siena. He entered the Franciscan order in Perugia on October 4, 1416 and was a strict follower of it’s rules.

In 1420 he embarked on a mission of preaching and became very effective in the North, traveling to Germany, Bohemia, Poland, Austria and Hungary. He was so popular that the largest churches could not hold the crowds that came to hear him, so he preached in the piazzas; at Brescia he preached to a crowd of 126,000.

In 1429, he along with other Observant friars were called to Rome because they were charged with heresy. He was chosen by his companions to defend them and the friars were acquitted by a group of cardinals.

St. John was frequently called on by Popes Eugenius IV and Nicholas V to travel to various parts of the Empire. As legate or inquisitor he persecuted the last Fraticelli of Ferrara, the Jesuati of Venice, the Jews of Sicily, Moldavia and Poland, and, above all, the Hussites of Germany, Hungary and Bohemia.

Finally, after the Fall of Constantinople, at the age of seventy, Pope Calixtus III sent him to preach a Crusade against the Turks at the Diet of Frankfurt in 1454, and he succeeded in gathering troops together, which in the summer of 1456, with Capistrano leading a contingent, at least helped John Hunyadi to raise the siege of Belgrade, which was being blockaded by Mahommed II. They staved off the Ottoman conquest of Hungary for 70 years. He died shortly afterwards.

2006-09-22T09:46:00.000-07:00

Who Are They Talking About?

Martin Scorsese: "You know, he’s the idol. A great Italian American, a great American, and a great actor. There will never be another him. He was the original."

Steve Allen: "He was representative of a day when American lyrics were coherent and civilized and clever. And when there was glorious melody characterizing most of our popular songs, he was the No. 1 salesman of that kind of material."

Johnny Carson: "He’s the greatest singer of popular songs who ever lived. He is quite irreplaceable."

Mia Farrow: "He was the first love of my life and he remained a true friend, always there when I needed him. I will miss him more than words can say."

Barbra Streisand: "He was the epitome of what singing is all about, beautiful sound, smooth as silk, effortless, impeccable phrasing, stylish, intelligent, and full of heart."

Bob Dylan: "Right from the beginning, he was there with the truth of things in his voice. His music had a profound influence on me, whether I knew it or not. He was one of the very few singers who sang without a mask."

Paul Anka: "He’s the only one who can put you in a mood within five seconds no matter what he’s singing. He’s ruined it for every guy who ever wanted to stand in front of a brass band."

If you haven't guessed who they're talking about by now, I'll give you a little hint - when he died a part of New York died with him.

Yes, they're talking about "old blue eyes," "the chairman of the board." Francis Albert Sinatra.

Frank Sinatra was buried with some of his favorite things: a bottle of Jack Daniels whisky, a pack of Camels, a Zippo lighter, and a roll of ten dimes. "We really wanted him to have a big send-off," said Tina Sinatra, Frank’s youngest daughter.

Ms. Sinatra, who placed the dimes in her father’s pocket, explained that his habit of carrying dimes dated back to the 1963 kidnapping of her brother. Sinatra insisted on having the dimes always at hand so that he had change for the pay phone in case of emergencies – such as the kidnapping.

Frank’s oldest daughter, Nancy, put the bottle of Jack Daniels in another pocket and an unidentified person slipped in the cigarettes and lighter.

I can still hear him singing, All or Nothing at All.

What's your favorite Sinatra song?

2006-09-16T05:10:00.000-07:00

The stereotyping never stops. Italians are always being erroneously portrayed as gangsters. It's not enough to be stereotyped in movies and TV series but it also spills over in all other forms of mass media.

People that speak up against it are labeled as being "too sensitive" or "lacking a sense of humor" at not being able to laugh at oneself. I like a good joke and I'm not afraid to laugh at myself but why do Italians have to always be portrayed as the mafioso types? I don't deny that there is or was a small element of this seedy side to our heritage, but why does this miniscule percentage of people have to be elevated to the point that many non-Italians see all Italians as gangsters?

I am ashamed for our ethnic group as a whole for not speaking up and gaining the respect that the Jews, Blacks, Hispanic, Asians and others have done for themselves.

Why is it that with all the wonderful things that Italians have contributed to the world the focus is always on the negative element? Why is the Soprano family held up as the model Italian family? My family and I'm sure your family is certainly not like that; but that's what's portrayed every day to the world. How can they not think that we are all like that?

The story provided below is the latest example of our far this stereotyping has gone.
This is not what our fathers, grandfathers and great grandfathers worked so hard for when they came here. They would be appalled and would be fighting back to gain the respect that every person deserves.

ITALIAN POLITICIANS CONDEMN MAFIA T-SHIRTS

MSN Fox Sports News
From Associated Press
Friday, September 15, 2006

ROME (AP) - Italian politicians condemned the sale of T-shirts reading "The
Hammers vs. the Mafia" before West Ham's UEFA Cup match against Sicilian
side Palermo.

"The T-shirt gesture ... is deplorable," Carlo Vizzini, a former member of
the Italian parliament's anti-Mafia commission, was quoted as saying Friday
by Italian news agency ANSA. "Perhaps it would be suitable for West Ham ...
to apologize to Palermo's citizens."

The T-shirts were on sale outside West Ham's Upton Park stadium before
Thursday's game in the first round of European soccer's second-tier
competition. The London club lost the match 1-0.

Sicily's governor, Salvatore Cuffaro, said that the T-shirts were "an
offense to all Sicilians," who were "tired" of outdated stereotypes.

"I hope that Palermo will respond to these stupid insults on the pitch and
win the round," Cuffaro was quoted as saying by the Apcom news agency.

The return leg of the match will be played in Palermo on Sept 28.

2006-09-06T16:12:00.000-07:00

Naples' Pizzafest

(ANSA) - Naples, September 5 - Naples, the city that invented pizza, has lined up the first edition of 'World Pizza Day' .Pizza-makers and lovers from all over the world, including Neapolitans who have rolled dough into big money in the United States, Australia and Japan, will attend the inaugural event on the opening day of the city's famous Pizzafest on Thursday .

Each year Pizzafest turns out hundreds of pizzas made by pizzaioli from all over the world .The only qualification is that they must comply with guidelines laid down by the city's Real Neapolitan Pizza Association (AVPN). The event, now in its eleventh year, draws thousands of locals and tourists to sample pizza "as it should be made" in its "spiritual home" .This year it has lined up an even more scrumptious menu of attractions, including a bigger-than-ever exhibit on the history of Naples' most famous export. There will also be the annual contest for "best Neapolitan pizza-maker" - which returned to local hands in 2004 and 2005 after a Japanese pizzaiolo pipped the city's best three years ago. AVPN President Antonio Pace says his association has no objection to pizzas being made around the world, "as long as they respect the rules" ."But to know if a pizza tastes as it should, it's better to try it at least once in Naples so you can compare it with those being produced elsewhere," he added .

After more than a decade of success in Naples, Pizzafest successfully emigrated to Brussels in 2003 and similar events are planned in Paris and other European capitals .Pace's association insists that only ingredients from the region of Campania should be used and stresses that pizza should be made in the traditional way - in a brick oven using bona fide ingredients like local mozzarella and tomato sauce .

The organization spearheaded a successful campaign to win a special European Union "traditional speciality guaranteed" (TSG) label for Neapolitan pizza .Rather than referring to the origin of the product, TSGs highlight its traditional character, either in the composition or means of production .Although baked dough topped with various ingredients has been eaten round the world for centuries, it was only in the 1700s, after the tomato became an established part of Italian diets, that pizza in its current form really took off .It was particularly popular in poorer quarters of Naples where the cheap, readily available ingredients made it a staple part of the local diet .Until the mid-1800s, the pizza-maker would prepare his wares in advance and wander parts of the city advertising his arrival by calling out loud .Then gradually, people began visiting the pizzaiolo's premises to enjoy the product fresh from the oven and the first pizzeria was born .

News of the city's celebrated pizzas eventually reached the ears of the newly created royal family in 1889 .During a stay in Naples' Capodimonte Palace King Umberto I and his wife Queen Margherita summoned a much-talked about local pizzaiolo to the palace to sample his creations .Raffaele Esposito and his wife Maria Brandi prepared a variety of different pizzas for the royal couple, but the queen's favorite was one topped with tomato, mozzarella and basil .In recognition of the honor bestowed on him, Esposito, whose descendants still run the Brandi Pizzeria in Naples today, named the pizza after the queen .

2006-09-05T12:39:00.000-07:00

Italians Said it First about Love and Marriage

When buying a horse or taking a wife, shut your eyes and trust God for your life.
Italian girls dream of marriage; when married they dream of love.
Feed your wife vinegar, and you will gather no honey from her lips.
An Italian woman, like a mule, does all that is expected of her - until she marries.
She who marries a handsome man marries trouble; he who marries an ugly woman marries contentment.
The first wife is marriage; the second company; the third foolishness.
Remain a bachelor and you will have good days and bad nights; marry and you will have good nights and bad days.
The wife's face is a mirror of her husband's character.
It may be quieter to sleep alone, but not warmer.
The expert dancer goes from one wedding to another, but never his own.
Who has a wife has strife.
There goes more to marriage than four bare legs in a bed.

2006-08-28T01:19:00.000-07:00

How Many Stiffs Does It Take To Put Air Into A Tire?

Here's a bunch of stiffs celebrating the accomplishment of putting air in a tire. They are living proof of the old joke about how many people does it take to replace a light bulb.

In this case we re-enacted, "how many stiffs does it take to put air into a tire?"

As you can see, the answer here is FOUR.

Looking at the picture from left to right, you have stiff number 1 through number 4.

Stiff number four removed the stem cap and inserted 75 cents into the air machine

Stiff number three filled the tire with air.

Stiff number two supervised the entire operation

While stiff number one squirted himself with a water hose which was mistakenly identified as the air hose.

Stiff number four put the stem back on.

As you see them celebrating this feat of teamwork, don't worry you will never see them in the pits on the NASCAR circuit.
But don't be surprised if you see these stiffs at your nearest garage for a repeat performance.
You can book them for all occasions simply by calling 1 800 4 STIFFS.

2006-08-24T17:12:00.000-07:00

What Our Ancestors Endured

We live in an age here in the United States that we have to watch very carefully what we say and do. We have succumbed to political correctness. Our legal system let’s illegal aliens get away with many of the things that my ancestors couldn’t do. Racial profiling even if it’s done in the scope of defending our homeland is taboo. It wasn’t too long ago that my ancestors and in fact even me who entered this country legally (having all the proper documents, vaccinations, and most of all a sponsor) were subjected to a form of racial profiling. In some instances speaking the Italian language could get you incarcerated.

The following is from “The Alfano Digest” of august 24, 2006:

Dark Moment in Civil Liberties

On the night of December 7, 1941, in the aftermath of the bombing of Pearl
Harbor, U.S. agents rounded up Italian nationals suspected of disloyalty. Most
of them were immigrants in the process of becoming U.S. citizens; many had been
in America for decades but had not been naturalized. For the next two years,
many Italian Americans lived under strict curfew and some were even imprisoned.
Eventually, 600,000 Italian Americans would be branded as "enemy aliens."The authority for these arrests came from Title
50 of the U.S. Code, based on the Alien and Sedition Acts of 1798, which gives
the government power to detain aliens in times of emergency. Under this
authority, hundreds of Italians were arrested. About 250 individuals were
interned for up to two years in military camps in Montana, Oklahoma, Tennessee,
and Texas. By June of 1942, the total reached 1,521 Italian aliens arrested by
the FBI, many for curfew violations alone. Though most of the latter were
released after short periods of detention, the effects on them and others in the
community are not hard to imagine.

[A parallel situation occurred north of the border. When the fascist
Italian government, lead by Benito Mussolini, declared war on Great Britain and
France on June 10, 1940, Italian-Canadians were also branded "enemy aliens".
Acting under the Canadian War Measures Act, the Canadian government temporarily
detained 2,400 Italian Canadians and approximately 500 Italian-Canadians were
interned during World War II.]"Don't Speak the Enemy's Language!"The impact
these measures had on Italian Americans would be hard to overstate. Many
families were separated, forced to evacuate their homes, or give up their
livelihood. Others were interred in camps for up to 15 months in states far from
their homes.There were cultural casualties as well. Certainly, the government's
targeting of those whose first language was Italian hastened the disuse of the
Italian language. Many immigrants, clubs, and stores made a point of not using
Italian in public, while others stopped teaching the language to their children.
The government surely encouraged this trend by its posters proclaiming "Don't
Speak The Enemy's Language! Speak American!"The result of this prejudice was
devastating. Many Italian American immigrants felt it as never before, and their
children felt it too. Their language had become the "enemy's language," their
heritage one that was not only alien, but inimical to the American way. It
seemed best to abandon both, and thousands did just that.

Today we have a nation that sees its national anthem being sung in Spanish. Gradually we have become a nation that has adopted Spanish as a second language and in time with more illegal aliens crossing our borders it will become the primary language. At the pace we’re going it could happen as early as 2015.

2006-08-22T16:55:00.000-07:00

St. Mary's, North End Boston

Of all the fond memories of growing up in the North End of Boston some of my most pleasant ones revolve around St. Mary’s School and Church. They are truly memories now because both the church and the school have been razed.

I knew that both the church and school had their beginnings back in the 1800’s but never knew much of the history behind them. Recently, while reading the book ‘Resonare Christum' a selection of the writings, sermons, and papers of Cardinal John J. Wright, I came across the following incident:

It’s of a trial which took place in Boston from March 17 to April 6, 1859. On trial was a schoolmaster named McClaurin F. Cooke, submaster of the Eliot School, for an assault and battery upon Thomas J. Wall, a pupil at the school. Mr. Cooke was charged with beating the ten year old boy with a rattan stick for thirty-five minutes. The reason for the beating was that young Wall refused to recite the Lord’s Prayer, the Ten Commandments, and other passages of Sacred Scripture in accordance with Protestant forms, although he was ready and willing to recite them in accordance with the Catholic forms.

This was the boy’s only offense and he did this only after consulting with his father and priest. Even after the beating had been going on for fifteen minutes the boy made it clear that he would gladly recite the Commandments and the Lord’s Prayer provided he could do so as he had been taught. This was not considered adequate and the beating continued until the boy’s hands were, as a Protestant doctor testified, swollen, sodden, livid, and with the skin broken in two or three places.

Mr. Cooke’s bigoted and sadistic beating of the boy was defended and he was acquitted by a narrow-minded judge. There was a fear that the Catholics were rebelling against the Protestant traditions in Boston. Mr. Cooke’s lawyer, H. F. Durant, pointed out that a priest, a member of the Society of Jesus was influencing in seditious fashion the minds of young Irish boys at secret meetings held, according to his description, in a dark basement of a church on Endicott Street. Mr. Durant encouraged the judge to find in the teacher’s favor by saying that in so doing he would be hastening the end of the work recently begun on Endicott Street and would silence forever the voice of the Vatican in Boston.

The priest in question was Father Wiget (hence the name Wiget Street) a Jesuit who along with Father McElroy were doing educational work since they first came to Boston, to St. Mary’s on Endicott Street in 1847. The Fathers had nine hundred boys in their Sunday school at St. Mary’s. In 1849, the number of girls in St. Mary’s parish warranted the coming to Boston from Cincinnati the Sisters of Notre Dame to establish the Girl’s School on Stillman Street. By 1860 Father Wiget had established the parish school for boys at the corner of Traverse and Portland Streets.

One hundred years later I would also be taught at St. Mary’s by both the Jesuits and the Sisters of Notre Dame. The North End, basically a ghetto for many years was settled by the Irish in the mid 1800’s, followed by Jews, and then Italians.

Saint Mary’s was the initial point of contact between the Society of Jesus and the organized life of the Catholic Church in these parts.

2006-08-17T02:37:00.000-07:00

Fare Una Bella Figura

I recently read an interesting article on Italians that gives insight to what they all strive for - in their language it's to "fare una bella figura." Literally it means to put your best foot forward or to make a good appearance. The following comparison between an Italian and British flight attendant will hopefully make you see the point:

"The Italian flight attendant sometimes takes her job title literally — the plane flies, she just attends. But she's always pleasant, elegant, and ladylike, so much so that she can appear intimidating. I remember one flight from Milan to New York. The Alitalia attendant, an attractive brunette from Naples, was strutting up and down like a model on a catwalk thirty thousand feet above the ground. The man sitting next to me glanced at her and asked me, "Do you think I might be able to get another coffee?" "Why ask me? Ask her," I replied, nodding in the direction of the flight attendant. "How can I ask Sophia Loren for a coffee?" he whimpered. He was right. The good-looking attendant was putting on a fashion show in the sky, and no one dared to interrupt.

But then take a British flight attendant. You wouldn't mistake her for a model. She'll have very little makeup, and no jewelry. Often she is robustly built, and until recently would be sporting one of those little round hats that you only see on British cabin staff and New Jersey ice-cream vendors. Her heels are low, and her shoes are "sensible," as they say in New York. Alitalia crews wear emerald green. British Airways has improbable combinations of red, white, and blue, or a mayonnaise-cum-apricot shade that nature felt no need to invent. The British woman is attentive, though. She comes back again and again, smiling all the time. She waits until your mouth is full, swoops on you from behind, and beams "Is everything all right?" Then something happens.

Let's say you spill your coffee on your pants. At that point, the two personalities undergo an abrupt transformation that — you've guessed it — sums up the respective national characters.

The British attendant stiffens. You have deviated from the pattern; you have done something you shouldn't have. All of a sudden, her inner nanny emerges. She doesn't say she's annoyed, but she lets you know. The attractive Italian also undergoes a change. In an emergency, her detachment disappears. At times of crisis, what emerges is her inner mom, sister, confidante, friend, and lover. She takes off her jacket and actually helps you. Weak at, if not openly irritated by, routine administration, she comes into her own in exceptional circumstances that allow her to bring her personal skills to bear. Where did the ice goddess go? She melted. In her place is a smiling woman who is trying to be helpful. Do you think some people might be tempted to spill their coffee on purpose the next time they fly Alitalia? Could be. A gorgeous Italian is worth a minor scalding."

The above is a taste of what the book, “La Bella Figura: A Field Guide to the Italian Mind” by Beppe Severgnini, is all about.

2006-08-10T09:34:00.000-07:00

Paradiso Turns Out To Be Purgatory

There's a saying, live and learn, and yesterday was a day that I learned something new. Some learning experiences are nice and I wish that I could say that about yesterday's, but the learning experience that came toward the end of what was a fairly nice day spent at the races in Saratoga Springs was very unpleasant.

I could say shame on us for not doing our homework and being better prepared but then again I don't think that any restaurant customer should be subjected to the unprofessionalism that existed at the Paradiso. This wasn't the place that we originally wanted to go to but in order to try to save time for our three hour trip back home we chose it since it was on our travel path.

The Paradiso in Saratoga Springs NY looked enticing from the outside. Maybe we were mesmerized by the exterior European style stone work or maybe the name but in either case we decided to dine there. The dining room which was accessed by ascending a short flight of stairs seemed to be clean and all the tables were covered in white. As we proceeded in I could hear music to my ears; someone speaking Italian with a Neapolitan accent this side of the Adirondacks. After we were seated, my friend Frankie wondered why we weren't given a better table, one closer to the window.

As I looked around I could see that there were only a handful of tables occupied and that the waitstaff dressed in black shirts and pants were waiting outside the kitchen entrance ready as if they we're to pounce on their next victims. Within moments we were approached by our waiter. As he greeted us, he asked us if we had been to the restaurant before. We told him that we came up from Boston and were returning after a day at the race track. He was nervous and told us that he too was new there - second or third day on the job.

As he proceeded to take away one of the tablesettings, he asked us what we would like to drink.
I wasn't paying too much attention to my surroundings at the time because I was trying to concentrate on the contents of the menu. We would normally order a bottle of wine but this time opted only for a glass. I didn't hear what Sal ordered, but I did catch him say that he also would like a glass of water with lemon. Frankie ordered his usual cabernet and I decided to switch to a white wine since I had already decided that I wanted a fish dish.

The water came followed by a basket of bread and oil and vinegar. As we waited for the wine, we were discussing the pricey menu and polled ourselves as to what each was going to order. Outside of the prices, I wasn't in the mood for a three course meal and expressed my opinions as such. Frankie suggested a pasta dish and I agreed.

Our waiter, never caught his name, came with the wine. As I looked at him I was reminded of a character by the name of Puddy, one of Elaine Benes' boyfriends on the Seinfeld sitcom. At this time the waitstaff normally informs the diners of the specials for the night but this was not forthcoming. He started to explain awkwardly that they serve their dishes family style. Sal and I had already decided that we wanted the linguine with white clam sauce. The waiter said that if we ordered pasta, we would have to stay with the same pasta dish for the table. I didn't understand what he was trying to say. He also went on to tell us about dish portions. This seemed all new to us. Since Sal and I were having the same thing, he said that he could make a portion and a half for us. I was lost and confused. My stomach just wanted to eat, I didn't care about having to do a lot of thinking at the dinner table. Sal and I looked at each other and said ok, whatever.

Frankie asked for the penne with broccoli dish and wanted to know if the chef/cook could sustitute broccoli rape. The waiter's face seemed to express that Frankie had asked for something highly unusual. Nervously he said that he would check. I asked for an order of fried calamari and wanted to make sure that it would be enough for the three of us. He said yes and went away.

A few more tables were occupied by now and as we toasted to good health I noticed that Sal was not drinking wine. As I scanned around the well lit dining room, I noticed two things that stuck out like sore thumbs as if they didn't and shouldn't have been there. The first was a display case that was near the kitchen entrance. It reminded me of the display cases from the 1950's that I still see at Tony's Meat Market in Roslindale. The display wouldn't have looked so out of place if it had been filled with some dessert presentations. This one contained various old and tired looking vegetables. It was something that I didn't want to look at while I was dining.

The second was a man who appeared to be in his sixties. He seemed to be in the center of activity, at the door, directing the waiters around, occasionally barking to a short elderly woman who served as a hostess. As I watched him, I would guess that he was the owner and that the hostess was his wife. If they were trying to give the place a homey type of look, they had failed in my book. His attire was more attuned to that of a dishwasher, chinos and white tee shirt covered at the waist by a folded white apron. He never left the dining room standing watch over everything that was going on.

The waiter who a week earlier was probably working on mufflers at a local Midas shop, approached our table mumbling some bad news that the kitchen had told him that everyone at the table had to have the same pasta shape. I didn't think that we had been in the sun that long that it was having and effect on our cognitive brain function. We asked him to explain what he just said and he proceeded to tell Frankie that he couldn't have penne pasta with broccoli. Not only couldn't they substitute rape for broccoli but now he was being told that he had to have linguini with broccoli.

As we presented the waiter with evidence of the absurdity of the statement, all he could do was agree with us. He kept blaming management or the chef for this undeclared policy. No one ever heard of this. I was starting to feel bad since I had wanted linguini and because of me and Sal, Frankie was FORCED to eat something that he really didn't want.

The calamari were served and although cooked well, the absurdity of the moment took away the enjoyment of eating them. My appetite was suddenly gone. In the middle of this bizarre event our table had attracted a pesky house fly which caused much consternation to the rustic looking hostess as she walked by in her duties of seating some recent arrivals. On the return trip to her station she passed by our table and swatted at the fly with her hand while at the same time invoking the name of some Madonna. The fly thankfully moved on to the next table.

Puddy, our waiter returned with a relieved look on his face as if he had fought off some mighty dragon in the kitchen, and proceeded to announce to Frankie that he had taken care of everything and he would have his penne after all. He did absolutely nothing because this came after Frankie's insistence to cancel the pasta dish. How can a restaurant in their right mind force a paying customer to have something that they don't like? Why have a menu?

The pasta dishes arrived in the two pans they were cooked in. The portion and a half that was served to Sal and I didn't look any bigger than the one portion served to Frankie, although the waiter did mention that the chef added some because of the earlier ordering snafu. Again the waiter's lack of experience or the establishment's lack of tongs surfaced when he used four spoons to plate the linguini with clams for me and Sal. It took him so long to plate the linguini that I was almost tempted to tell him to get lost. My linguini was getting cold and mushy with all this unnecessary handling.

Although the linguine was cooked almost al dente the sauce seemed to be overly oily and too garlicky for Sal. Frankie was not pleased with the blandness of the penne with broccoli which seemed to have been made with a beef broth instead of chicken. We ate and tried to make the best of an unpleasant experience.

The waiter appeared relieved when he found out that our meal had ended with the pasta. No coffee, no dessert, no after dinner drink. We decided that we had had enough with this place. We didn't appreciate having to pay $35 each to come away with acida caused not only by the food but by the lack of professionalism in some of the staff including the man in the tee shirt.

This Paradiso turned out to be Purgatory at best.

As if this wasn't the icing on the cake to a long day, we had to contend with our mismanaged and corrupt laden Mass Turnpike Authority. Just when the Brioschi started to take effect, our last 30 miles of travel was tripled in time by the shutting down of three lanes of traffic down to one for a stretch of five miles. One could see hundreds and hundres of cones, numerous pieces of equipment, dozens of trucks idling but very little work being done.

Is this why we pay tolls?

In summary a day at the races was spoiled by a botched meal and a botched job.

2006-08-04T23:42:00.000-07:00

Italian Recipes

Do you often get tired of having the same old meals? Are you looking to have your taste buds tickled with new tastes? Do you often find yourself wondering what you are going to make for supper?

When I find myself in that quandary, I’m inspired to make a dish from the “The Good Life Favorite! Italian Recipes” cookbook by Frank Imbergamo. The recipes in the book are easy to follow and make. They are the traditional Italian dishes whose recipes have been passed down through generations of Sicilian families.

Here’s one I recently made

Frankie’s shrimp Parmigiana

1 cup plain breadcrumbs
½ cup + 1 Tbsp. grated Romano cheese
1 Tbsp. of garlic powder
¼ cup parsley
A pinch of salt and ground pepper
4 eggs
¼ cup of milk
2 cups of Frankie’s Marinara sauce
2 lbs. fresh large shrimp (peeled and deveined)
¼ cup of oil
½ lb. shredded Mozzarella cheese

In a bowl, mix bread crumbs, ½ cup of Romano cheese, garlic powder, parsley, salt and pepper. In another bowl, beat eggs and add milk and one tablespoon of Romano cheese.

For the shrimp, first dip shrimp into egg mixture and then into the bread crumb mixture to coat. In a fry pan, heat ¼ cup of oil and when hot, place shrimp into pan, cooking for approximately 3 minutes. Place cooked shrimp on paper towels to drain. Place some marinara sauce in bottom of lasagna pan and add shrimp. Cover with marinara sauce, sprinkle with Romano cheese and cover with Mozzarella. Cover with foil and bake at 350 degrees for twenty minutes.

This is one recipe from among the many that are in Frankie’s cookbook. You might know Frankie from his appearance with Emeril Lagasse. His meatball and gravy recipe was chosen among thousands of entries nationwide and re created on the Food TV network show, Emeril Live.

You can purchase the book, “The Good Life! Favorite Italian Recipes” on line at http://www.barnesandnoble.com/

Once you’ve tried some of the recipes, you too will be saying, “Mangia!” and “Buon Appetito!”

2006-08-01T12:24:00.000-07:00

And They Came To Chicago: The Italian American Legacy

And They Came To Chicago is a production of Modio Media, LLC in partnership with the Italic Institute of America, a national non-profit organization dedicated to promoting Italic culture through education since 1987.
Narrated by Tony Award-winning actor and Chicago native Joe Mantegna, And They Came To Chicago is slated to premiere on NBC in October 2006 in conjunction with Italian American Heritage Month in October 2006.

Among local luminaries of past and present to whom we will pay tribute: Frank Annunzio, the popular congressman who helped make Columbus Day a national holiday; University of Chicago’s Enrico Fermi, whose pioneering work in nuclear physics garnered him the Nobel Prize; Tina De Rosa, author of the first novel about Italian Americans in Chicago; Tony Award-winning actor Joe Mantegna; Cardinal Joseph Bernardin, one of the nation’s most influential religious leaders; printing magnate John Cuneo; sports announcer-turned-restauranteur Harry Caray; controversial labor leader James Petrillo; and Mother Frances Cabrini, the first American to achieve sainthood.

Stay tuned for more information as it is made available.

2006-07-19T04:04:00.000-07:00

Fred Franzia

THE SCOURGE OF NAPA VALLEY California winemaker Fred Franzia says the world would be better off without all that expensive Napa Valley wine. And that's not just an opinion--it's a business plan.

He's the man behind wine nicknamed, "Two buck Chuck" and "Four buck Fred."

Che Si Dice has come accross a very interesting article on him and winemaking at the following link.

http://www.inc.com/magazine/20060501/franzia.html

2006-07-13T10:25:00.000-07:00

VERGOGNA!! SHAME!!

I am normally proud of my Italian heritage, but these past few days I am ashamed of the cowardice of our elected officials (officials is too nice of a word for them today) in responding to the tunnel tragedy. Where is Traviglini, DeMasi, Menino, and company?

Che vergogna!

A woman loses her life because someone didn't do their job.
Someone signed off on the job saying that it was safe to travel through the tunnel.
Menino had the audacity to make jokes about the shoddy work on the Big Dig project as recently as the annual St. Patty's Day Breakfast in March.
It seems like everyone knew that what happened the other night was bound to happen, just not this soon.

My parents and grandparents took pride in their work. Just look around and you can see things that were built 60 and 70 years ago still standing while something that was built within the last five to ten years crumbling.

It has now cost a life and the potential is there for more people to be endangered.

Pride in work has been replaced by Incompetenza. Non se ne frega is the term du jour.

$14.6 billion has been spent so far on the project. Many of a politicians pockets have been filled many times over yet not one person has come forward to offer to pay for this woman's funeral and burial.

Che vergogna! The Citizen's Bank has had to set up a fund whereby people like you and me can contribute to pay for her burial.

I think that it's time for the citizens of this state take the bull by horn. Hit these politicians in the pocket by either not paying any more tolls, whether it be on the turnpike or tunnels and bridges, or not pay any state taxes that you owe.

2006-07-08T04:58:00.000-07:00

Italian's Role in Civil Rights

The role men and women of Italian heritage have played in protecting the civil rights of American Indians, African Americans, workers, women and the poor is the subject of a new report from the Order Sons of Italy in America (OSIA), the oldest and largest organization in the United States for men and women of Italian descent.Believed to be the first such study of its kind, With Liberty For All: Italian Americans & Civil Rights, was researched and released by OSIA's anti-defamation arm, the Sons of Italy Commission for Social Justice (CSJ).It profiles the most notable Italian Americans who promoted social justice, from the 18th and 19th century missionaries, who worked with American Indian tribes to Italian American lawmakers, who were active in the civil rights movement of the 1960s. The report reveals that:

• Many American Indian languages are known today, thanks to the Italian missionaries who wrote them down in bi-lingual dictionaries, vocabularies and grammar books.

• The first American Indian physician, Carlos Montezuma, was raised by Carlo Gentile, a 19th century Neapolitan photographer of the American West, who rescued him as a child from a band of Pima Indians and later sent him to medical school in Chicago.

• U.S. Congressman Peter Rodino of New Jersey wrote the legislation that helped make Martin Luther King, Jr.'s birthday a federal holiday in 1983.

• Father Geno Baroni, a civil rights activist priest, marched with Martin Luther King, Jr. and promoted better race relations in 300 inner city neighborhoods in the 1960s and 1970s.

• One of the founders of the International Ladies Garment Workers Union in 1936 was Angela Bambace, a seamstress who later became the union's first woman officer in 1956.

• Union official Anthony Mazzocchi played a crucial role in establishing the U.S. Labor Department's Occupational Safety and Health Administration, which enforces regulations to prevent injury, illness and death in the workplace.

• Before becoming a U.S. Congresswoman and vice presidential candidate, Geraldine Ferraro was a New York district attorney in the 1970s, who started the Special Victims Bureau, which prosecutes sex crimes, child abuse, domestic violence and violent crimes against senior citizens."It is most regrettable that the impressive record of Italian Americans as civil rights activists has been overshadowed by the likes of fictional Italian American gangsters like Tony Soprano," says CSJ National President Albert De Napoli, Esq.

2006-06-28T19:44:00.000-07:00

Andrea Bargnani

While the Italians focus on their beloved Azzurri as they try to win the World Cup, the NBA saw Andrea Bargnani become the first player selected in the 2006 draft.

Congratulations to the Azzurri and also to Andrea.

Forza Italia!

2006-06-25T11:42:00.000-07:00

Do you know who is believed to be the first Italian American to play at the major league level?

Answer – Frank Stephen (Ping) Bodie

He was born Francesco Stephano Pezzolo October 8, 1887 in San Francisco, CA.

He played center field for the Chicago White Sox (1911-1914), Philadelphia Athletics (1917) and the New York Yankees (1919-1921).

He was one of the most feared sluggers in the 1910’s and got the nickname “Ping” for the sound the ball made when his fifty-two ounce bat crashed into the “dead” ball of his era.

While with the Philadelphia Athletics in 1917 Ping ranked among the American League’s top 10 in eight offensive categories. He also led all American League outfielders with 32 assists.

He roomed with Babe Ruth when he was with the Yankees. When asked about what it was like to room with the Bambino, Bodie replied, "It was like rooming with a suitcase."

The Yankees traded Ping to the Red Sox in August of 1921. New York went on to win the American League pennant that year. When Bodie asked for a half share of the 1921 World Series money, the Yankees turned him down. After the season was over he refused to go back to the Red Sox and returned home.

Bodie spent the next seven years playing minor league baseball for various clubs. After he retired from baseball he was an electrician for 32 years on Hollywood movie lots and a bit actor mainly for Universal Studios. Outgoing and popular, he made friends with many actors and actresses such as Charles Boyer and Carole Lombard.

He was an inspiration for other West Coast Italian American ballplayers that followed in his footsteps – Tony Lazzeri, Frank Crosetti, and the brothers Joe, Vince and Dom DiMaggio.

Bodie died of lung cancer in San Francisco at the age of 74 on December 17, 1961.

2006-06-23T07:00:00.000-07:00

San Giovanni

You can file the following under “Things my Italian grandmother taught me.”

June 24 is the feast day of San Giovanni Battista (St. John the Baptist) and every year on this date my grandmother would remind us that from this date forward we would be losing a small amount of daylight which reached its peak on the summer solstice (June 21). June 21/22 is generally considered as being the longest day and shortest night of the year in the Northern hemisphere.

Today in Boston we will have 15 hrs. and 17 minutes. of daylight and one week from now this will be three minutes shorter. A month from we will have 14 hrs. and 45 mins. of daylight or a loss of 32 minutes. My grandmother wasn’t a scientist. She barely made through the second grade but she remembered what the old timers had taught her and it all revolved around the feast day’s of saints throughout the year. San Giovanni meant that this was the last of a series of longest days of the year.

San Giovanni is the patron saint of Florence and since Medieval times the city has had a festival from June 21 – 24 each year.

Tonight is Midsummer Night's Eve, also called St. John's Eve. St. John is the patron saint of beekeepers. It's a time when the hives are full of honey. The full moon that occurs this month was called the Mead Moon, because honey was fermented to make an alcoholic drink called mead. That's where the word "honeymoon" comes from.

Shakespeare set his play A Midsummer Night's Dream on this night. It tells the story of two young couples who wander into a magical forest outside Athens. In the play, Shakespeare wrote, "The course of true love never did run smooth."

In Latvia, Midsummer is called Jāni (Jānis being Latvian for John) or Līgo Svētki (Svētki = festival). It is a national holiday. Latvians consider Jāņi about as important as Christmas.

Thanks to my grandmother I learned so much. She might have been illiterate but she knew a lot.

2006-06-15T17:26:00.000-07:00

Who is the first player to score a shorthanded goal in overtime of a Stanley Cup Final game and when did it happen?

Answer – You might be surprised to find out that it happened on June 14, 2006 and it was scored by the left wing for the Edmonton Oilers by the name of Fernando Pisani.

Fernando Pisani is of Canadian/Italian extraction. He was born in Edmonton on December 27, 1976. After a brief Alberta Junior Hockey League career with the St. Albert Saints, Pisani played four years for the Providence College Friars. Following his time with Providence, the Oilers signed Pisani and sent them to their AHL affiliate, then the Hamilton Bulldogs. Pisani spent parts of three seasons in Hamilton, before being called up during the 2002-03 season. He is generally considered a "late bloomer", because he didn't see his first NHL action until the age of 27.
During the 2004 – 05 NHL strike lockout, Pisani played for a couple of teams in Europe, one in Switzerland and the other for the Asiago Hockey Club in Italy. He joined former Bruin, Stephane Quintal, in Italy.

In the 2005-06 season, Pisani scored 18 goals. But he turned incredibly hot in the playoffs, scoring 9 goals through the first 3 rounds to be tied for the goal scoring lead with Patrick Marleau of the San Jose Sharks, which only took Marleau two rounds to accomplish. In the fourth round of the playoffs, Pisani registered his tenth goal of the playoffs in Game 1 of the Stanley Cup Finals. In Game 5 of the Finals, Pisani scored 2 goals - his twelfth playoff goal with after a shorthanded give-away in overtime which ended the game in a 4-3 victory that brought the series back to Edmonton. It made history as the first time a shorthanded goal had been scored during overtime in the Stanley Cup Final series. The two goals tie Pisani with Rod Brind'Amour of the Carolina Hurricanes for most goals in the 2006 NHL playoffs.

Could he be another Phil Esposito?

He's big in his native Edmonton's Little Italy, where you'll find plenty of kids wearing Fernando Pisani's jersey No. 34.

Fernando’s mother, Maria Pisani, arrived in Edmonton with her parents when she was 7. His father, Cosimo, arrived on his own when he was 19. They came from the same city in southern Italy, Serra San Bruno, near the toe of Italy's boot, but did not meet until their new lives in Canada were under way. Now, Maria and Cosimo are being joined by a growing number of fans at Rexall Place in Edmonton who have begun waving Italian flags.

Bravo Fernando! You had them shouting GOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAL in Alberta last night.

2006-06-15T01:32:00.000-07:00

June's Almanac of Famous Italians

June 1 - Enrico Dandolo is elected Doge of Venice in 1192 at age 85. An instigator of the 4th Crusade to recapture the Holy Land from the Muslims, his forces begin by sacking Constantinople, a Christian city. Among the booty brought back to Venice were the bronze horses that adorn the Piazza San Marco today.

June 2 - In 1946, the Italian people vote out the monarchy and establish a republic. This date is a national holiday.- Freedom fighter Giuseppe Garibaldi dies in 1882 in self-imposed exile on the island of Caprera. He never forgave the government of Italy for trading off his birthplace of Nizza (Nice) to the French during the reunification of Italy.

June 5 - In 1625, the Dutch fortress of Breda falls to a Spanish army led by Ambrogio Spinola. The surrender is immortalized in the Velasquez painting, Surrender of Breda.

June 6 - Famed Italian aviator Italo Balbo is born in 1896. He helped found the Italian air force under Mussolini and capped his career with a flawless mass flight of seaplanes from Italy to the United States in 1933.

June 7 - Pope Gregory XIII (Ugo Bencompagni) is born in 1502. Under his direction the Gregorian calendar that we use today was instituted in 1582. Many Protestant countries refused to use it for 150 years because it was a Catholic development.- The state of Vatican City is established by treaty with Italy in 1929.
- House Representative Peter Rodino, famed for chairing the Watergate hearings, is born in 1909.

June 8 - Astronomer Gian Domenico Cassini is born in 1625. He and his descendants made France preeminent in astronomy.

June 11 - Vince Lombardi, coach of the champion Green Bay Packers football team, is born in 1913 in Brooklyn. Under his leadership the team won five NFL titles and two Superbowls.
- Superbowl great quarterback Joe Montana is born in 1956.

June 16 - Basketball All-American Hank Luisetti is born in 1916 in San Francisco. He was the first player to score 50 points in a college game (1938). He introduced the one-handed shot.

June 17 - Civil War hero Col. Louis Di Cesnola wins a Medal of Honor at the action at Aldie, VA in 1863. He later went on to become an American ambassador, and then director of New York's Metropolitan Museum of Art.

June 19 - Bandleader Guy Lombardo is born in Canada in 1902. He symbolized New Year's Eve.

June 21 - Scientist Galileo Galilei is found guilty by Church authorities of solar-centrism in 1633, that the earth revolves around the sun and not the other way around.

June 22 - The mentor of Italian reunification, Giuseppe Mazzini, was born in Genoa in 1805.

June 24 - Explorer Giovanni Caboto (John Cabot) of Gaeta (between Rome and Naples) lands in Newfoundland, establishing the English claim to North America. He also plants the flag of his adopted city, Venice.

June 28 - World Pocket Billiards Champion Willie Mosconi is born in 1918. World champ 15 times, he set a record of 526 continuous balls in 1954.

June 30 - Leonardo Da Vinci begins his masterpiece, The Last Supper, in 1497 in Milan.

compliments of www.Italic.org

2006-06-08T00:36:00.000-07:00

Michael Anthony Napoli

Following in the footsteps of other Italian/American catchers such as Ernie Lombardi (Oakland, CA), Yogi Berra (St. Louis, MO), Joe Garagiola (St. Louis, MO), Joe Torre (Brooklyn, NY), Johnny Romano (Hoboken, NJ), Joe Girardi (Peoria, IL), John Boccabella, (San Francisco, CA), Mike Scioscia (his current big league manager), Gene Tenace (Russellton, PA), Rick Cerone (Newark, NJ), Mike Piazza (Norristown, PA) , Salvatore (Sal) Fasano (Chicago, IL) Doug Mirabelli (Kingman, AZ), and Paul LoDuca (Brooklyn, NY), the Los Angeles Angels have recently showcased rookie Michael Anthony Napoli from Hollywood Florida.

Mike Napoli made his Major League debut on May 4,2006 against the Detroit Tigers and became the 92nd player in the ML and 3rd in Angels history to hit a homer on his first trip to the plate. His minor league record shows that although he doesn’t hit for a high average he has some pop in his bat. In 2004 at Class A ball in Rancho Cucamonga he had 29 HRs and 118 RBIs and in 2005 at Double A ball in Arkansas he hit 31 HRs and had 99 RBIs. On a negative note, Mike has a tendency to strike out quite a bit (166 in 04 and 140 in 05).

Currently after playing in 23 games, he is hitting .323 with an On Base Percentage of .432 with 4 homers and 11 RBIs. As a backup catcher to starter Molina, Mike is getting an opportunity to show what he has.

Good Luck, Mike.

2006-06-03T15:55:00.000-07:00

World Cup 2006

Next Friday, June 9, will see the opening matches for the 2006 World Cup. Italy which is ranked 14th worldwide has been seeded in Group E. They will play the USA, Czech Republic and Ghana in the first round.

The Italian team enters the World Cup on an 18 match unbeaten streak capped by two lackluster games which ended in ties; one against Switzerland (1-1) and the other against the Ukraine (0-0). The biggest question mark for the Azzurri is whether Francesco Totti is going to be at hundred percent; he is coming back from leg surgery in February.

Players to watch include;

Alberto Gilardino, the 23 year old forward from AC Milan who is a solid attacking threat.

Daniele de Rossi, the 22 year old midfielder from AS Roma who has a penchant for running right up the gut of the opponent.

Fabio Cannavaro, the 33 year old defenseman from Juventus who’s club has been the center of a betting scandal. He is currently wearing the armband of team captain.

The team is coached by Marcello Lippi the former coach of the Juventus team.

2006-05-24T02:35:00.000-07:00

La Diavola

Normally Che Si Dice comments on Italians or Italian/Americans who’ve had a positive influence and made contributions to society.

Today I’m forced to mention a person who thinks of herself as a great star and personality. The only reason I mention her is that she has once again gone way overboard and offended many by crucifying herself on a mirrored cross during one of her concerts. I would have thought that by studying Kaballah, she would have a deeper respect for religion. She has just failed miserably at being a poster child for Kaballah. Miss Ciccone, you don’t stand in the light. You are in total darkness and will reach out at any gimmick to get publicity.

I am ashamed to call Madonna Louise Ciccone an Italian American. As far as I’m concerned she does not represent Italian Americans and is a total disgrace to the name of Madonna, a name that is revered in the Italian language. La Madonna is the name that is used for our Blessed Mother, Mary. Miss Ciccone’s paternal grandparents who were from Pacentro, in the region of Abruzzo, Italy), must be turning over in their graves at her latest “Christ-bashing” escapade.

One would think that when one reaches the ripe age of 47 that they would grow up and stop resorting to raunchy and devilish tactics. Some have labeled her as a diva. She is nothing but a conduit for the devil and has become a pathetic performer.

2006-05-18T05:20:00.000-07:00

Frank Capra (1897 - 1991)

Che Si Dice looks at another famous Italian. This time it’s Frank Capra.

He was born in Bisaquino, Sicily in 1897 and came to this country when he was six years old. His family immigrated to Los Angeles and young Frank sold newspapers in what was the Sicilian ghetto of LA. He paid for his way through college (Cal Tech where he studied chemical engineering) by working various jobs. He played the banjo at nightclubs, ran the student laundry, waited on tables and wiped engines at a power plant.

In 1922, he was poor and unemployed and living in San Francisco, when he read in the newspaper that a man named Walter Montague was launching a new movie studio in an abandoned gymnasium. Capra called him up and talked his way into getting a job directing his first movie, a one-reel film based on a Rudyard Kipling poem.

For the next six years, he worked as everything from a prop man to a comedy writer. In 1928, he signed a contract with Columbia. Five years later he made his first big hit, the screwball comedy It Happened One Night (1933), for which he won the first of three Academy Awards for Best Director. In the next fifteen years he made a string of successful movies, most of them about a naïve and idealistic man from small-town America who goes up against greedy politicians and lawyers and journalists. Capra said the moral of his movies was: "A simple honest man, driven into a corner by predatory sophisticates, can, if he will, reach down into his God-given resources and come up with the necessary handfuls of courage, wit, and love to triumph over his environment."

His movies were so distinctive and so influential that the word "Capraesque" has made it into the dictionary. The 2000 American Heritage Dictionary defined it as "of or evocative of the movies of Frank Capra, often promoting the positive social effects of individual acts of courage."
His movies include Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936), Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939), and It's a Wonderful Life (1946), which was also about a small-town hero who battles corruption, but it was darker and more cynical than any of his earlier movies, and it didn't do very well at the box office. For some reason, Capra didn't renew its copyright in 1974, and it fell into the public domain. PBS was the first network to play it every year around Christmas. Other stations started picking it up, and now watching It's a Wonderful Life on TV is a holiday tradition for families across the country.

Capra said, "I wanted to glorify the average man, not the guy at the top, not the politician, not the banker, just the ordinary guy whose strength I admire, whose survivability I admire."

Capra was nominated six times for Best Director Oscars, and took home three of the statuettes over the course of his career. Only John Ford ever bettered this record-- he won four.

2006-05-07T18:59:00.000-07:00

Congratulations Joe!!!

Congratulations go out to Joe Torre for achieving the milestone of 1,000 wins as a Yankee manager. With a 1,000 – 645 record, he trails only Joe McCarthy (1,460), Casey Stengel (1,149) and Miller Huggins (1,067). Torre has the longest uninterrupted term among Yankees managers since Stengel from 1949-60.

When he signed a two year contract with the Yankees for the 1996 season, never in his wildest dreams did he think he would have lasted this long, nor did he think that he would be in such great company as mentioned above. He deserves an award for putting up with a cantankerous boss, named Steinbrenner. It seems like he always had a penchant for Italians - first George Costanza and now Joe Torre.

Overall as a manager, Torre is 1,894-1,648, including stints with the New York Mets, Atlanta and St. Louis.

As a player, it’s been debated whether or not he belongs in the Hall of Fame. He played in
2209 games with a career batting avg. of .297, hitting 252 homers and driving in 1185 runs.
He was an All-Star in 1963 – 67, 1970 and 1973. He led the league in RBIs and BA in 1971 and was selected as the MVP in 1971. He also won a Gold Glove in 1965.
He was selected as the Manager of the Year in 1982 and 1998.

Joe Torre joins a list of Italian American Managers that include Phil Cavaretta, Sam Mele, Yogi Berra, Harry Lavagetto, Tony LaRussa, Tommy Lasorda, and Bobby Valentine.

"Being a winner as a player is getting the most from your ability. Being a winner as a manager is not getting fired."(Joe Torre, Former catcher and New York Mets manager, 1978)

Not bad for a kid born in Brooklyn in 1940 and who battled prostrate cancer in the mid 1990's.

Auguri!! Per cent'anni.

2006-05-04T05:43:00.000-07:00

Bartolomeo Cristofori

There’s evidence throughout history of how Italians had an influence on many things. Today, May 4, we celebrate the birthday of the man credited with inventing the piano, Bartolomeo Cristofori, born in Padua, Italy (1655). He had replaced the string-plucking mechanism of the harpsichord with hammers, which allowed the player to adjust its volume by applying different degrees of force to the keys. He called his invention, "the harpsichord that plays soft and loud." As the instrument grew more popular, the name was shortened to "soft-loud" and finally to "soft." In Italian, the word for "soft" is "piano."

Just like many artists in the Baroque period who were supported by the rich or the church and state, Bartolomeo Cristofori (1655-1731) went to work at the court of Prince Ferdinand de' Medici in Florence as a designer and custodian of keyboard Instruments.

Cristofori's design was largely ignored in Italy, but it soon became known and adopted in Germany through articles in dictionaries of music.

2006-04-26T16:05:00.000-07:00

Frankie's Gravy

Or a gravy by any other name would smell as sweet

Just the other day I bumped into my two old friends, Carmine and Nicola at Taormina’s on Mulberry Street. They were enjoying each others’ company over a glass of wine at the bar. As I got nearer I picked up the following exchange from them;

“Carminu’, my friend Frankie makes excellent gravy which I enjoy very much. When I tell someone about it, I call it Frankie’s gravy. As a matter of fact he gave me a container of it and when my grandson came over the other day I made him some spaghetti and meatballs," continued Carminu’. “He truly enjoyed it, especially the gravy. I told him that it was Frankie’s gravy.”

“When did you wake up and realize you were Thomas Edison?” chided Nicola. “Frankie made the gravy right?” he asked. “It wasn’t Giovanni that made it, was it?”

“No, no, I told you it was Frankie,” replied Carminu taking a swig of the Chianti.

“So what’s the problem?” asked Nicola. “Frankie made the gravy so you call it Frankie’s gravy, am I missing something here?” asked Nicola getting a little riled up.

“Will you give me a chance to finish the story?” yelled Carminu’. At this time I had to step in to calm my two old friends down.

“Bring over a glass of wine for my friend here Che Si Dice,” Nicola ordered the bartender.

Carminu was finally able to pick up the story again. ‘My friend Frankie was told that he couldn’t call his gravy Frankie’s gravy anymore.” As he said that I looked at Nicola and found that he had a similar look on his face as me. He whispered to me in Italian, “Ma chist e pazzo.”

“You don’t believe me!” shouted Carminu’ as he pounded his fist on the bar. “I’m telling you they told him that he had to change the name to Frankie’s Italian Sauce.”

“I don’t understand, why?” I asked

Carminu’ continued saying, “It seems that there’s another Frankie’s gravy out there somewhere and he raised a stink.”

“There are a thousand other Frankies out there that probably make sauce. What’s his problem?” asked Nicola.

“I think he’s got somma kinda duplex,” said Carminu’.
“What are you talkin’ about, duplex? I think the wine has gotten to you,” said Nicola.

“No, I mean complex, complex... you know and inferior complex,” explained Carminu’.

“Inferiority complex,” I said to Carminu’ feeling like I had just become part of a Yogi Berra commercial.

“Yeah, that too,” answered Carminu’.
“Can you imagine that? You can’t even use your own God given name to describe what you made?” Carminuccio was now riding high on his philosophical horse as he poured another glass of wine.
“I blame Giorgio Boosh for this. It’s all his fault. This would have never happened under that great Italian president Frankleeno Delano Rossevelt.”

I finally had to put a stop to this and asked my old friends to join me in a toast. I said, “They can tell us to change the name of Frankie’s Gravy to whatever they want but to us it will always be FRANKIE’S GRAVY.”

Salut

Per cent’anno.

2006-04-15T05:54:00.000-07:00

Leonardo da Vinci

Today Che Si Dice celebrates the birthday of a brilliant man who had a hard time finishing things, Leonardo da Vinci, (books by this author) born in Vinci in the Republic of Florence (1452). Though he lived for sixty-seven years, only seventeen of his paintings are known to exist, and only a few of those were finished to his satisfaction, including The Last Supper (1495 - 98) and Mona Lisa (c. 1503 - 06).

Leonardo is best known for his painting the Mona Lisa, which is generally considered the most recognizable work of art in the world. He kept it with him for most of his life, working on it now and again. Today it is probably the most analyzed work of art in history. For centuries, scholars have tried to determine the identity of the woman in the painting. A computer graphics consultant analyzed the painting and found that the nose, mouth, forehead, cheekbones, and eyebrows all lined up with a portrait Leonardo painted of himself. So he may have used himself as the model.

He kept notebooks full of ideas about architecture and technology of all kinds. Even the doodle pictures of parachutes he drew in the margin of his notes turned out to be technically perfect designs. He drew up plans for an assault battleship, a construction crane, a trench-digging machine, a revolving bridge and a deep-sea diving suit. He made architectural sketches of churches that looked like seashells or blossoming flowers, none of which got built because they were too impractical. Most of his ideas were too ambitious for the tools that existed at the time.
The most extensive works that Leonardo left behind were his notebooks, more than 3,500 pages of sketches and writings. Scholars aren't sure why, but most of what Leonardo wrote in his notebooks is written backwards, so that it could only be legible when held up to a mirror.
Here are some other tidbits about this brilliant man:

In addition to being just about the smartest person ever, Leonardo is reported to have been a strikingly handsome man with great strength and a fine singing voice. And unlike his fellow 15th-century Italians, he was a vegetarian and followed strict dietary rules. In fact, he loved animals so much that he would often buy caged animals at the market just to set them free.

In an era when left-handedness was considered the devil's work and lefties were often forced to use their right hand, Leonardo was an unrepentant southpaw. It has been suggested that this "difference" was an element of his genius, since his detachment allowed him to see beyond the ordinary. He even wrote backwards, and his writings are easily deciphered only with a mirror.

Here are a couple of Da Vinci quotes:

Marriage is like putting your hand into a bag of snakes in the hope of pulling out an eel.

While I thought that I was learning how to live, I have been learning how to die.

2006-04-12T06:27:00.000-07:00

The other day I was thinking (it gets dangerous when I'm left alone with my mind) "Dio mio, what did I do to deserve these two Sicilians in my life?"

Then I received an e-mail from one of them that said;

People come into your life for a reason, a season or a lifetime.

When you know which one it is, you will know what to do for that person. When someone is in your life for a REASON, it is usually to meet a need you have expressed. They have come to assist you through a difficulty, to provide you with guidance and support, to aid you physically, emotionally or spiritually.
They may seem like a godsend and they are. They are there for the reason you need them to be. Then, without any wrongdoing on your part or at an inconvenient time, this person will say or do something to bring the relationship to an end. Sometimes they die. Sometimes they walk away. Sometimes they act up and force you to take a stand. What we must realize is that our need has been met, our desire fulfilled, their work is done. The prayer you sent up has been answered and now it is time to move on.
Some people come into your life for a SEASON, because your turn has come to share, grow or learn. They bring you an experience of peace or make you laugh. They may teach you something you have never done. They usually give you an unbelievable amount of joy. Believe it, it is real. But only for a season.
LIFETIME relationships teach you lifetime lessons, things you must build upon in order to have a solid emotional foundation. Your job is to accept the lesson, love the person and put what you have learned to use in all other relationships and area s of your life. It is said that love is blind but friendship is clairvoyant.
Thank you for being a part of my life, whether you were a reason, a season or a lifetime.

"One who finds a friend finds a treasure." ---Italian Proverb

2006-04-11T19:57:00.000-07:00

The Boys in the Big Apple

Che Si Dice recently accompanied our two North End buddies, Frankie and Sal (aka Ciccio and Toto) to the Big Apple. Here's a picture of them on Mulberry St. where Sal looking rather concerned about where he parked his car asks Frankie, "Are you sure that we're not going to get a ticket for parking in a Handicapped spot?"

Frankie says, "Don't worry, they all know me around here. The Mayor, Bloomberg is from Medford, I gave him one of my autographed cookbooks - we're all set."

2006-04-06T04:56:00.000-07:00

Francesco Petrarca

Che Si Dice is always looking to provide information on Italian history and culture whether it be from current events or from the past. I feel that there is enough negative stereotyping of Italians going on. This only represents one percent at best of the whole. Much of the other ninety-percent is never mentioned so people get a distorted view of Italians.

Here's one such person that many people don't know anything about:

On this day in 1327, one of the most important events in the history of poetry took place: The Italian poet Petrarch (books by this author) saw the woman he called Laura for the first time at a Good Friday service in the church of Sainte-Claire. He would go on to write dozens of sonnets to Laura, providing a model for generations of sonnet-writers, including Shakespeare. But he didn't publish those sonnets until 1374, almost fifty years after Petrarch saw Laura for the first time. Most historians now think Petrarch's Laura was Laura de Noves, the wife of a nobleman named Hugues de Sade. She died on April 6, 1348, twenty-one years after Petrarch had first seen her.

Many people throughout the world have heard about Shakespeare but very few people realize that Petrarch was his model.

"Five enemies of peace inhabit with us / avarice, ambition, envy, anger, and pride; if these were to be banished, we should infallibly enjoy perpetual peace.” -Petrarch

2006-04-03T00:33:00.000-07:00

Whitey Sighting in Tewksbury

2006-03-30T13:07:00.000-08:00

A New York Excursion

The Maxima arrived at nine after five
A coffee and donut then Route ninety five
Sal was prepared, a trip kit from triple A
But Frankie said, “Forget it! We’re going my way”

The weather was pleasant and sunny
It shone on the backs of three North End buddies
Whoever would have dreamed many years ago
That we’d travel four hours to watch a cooking show?

Making good time we were happy as clams
Construction in New Haven, a four mile traffic jam
The bridge or the thruway, Sal had to make a choice
“Take this right,” yelled Frankie in a loud voice.

The back seat was comfortable but I could not rest
With my two buddies singing like they were the Four Crests
Down by the East River, Sal asked. “What should I do?
“Don’t worry,” said Frankie, “Just look for NYU”

Avenue upon avenue we ventured down,
Weaving through So Ho, Little Italy and Chinatown.
Many restaurants were passed, smells of egg rolls and ziti
Interspersed with walls upon walls of graffiti.

Construction compounded the traffic delays
On top of the many streets that were labeled One Way.
Frankie’s attitude remained positive as he said “We are near”
Then we crossed Broadway, not the one in Revere.

At a light a cabbie appeared at our side
“Frankie, Ask him for directions,” said I.
“Where’s Ninth Ave, number seventy- five?
We’ve got to go see the show Emeril Live”

“Keep going straight” was the cabbie’s advice
“Until you reach the sign that reads Old Spice.”
Ah it was nice to reach Tenth Ave and Eighteenth
My leg was asleep as my feet touched the street

“We finally made it safe and sound,”
Said Sal to Rita who was Winthrop bound.
“Have a good time and be sure to enjoy,”
Was Rita’s advice to the three Boston boys.

With the car safely tucked in one of the many lots
We proceeded to walk to our first destination spot.
I was looking for glimmer maybe even a red carpet
But none was to be found as we entered Chelsea Market

With Frankie making like a true tourist guide
Sal and I looked around with eyes opened wide.
Frank’s meat market, a bakery and even a wine store
Were some of the places that blended amidst a rustic décor.

With donut and coffee long ago digested
“Let’s stop and get something,” I strongly suggested.
Some coffee, a bagel and even a touch of the spirit
To the cares of the world we would toast it “Frig it!”

As we walked down the corridor sharing a laugh
We started to see some of the Food TV network staff.
There were lights and cameras and people that roared
They were taping an eating contest on the ground floor.

A wait in line and a short walk through security
Frankie and I were ok, but Pal Sal got more scrutiny.
From a distance I could hear a moan and a groan
Then the lady said to Sal, “Hand over your phone.”

We waited a while in a room labeled “green”
We watched old shows of Emeril on the TV screen.
A person arrived and read rules from a paper
And in groups of twenty put us on a freight elevator.

Up in the studio, seated in the back row
A woman prepared us for the upcoming show.
She told us to have fun and to be loud and shout
Especially at the moment when Emeril comes out.

Then they instructed the audience to stand
As they brought out Doc Gibbs and his band.
With the band adding to the built up frenzy,
Out from center stage appeared Emeril Lagasse.

On TV you see Emeril taking center court,
But much of the work is done by Pat LaMorte.
Sal got excited when he spotted the Oreos in the fridge,
I couldn’t keep my eyes off the crazy hat on Doc Gibbs.

All the yelling and shouting left my throat aching,
I couldn’t wait to get to the restaurant where a martini was awaiting.
A I sat in the car I suddenly heard my stomach growling
I had worked up an appetite from the all hootin and howling.

From the back seat I demanded Sal to hurry
I couldn’t wait to reach the street named Mulberry.
My request was not honored through no fault of Sal
He couldn’t have done any better even if he was a nude gal.

We finally lucked out and found a parking meter
I thanked God and St Anthony and even St. Peter.
I could hear a friend welcome Frankie with “We’re happy to see Ya!”
I felt like I was home at the restaurant named Taormina.

After sharing some pleasantries, we sat at the bar
Danny proceeded to serve some friends from afar.
Sal looked at me with eyes saying he was ready to eat
But prying Frankie from the bar was no small feat.

We chose a table right by the window
And soon we were feasting on two antipastos.
The food was superb the service incomparable
My short stay in New York made truly enjoyable.

My hats off to the staff at Restaurant Taormina
I’ll recommend it to all even my fussy mom named Rosina.
Thanks to Danny, Ivan, Mark, et al
For making our visit truly a ball.

2006-03-22T04:29:00.000-08:00

So You Wanna Be In Pictures

There was a Sicilian named Sal,
To many he was a true pal.
He was honest, funny and loyal,
Especially when he had the Crown Royal
His face would propel him to fame
In Stiffs, he put them all to shame

Aiello asked, “Who’s that guy?”
He’s always saying, “I’ll buy.”
“Go and tell that piece of a ham
Let him understand who I am.”
“That’s prosciutto to you,” Sal replied
“And don’t you forget it,” he cried.

“Nice going Sal”, said Frankie
As he neatly folded his hankie
As Aiello unbuttoned his collar
He yelled, “Who’s this capicolla?”
“Man don’t give me that jive
I’m Frankie from Emeril Live”

Sign these guys, they are good
Let’s take them to Hollywood
Sal said, ”There’s just one little quirk
I’ve got to take Rita to work”
“I can’t go,” said Frankie shaking his fist
“Maureen has to post the OT list”

2006-03-18T08:08:00.000-08:00

"The Meatball Guy"

While surfing the net recently, I came across a blog http://orangette.blogspot.com/.

I was curious to read a posting titled, “A man who knows meatballs.” My curiosity was piqued and I decided to see what it was all about. What added to my curiosity is that I have a friend who is “The” Meatball Guy around here. His winning recipe of Frankie’s Gravy and Meatballs was showcased on the Food Network’s highly popular Emeril Live Show. When Emeril picks your recipe you know that it’s tops.

I wanted to see what this so called meatball connoisseur was all about. Well I can say that they are meatballs because they do look like balls of meat. But just as I suspected these meatballs are not what your mother or grandmother use to make as part of the Sunday gravy. These are not the meatballs that Tony Soprano eats. These meatballs are for the yuppies who wouldn’t know the difference between calamari and fried onion rings.

Ingredients such as golden raisins, lemon and cumin yogurt sauce in meatballs are for the girlie-men who drink champagne and think that they’re Italian because they can say grande when ordering their caffe at Starbucks.

No contest. The man who knows meatballs, is Frankie Imbergamo, The Meatball Guy from Boston.

2006-03-07T01:43:00.000-08:00

Fiorello LaGuardia

Last Sunday morning while I was having a cappuccino at the Café Paradiso, I bumped into Mario who had just come from Mass. As he walked up to the bar I got his attention by saying, “Hey Mario, che si dice?”

After exchanging the usual pleasantries, Mario sat beside me as he waited for the barrista to make him a café macchiato. As I continued my conversation with him I noticed from his facial expression that he wasn’t listening to what I was saying. He seemed to be staring at the photo of the Milan soccer team that was displayed over the bar. He seemed to be so deep in thought that he didn’t even hear the barrista bring over his coffee.

“You’re coffee is getting cold,” I said as I nudged him back out of his peaceful trance.

He thanked me for getting him out of his stupor. As he was stirring the three tablespoonfuls of sugar into his coffee he asked, “Do you know Father David?”

“Yes, why? I asked.

“Well, instead of giving a sermon this morning, he gave us a long speal about how we have to contribute money to the church especially at Lent,” he explained. “I was getting mad and was almost tempted to walk out when he started to tell a story about Mayor LaGuardia.”

Seeing the puzzled look on my face, he continued, “You know, the New York mayor, the one they named the airport after.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, Fiorello LaGuardia,” I answered as Mario grimaced after taking a sip of his coffee.

“What’s the matter? I asked.

“Ah, the coffee needs more sugar,” he answered.

I remembered reading a little about him. He was short in stature being a little over five feet two but a giant of a man when it came to New York politics.

The story got interrupted by the arrival of Mario’s good friend, Giovanni. The story was put on hold as the two shared an update on the conditions of both families.

“Mario, what about LaGuardia?" I asked trying to get him to finish the story. No sooner had I mentioned LaGuardia, when I saw Giovanni lean over in my direction and say, “Did you know his mother was Jewish?

“No,” answered Mario, “get out of here,” he said as he pushed Giovanni almost knocking him off of his stool.

“Yeah, Cohen, go look it up if you don’t believe me,” he said emphatically.

After the two settled down, Mario continued with the story the priest had told at mass. He told of how the Mayor would like to get involved and get down with the people. He would go out with the firemen to a fire and accompany the police as they made a raid and take field trips with the orphans. On a bitterly cold January night in 1935, Mayor LaGuardia made an appearance at a night court that served one of the poorest sections of the city. He proceeded to dismiss the judge and take over the court proceedings.

Within a few minutes a tattered old woman was brought before him charged with stealing a loaf of bread. She told the mayor that her daughter’s husband had left and that her daughter was sick and her two grandchildren were starving.

However the shopkeeper refused to drop the charges saying that it was a bad neighborhood and that she had to be punished to teach other people a lesson.

LaGuardia sighed. He turned to the woman and said, "I've got to punish you. The law makes no exceptions. Ten dollars or ten days in jail." But even as he pronounced sentence, the mayor was already reaching into his pocket. He extracted a bill and tossed it into his famous hat, saying, "Here is the ten dollar fine which I now remit; and furthermore I am going to fine everyone in this courtroom fifty cents for living in a town where a person has to steal bread so that her grandchildren can eat. Mr. Bailiff, collect the fines and give them to the defendant."

The following day, New York City newspapers reported that $47.50 was turned over to a bewildered woman who had stolen a loaf of bread to feed her starving grandchildren. Fifty cents of that amount was contributed by the grocery store owner himself, while some seventy petty criminals, people with traffic violations, and New York City policemen, each of whom had just paid fifty cents for the privilege of doing so, gave the mayor a standing ovation.

“What a guy that Mayor LaGuardia was,” I said.

“Yes, and what a wonderful guy Father David was to put us in the right frame of mind about giving to the needy,” said Mario.

2006-02-26T01:15:00.000-08:00

Italians Don't Like Italy Anymore

Recently while enjoying my espresso corto in the Caffe Dello Sport I spotted my friend Saverio. He was sitting alone at a table reading the Italian newspaper Corriere Della Sera in between sips of his cappuccino. I walked over and said, “Che Si Dice.”

“Look at this,” he said to me giving a backhand to the newspaper as he turned the page for me to see. “Italians Don’t Like Italy Anymore,” screamed the headline to the story. After getting a glimpse of the headline he pulled the paper back to him and proceeded to give me a synopsis of what he just read.

A recent survey conducted in Italy revealed that 37% of Italians would move to another country if they could. Not too long ago Italy was the place where all young people dreamed of living.

Saverio went on to tell me that the figures for young people were alarming. 55% of people aged from 18 – 24 said they would be happy to live elsewhere. The figures for the next age range (25 – 34) are slightly better but it’s still over 50%. Fifty-five percent of university graduates showed a desire to live in another country. Men (43.4%) are more inclined than women (32.6%) to think that foreign climes are more attractive than Italy.

Saverio showed a sense of pride when he said that Sicily and Sardinia were the only two areas where people were still happy to stay. Saverio is from Sicily and has often mentioned that when he retires he’s going to go back to Sicily.

I felt stupid when I asked, “Where do they want to live?” thinking that the answer was going to be the United States. The paper said that Spain, France, and Britain were the three top choices for these Italians with itchy feet.

“But why?” I asked.

He handed me the paper and pointed to the area that gave the reasons and I read,

One of the main reasons for this desire to relocate is the desire for a job that is more suited to individual skills and also better-paid (25.7%). Some 14.2% of respondents indicated the “cultural liveliness” of other countries as the main reason while 13.1% stressed “greater opportunities for the children”.

I could understand wanting to leave for a better job and better opportunities but the cultural liveliness bit had me scratching my head.

Saverio now stood up and almost in the fashion of an old Roman orator proceeded to expound on how the Sicilians have not buckled under to the American influence and have maintained their family traditions and customs. He said that the old saying, “When in Rome do as the Romans do” has changed to “When in Rome do as the Americans do.”

When he finished his little passionate speech he was greeted by a handful of clapping from the other tables and then from a back table some wise guy yelled, “Ah, shut up and go back to Italy.”

I grabbed Saverio by the arm and said, “Forget him, and let’s go to Artu’s. We’ll have them make us a nice sandwich of sausage and broccoli rabe.”

His eyes lit up and he said, “Only if I can buy the wine – it’s got to be Sicilian.”

“OK, Saverio, OK,” I said.

As we walked out Saverio was getting rid of his anger by cursing in Italian. I could hear him say, “Figlio di puttane, cornuto, fracito, bestia, maleducato…”

I said, “OK, Saverio, OK.”

2006-01-10T06:49:00.000-08:00

A North End Type of Dream (part 8)

I was now in familiar territory, my neck of the woods, and I knew not to turn right otherwise I would end up in enemy territory, Charlestown. If I went straight I would end up at North Station, home of the Garden. I turned left with the intentions of going to visit the people from the building where I used to live at the lower end of Cooper Street. All of a sudden I was disturbed by the screech of the Elevated train making the ninety degree turn from Causeway Street as it headed to City Square. That grinding of metal could be heard all the way to Haymarket Square and it competed with the sound of fingernails being dragged over a blackboard as one of the most nerve wracking sounds in the world. I covered my ears as I quickly walked down North Washington Street.

Once the train passed and I uncovered my ears, I heard the following, “Your dial’s alive at 85.” I saw Tony Chiarenza sitting in the back of his garage listening to the radio. He was listening to the All-Star game that was being played in Fenway Park and being broadcast by WHDH radio. I stopped and we talked a bit. He said he couldn’t leave for fear of missing the end of the game, it was tied at 1 – 1. He offered me a chair but I told him I had to get moving and that I’d had a long day.

As I approached Cooper Street, I could hear a lot of noise coming from Joe Tecce’s Restaurant. My curiosity got the best of me and even though I was tired I decided to go in. Once inside, the noise level seemed to have doubled. The place was mobbed and was loaded with many of Boston’s politicos. If one was visiting for the first time, they would think that this was an annex for both City Hall and the State House. Joe Sr. ran the show with the help of his three young boys.

As I was scanning the room, I felt a tug on my arm which made me turn. It was Auggie, who asked, “Where have you been? Did you get in a jam? We haven’t seen you for years!”

For a moment I thought Auggie might have become a lawyer given the rapid succession of questions he had just hit me with.

“No, I got married and moved out of the area,” I said apologetically.

“Oh, good, congratulations! How’s la famiglia? Is everything all right?”

I said, “Yeah, everything’s fine, about you?”

Before he could answer, he yelled across the way, “Hey, Bobby, get another chair and place setting for Lino.”

Sitting with Auggie were Albie Rocks, Johnny the Jeep and Peanuts Right beside this table was Anna Gunn, Suzie Black and a couple of strangers wearing vests who I later found out to be Joe Timilty and Kevin White, two political wanna bees working as clerks at City Hall.

The menu reminded me that this was the place that I would say was the king of red sauce. The menu reflected Joe’s ancestral Neapolitan ties. Pasta always ruled here, especially the lasagna. Pasta always came with a red sauce; marinara, alla puttanesca, Bolognese, etc. This was the place that for many years served wine in coke bottles because of its inability to obtain a beer and wine license. It wasn’t that the Tecce’s were bad characters; it had to do with some outdated puritanical laws that still existed. You could not get a liquor license if you were within 500 feet of a church is what I was told.

After a nice meal with friends, I decided to find a place where I could go to sleep. So I bid my goodbyes and went to the building that I lived in for the last ten years before I got married. I figured that between the three Pagliuca families and the Mostone family, someone would be kind enough to put me up for the night.

The front door was opened and I walked in and was greeted by the familiar white and grey marble stairway that were worn in the middle by the years of use of people going up and down. The first thing that hit me was that it smelled different and things didn’t seem to be as clean as before. I remember that the stairwell was washed on a weekly basis, more in the winter, with sufonetta diluted in water. I continued up four steps to the first landing before I would enter a second door and looked at the mailboxes on the left wall. I didn’t want to yell and wake everyone, so I figured I’d ring the Mostone’s bell since they lived on the first floor.

As I put my finger on the bell, I stopped because I noticed the name on the mail box was Taylor – Harris. Gee, I wondered to myself, the Mostone’s had lived here almost as long as the owners of the building and I never thought that they would leave. My eyes slowly made their way to the next mailbox which was for the apartment next to the Mostones. I was surprised to find that the name Lomuscio had been replaced by the names, Bates, Cardhu, and a third that seemed to have been squeezed in since it was in much smaller print that I made out to be Wong.

“What the heck...” I uttered under my breath.

I knew that I would be safe on the next floor because this was where the landlord and landlady lived. I knew them very well because I lived right across the hall from them and we got along superbly. I knew that they would welcome me in with open arms once they saw me. In retrospect I thought that I should have rung their bell first. My eyes scanned to the right to reveal NEUMEIER, typed in bold letter on this mailbox.

“Holy shit! I said excitedly as the four glasses of wine from earlier on were metabolizing and overtaking the interaction from the brain to my mouth, “What happened to the Pagliuca’s?”

I stepped back and much like a dog shakes off the water from its back after it comes out of water, I found myself making a similar gyration with my body.

Thinking that the wine might have impaired my vision, I stepped outside and rubbed my eyes, and then went back in. Let’s test the vision and try again I said to myself. I started at the beginning and found the same names as before. I asked myself if I dared to go further and decided to try the third floor where my friend Carlo lived. I find that Abdul R O S H has replaced Pagliuca.

I couldn't take it anymore, and yelled, “What’s happened to the North End? Where are all the Italians?”

My shouts seem to have disturbed some of the tenants and I found myself being chased into the cellar. I ran smack into a wall and fell. It was dark and I couldn't see two feet in front of me. I heard people shouting at me to come out.

The next thing I remember sitting up on my bed sweating, my heart was pounding as if I’d just run up three flights of stairs, murmuring, “What happened to the North End?”

Note:This story was written to bring out some of the nicknames from my growing up in the North End. It was done with the great input of my friend, Frank Imbergamo, and it is written in fun and not to offend anyone. If you would like to add to the list which I’m sure could grow exponentially feel free to do so by e-mailing me at lino485@ hotmail.com.

2006-01-09T05:11:00.000-08:00

A North End Type of Dream (part 7)

Since I knew so few people from that part of the North End, I asked Frankie to accompany me to Giro’s. From my end, I never heard too much about Giro’s, other than an occasional incident with some wise guy, so I didn’t know what to expect.

Just as we were about to go in, someone said, “Hey, Frankie, how you been?

Frankie proceeded to introduce me to Frankie Chisel, the guy who takes care of the valet parking.

Once inside, Frankie was greeted by Frankie Jazz, the bartender. One after another people greeted Frankie; this went on for a good five minutes. A guy by the name of Wally Mambo spotted Frankie and immediately yelled toward the kitchen, “Hey, tell Shrimpy (the chef) that Frankie, one of the too tall brothers is here.”

I looked at Frankie and without saying a word I gave him a look that he understood as meaning, what’s going on here?

He said, “Oh, you’ll love this place. There are a lot of classy guys who come in here.”

When we entered I noticed that even though the place was full, the atmosphere seemed to be more business like, more reserved, unlike the other places that I had been in earlier. Just like the previous places I had stopped in earlier, Giro’s was also hosting a reunion. As we went around I was introduced to Nasty Pete, Nemo, Nick the Razor, Nini, Pat Scratch, Peanuts, Pete Dempsey, Polly Hook, Polly Jughead, Polly Koona, Ralphie Hawk, Rarah, Rocky Stone, and Ronnie Rome.

In another section I noticed one of the waiters being very surly with the group he was serving. Frankie said, “That’s Francis the Waiter, he’s a fixture here, sometimes he thinks he owns the joint.”

It seems the disagreement at the table was over a $30 bottle of wine that Sammy Wood ordered. Sammy Wood insisted he ordered a Sicilian wine yet Francis the Waiter brought over a Tuscan wine instead.

The disagreement was quickly brought to halt when Seven Up, who was sitting at a nearby table, intervened by saying, “Bring that wine over here we’ll take it. Now give Sammy what he wants.”

In their area, I saw, Sammy Morgan, Sharkey, Shorty the Barber, Slimmy, Sluggo, Sniffer, Sparkey, Spike, Spucky, Stoogie, Sully, Tex, The Arch, The Gunner, Tiger, Tilly Rags, Tony Rome, Toodie, Toto, Trigger, Trixie, Twenty Years, and Twiggy.

I don’t remember what happened, but all of a sudden I found myself near the carwash, the one that Gabe Piemonti owned, or that’s what I thought I was told. Things were a little fuzzy. Why didn’t I remember going by the North End Park? How could I have gone by Sly Park without stopping? I realized that it was dark outside, but I don’t even remember going by the Brinks building. My head seemed to be spinning. Maybe it was from all that I had been through that day. It seemed as if I had passed out and was now being awakened by the pungent smell that reminded me of when my mother made sausage and broccoli rabe.

My nostrils were being tantalized by both a sweet and somewhat pungent smell at the same time. When I turned left I noticed that the pungent smell was coming from Polcari’s Restaurant and the sweet smell was emanating from the right. I soon realized that it was coming from across the street where the Stop and Shop bakery was.

I was alone and for a moment I thought about entering Polcari’s, but out of the cobwebs of my mind something told me not to go in. It started coming back to me why my subconscious stopped me from entering. Years ago I was one of 150 people attending a function there. When they served the Italian wedding soup, I found a piece of hair and a dead fly floating among the escarole and tiny meatballs. I kept quiet because I didn’t want to spoil anyone else’s meal. I didn’t eat much for the rest of the night and I vowed to never go back there again.

2006-01-08T02:30:00.000-08:00

A North End Type of Dream (part 6)

Just then, out comes Frankie and Skippy, (the too tall brothers). Seeing us huffing and puffing they asked in unison, “What happened?”

Before we could answer, Frankie said, “Come in. Sit down. Have a drink. Relax. How about a nice bowl of tripe? Al Blue Front just made it.”

Sammy never got a chance to tell me who the people at Langone’s were, but later I found out that they were gypsies.

The Blue Front, run by the Passacantilli’s, was packed with people and shortly I would meet, Lefty Joe, Lenny Bugs, Lenny Quahog, Leo the Lion, Lester, Lindell, Lobo, Louie Mop Head, Louie the Jeweler, Louie the Lug, Louie the Waiter, Lucky, Manno, Mario Good a Morning, Mario Pin Head, Mary Bottles, Mash, Mattie Grass, Mcgagan, Mcgee, Mikey Fudd, Mikey Moose, Mikey Red, Minnie, Moe Diamond, Muffy, Mugsy, Mushy, Muskie, Musty, and Muzzy the Butcher.

Unlike the European and Felicia’s or Stella’s, the Blue Front was different. It was warm and friendly and it gave you the feeling that you were visiting someone’s home, in fact for some it was their second home. It was what you would call a neighborhood place and not a place where you would have many tourists drop in; not that they weren’t welcomed. This was a place that definitely smacked of red sauce and of food that your mother would make.

Frankie, acting as a tour guide, proceeded to tell me not only the different things on the menu but also how they were prepared. I said to myself, this guy is going to be an award winning chef someday. Sammy Egg Ball didn’t want tripe, so he ordered pork with potatoes and vinegar peppers. As I walked around I noticed Kenny the Barber, Shrimpy and a couple of other guys playing a spirited game of whist. I could have stayed there all night but decided to leave still not sure of where I was sleeping that night. When I told Frankie about all the things that happened to me that day he said that since I was down this end, I should stop at Giro’s.

“Go ahead, there’s a little reunion going on down there too and you might want to see them,” he said.
“You know who’s down there? You won’t believe it. Anthony 5-9 is there; don’t you want to see him?”

“Hey, what’s the matter” he asked when he saw that I wasn’t responding.

I was captivated by the figure of a heavy set man wearing a white t-shirt leaning against a lamp post at the corner. He had a cigarette in his mouth and was bending over. Frankie noticed that I had spotted something and turned to see what I was looking at. As he turned, the man had now taken both his shoes and socks off and moments later he put them back on.

I turned to Frankie who had a smile on his face and asked, “Is that Chippa?”

I knew the story of why he took his shoes and socks off continuously, but he reminded me by saying, “Yeah, that’s the guy that walked all the way home from Texas after he got out of the Army and was left with burning feet ever since.”

Chippa was one of many people from the small neighborhood that suffered either from a physical and/or mental condition. They lived right in our midst and no one dared to put them away in some form of institution. It probably did them good assimilating and it also helped us in coping with them. It definitely gave us the example that life, no matter how flawed, is to be respected and not hidden in some distant locked facility.

Chippa, Hurricane Joe, the Monkey Man, the Dummy, Fedeisel, Mary Stu Stu, Cuckoo Anna, Louie Shake a Leg, Mary Palmer and Crazy Mary provided some of the best entertainment for us growing up.

(to be continued)

2006-01-07T07:17:00.000-08:00

A North End Type of Dream (part 5)

Just as I turned the corner, I noticed a large crowd in front of Langone’s Funeral Home. I wondered who passed away. The people that were being dropped off seemed to be dressed for a Mardi Gras and not a wake. As I got closer I noticed Sammy Egg Ball pushing his way through the crowd and as he got near I could see that he was upset and I could hear him swearing under his breath.

I startled him by saying, “Sammy, what’s going on over there?”

When Sammy saw who I was, he said, “Mannaggia, lu diavolo! Those people are crazy! There must be over a hundred of them. I told Willy, that he’s going to bring down the neighborhood, but he don’t wanna listen to me. All he’s concerned about, is making the big bucks. I warned him, one of these days, it’s going to come back to haunt him. Jack (Cincotti) would never let them on Cooper Street.”

“Sammy, take it easy, who are those people? I asked, hoping to calm him a bit.

“Can’t you tell? Look at the way they're dressed. Look at how they disrespect the dead.” He answered getting worked up again.

“No, I don’t know. I hardly come up here. I hang around down at the Clinic,” I said apologetically.

“Oh, that explains it,” replied Sammy.

Just then, I heard, “Hey, psst. Over here.”

In the entrance to a building was Hot Marilyn.

When shed finally got our attention, she motioned us to come closer and then asked, “Do you wanna buy any watches?”

As she was about to take one out to show us, Sammy abruptly stopped her and said, “No.”

He continued by saying, “Listen, there’s a couple of tourists down there that might be interested,” pointing in the direction of St. Leonard’s Church in hopes of getting rid of her.

She bought Sammy’s line and hurriedly crossed the street in hopes of snagging some unsuspecting prey.

Sammy turned to me and said, “I hope you didn’t want see the watches that she had, did you?”

“No, No, Sam. I’ve learned my lesson about buying hot stuff. The last time I bought one it only lasted only one day and I had to throw it away.”

“Let’s cross the street and go in the Prado where we can sit and talk without being bothered by these people,” proposed Sammy.

As we went into the Prado we almost had another skirmish break out. Sammy walked right in the middle of some old timer who was feeding a bunch of pigeons and scared them away. This got the old man so upset that his hearing aid popped out from his yelling at Sammy.

“Some-a of a bitcha basta! Watch-a wear u-a go,” I heard the man say as he raised his cane in a threatening matter.

Within minutes we were being outnumbered and things looked grim for me and Sammy. A couple of guys came over, one of whom I recognized to be Steve Reeves, and started yelling, “What’s the matter with you, leave the old man alone.”

Sammy gave me the eye and made a nod with his head that I understood as meaning, come on let’s get out of here. Since the nod was made in the direction of Commercial Street, I started to run that way.

We noticed that the guys chasing us had given up. I think they just wanted to scare us off. By the time we stopped running we were in front of the Blue Front.

“Sammy, I got to sit down,” I said trying to catch my breath.

(to be continued)

2006-01-06T06:37:00.000-08:00

A North End Type of Dream (part 4)

Moments later, I found myself in front of Stella’s on Fleet St. I followed Moe inside where I soon found another reunion taking place. This place was also crowded and I recognized a few old faces. Jesse James came forward and said that he would take me around. I soon met, Jake the Rake, Jerry the Killer, Jimbo, Jimmy Green, Jimmy Spic and Span, Jimmy Strike, Jimmy Waters, Joe Babe, Joe Bananas, Joe Bo, Joe Bunga, Joe Cool, Joe Donuts, Joe Gorilla, Joe Gubs, Joe Head, Joe Karate, Joe Peck, Joe Pips, Joe Tattoos, Joe Shoes, Joe the Fireman, Joe the Jet, Joe the Jew, Joe the Rat, Joe the Taylor, Joe Transistor, Joe Tusky, Joe TV, Joe Twist, Joey Pie, John Red, John the Bear, John the Blade, John the Bleach, Johnny Clean Pants, Johnny P.I., Johnny Pie, Johnny Shoes, Johnny the Jeep, Jumbo, Kenny the Barber, Kojak, Koolado.

Out of the three restaurants I visited, this by far had the rowdiest crowd. Many of the Joes and Jimmys were of Sicilian decent. The menu served here was of a surf and turf variety. I was offered to sample a wonderful Cioppino dish that was out of this world. There was no Sambuca served in this joint. These were hardy souls and Grappa was the choice drink to follow the after dinner espresso. Jesse James signaled that it was time for me to go, just as a group gathered to play a game of LaMorra.

After sampling the drinks and food at the last few places, I started to get a little tired. I started to wonder where I was going to sleep later that night.

All of a sudden I could hear music coming from behind me and the following words were being sung;

The worst person I know,
A she worries me so,
If she'd leave us alone,
A she would have a happy home,

The song was coming from a 1959 Impala. Two guys in the car called out to me, they were Floppie and Spitzie. They pulled over and turned down the radio that was playing the song that I soon remember was titled Mother-In-Law.

Spitzie asked, “Have you bumped into any guys from the Clinic?”

“Yeah, I saw Fat Ronnie at Felicia’s, as a matter of fact now that I remember, I thought I saw Floppie there too when I first went in. But I don’t remember seeing him when I went around to all the tables.”

“You’re right,” interrupted Floppie, “I was called out to take care of some business, you know what I mean?”

“Yeah, yeah, no problem Flop,” I answered trying to stay on his good side.

“Hey, if you’re not doing anything, we’re going to the drive-in tonight,” Fitzie nonchalantly added.

“What drive-in are you going to?” I asked.

He answered, “Meffa.”

“Where?” I asked.

“Meffa, ah, Wellington Circle.”

“Oh, ok, right,” I said. “Well, I don’t know what’s going on, but if I’m free, I’ll come.”

“OK, see you around, said Spitzie, “keep your nose clean.”

I realized after they drove off that I never asked where I would meet them, if I was going to the drive-in with them. I was kind of worried because I didn’t want to get Floppie mad.

As I walked away, I started to think how Stella’s menu seemed to be drifting away from Southern Italian cooking and venturing more into the white sauces, typical of Northern Italy. Those sauces are all right, but I’ve grown up with the traditional red sauce and I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to the cooking of Northern Italy. I’ll predict Stella’s demise if they continue drifting away from the traditional cooking.

2006-01-05T13:02:00.000-08:00

A North End Type of Dream (part 3)

As I stepped out of Felicia’s, I felt like I was hit by a bolt of lightning. Crossing my path was one of the North End’s most famous wanna-bees (always wanted to be mayor, for some reason I think that Mayor Menino must have had some genealogical ties to Jimmy); it was none other than Jimmy Wiles still looking like Crazy Legs Hirsh in a suit, tie and fedora. He looked at me and with his toothless smile welcomed me with a “Hi-Ya Pal!” First Crazy Mary and now Jimmy Wiles; gee what more reassurance would I need to feel really at home.

I somehow got separated from Spinney Moe and was now freelancing on my own with no one to guide me. I turned the corner and I saw a large crowd in front of Café Dello Sport. Among all the well dressed older Italian men, some of whom had been nursing insurance claims just to get out of work, I spotted a young animated man who on one side had a captive audience yet on the other was engaged in a spirited discussion as could be seen by the continuous flailing of his arms. As I got nearer to this group that was blocking the sidewalk, I recognized Bobby Popcorn as being one half of the amateur sports’ debate. At the Seamen’s House, I could hear Jimoss’ voice saying in broken English, “Why do you saya that Yogi Berra is a stoopid? He is the gratest and the best catcha that ever lived!”

Bobby Popcorn was saying that Yogi was stupid because he read a story where Yogi was in a restaurant and ordered a pizza. When the waitress came back with the pizza, she asked Yogi how many pieces did he want his pizza cut into. Yogi’s answer was to cut it into four because he couldn’t eat eight slices. Jimoss got mad because he thought Bobby Popcorn was saying this to make fun of the Italians. I thought, if only video cameras had been invented then, one could have taped what looked like some futuristic rap dance routine with Jimoss’ arms flailing and Bobby Popcorn’s body bobbing and weaving. All you would need then would be Johnny Most doing a play by play of the whole thing. Oh, what money could have been made.

All the commotion blocked the entrance to the Haymarket Cooperative Bank, the bank that held the life savings of all the Italians who came over to this country, and caused for some people to panic and call the cops. Angelo the cop was seen coming out of the Café Paradiso which was across the street. As he approached you could see that he was still trying to get his clothes together since he was summoned out of the bathroom at the most impromptu moment.

Angelo, one to never refuse a free cannoli, was red in the face and sweating as he pushed his somewhat rotund trunk across the street. With billy club in hand he started to break up the crowd and worked his way to where he confronted the two main instigators.

Upon seeing Angelo the cop, Jimoss apologized, saying, “No disrespect Angelo, but my friend here was making fun of Yogi Berra.” Bobby Popcorn continued to bob and weave but wisely remained silent.

Angelo threatened Jimoss saying that he would call for the paddy wagon if they didn’t break it up and move on. With the threat, Jimoss started to plead with Angelo saying, “No, No, My father will kill me. No, I’m sorry Angelo, I’m sorry.” In the middle of this brouhaha, it was no surprise that I should spot Peter Snapshot, the North End’s version of the character Jimmy, the eager beaver reporter in the Superman series. Peter with a camera around his neck and one in his pocket was always ready to respond to any and all emergencies. Peter Snapshot was one of the original paparazzi.

I felt worn out by all the commotion, so I ventured off across the street to make my way to St. Leonard’s Church with the intention of resting a bit in the Peace Garden. The flowers in the garden that were tended to by the priests, were in full bloom and gave off a wonderful fragrance, but it was soon overpowered by the smell of fried food coming from where else but Coogie’s, one of the first take out joints that we would go to. Fried clams, fried shrimp, French fries were simply wonderful at Coogie’s. As I was about to enter Coogie’s, I could hear someone calling my name. It took me about ten seconds to find the direction that the call was coming from. When I turned to my right, I spotted my Pal Sal outside of the Florentine.

I walked over and was greeted with a loud, “Lino, com’e stai?”

I was confused and asked, “Sal, what are you doing here? I just saw you at Boccelli’s a few weeks ago with Frankie.”

He pulled me aside and said, “You see, I come here every Tuesday and meet up with my friend Zach. The drinks are cheap here and we can play some Keno.”

“Who’s watching the building while you’re here?” I asked.

“Oh, Lino, I have more problems with that building. That’s why I come here,” he replied.

Just as he was about to continue, out of nowhere Moe Diamond appeared and said, “Sorry Sal, he’s my guest and he’s coming with me.”

Sal’s appearance lasted a few minutes, just like an extra in a motion picture, now you see him, now you don’t.

(to be continued)

2006-01-03T10:16:00.000-08:00

A North End Type of Dream (part 2)

I would soon find out that my adventure was just starting as I was turned over to Spinney Moe who greeted me with, “C’mon, they’re waiting for you at another reunion down the street.” I was still trying to clear the cobwebs from my head as we passed Café Roma. I looked up and saw a sign that read, DiCarlo Furniture, and then as I looked further down to the next corner, I saw a sign that puzzled me. “Spinney Moe, when did they put a Modell’s in the North End?” I asked.

He turned to me and said, “Where do you see Modell’s?’

I pointed to a sign about a hundred yards down on the right and said, “Over there.”

He stopped and looked at me in the eyes and said, “How much wine did you have in there? That’s Mondello’s, the store where all the Italians go to buy their stuff, don’t you remember?”

My vision was somewhat blurred, but I don’t think it was from the wine as much as it was from walking through the sweet smelling clouds of anisette, almond paste, and rum that was used to bake the cookies and cakes that emanated from the pastry shops in the area. Right on cue, there was Giovanni putting the freshly baked ricotta pies out in the window of Modern Pastry.

I stopped momentarily and thought that I must truly be in heaven. I was walking with the angels and the halo that enveloped me was made up of the wonderful familiar smells and sounds that were part and parcel of a different and wonderful era – my childhood. In the distance I could hear someone shouting, “Caura, caura! Pizza caura, caura!” It was the man that sold that awful pizza that most tourists bought. He was smart because he chose a location that was right on the Freedom Trail. I can picture him on Cross St. with his huge metal container with a lid. When he opened the lid you could see some steam coming out from the individual slices stacked one on top of the other. When he took a slice out it looked and tasted like a wilted flower, yet the Iraisha’s would eat it up, ‘cause they didn’t know any better.

Spinney Moe elbowed me and said, “Stop daydreaming, let’s go, it’s getting late!” What was his hurry I thought. We made a right turn on to Richmond St., the street that I would go down with my mother when we went to buy a fresh chicken or rabbit. At the lower part of Richmond Street was Fulton Street whith an array of slaughterhouses.

Again we deal with the color red, this time from the blood that was shed by the innocent animals there.

My train of thought was interrupted by the pungent and sweet smell of red sauce again. I found myself about to enter a building following in the footsteps of my current guide. Before I stepped in I saw the store where we used to go and buy fresh homemade pasta. Biagi. I looked up and saw a large sign that said Felicia’s. Wow, I said to myself. I had never been in here as a kid, but I knew of its excellent reputation for good Italian food. This place was a lot better than the European.

When I entered, I was greeted by Iron Mike, who gave me a big hug and a kiss on both cheeks. This place too was jumping and buzzing with excitement. I stopped for a moment and scanned the room and soon could see that this was where all the Frankies were invited to. There was Fab, Fat Ronnie, Fishcake, Fishy , Flippo, Floppie, Fonzie, Footer, Frank the Butcher, Frankie Flea, Frankie Fly, Frankie Gavo, Frankie Hot Dog, Frankie Ross, Frankie Shoes, Frankie the Gangster, Frankie the Racketeer, Frankie the Wiseguy, Froggy, Fuzzy, Gino the Bulb, Gino the Butcher, Gino the Hairdresser, Gooso, Guy Dirt, Guyo, Harpo, Harry-O, Honest John, Honey Andrew, Hookie, and Hymie.

This crowd was tossing around the fettucine and tagliatelle like they were going out of style. I was amazed at how things changed.

I pulled Iron Mike aside, as I didn’t want to be disrespectful, and asked, “How did you get these guys to accept Honey Andrew as one of them?” This brought a wry smile to Iron Mike’s face as he said, “You didn’t forget.” He continued, “Honey Andrew has gained a high stature in the North End. He was the first person to have a sex change operation and has become a celebrity.”

“Listen, if you talk to him, er , I mean her, she would like to be called Andrea.”

Later on Andrea performed and did a real good impression of Rosemary Clooney and Judy Garland.

I was overcome with emotion as I was leaving Felicia’s. For some it’s been a good thirty to thirty five years since the last time I’d seen them. Interestingly no one had changed. It seemed that we were all brought back to the glorious years from the late fifties to the early seventies.

..to be continued

2006-01-02T10:39:00.000-08:00

A North End Type of Dream (Part 1)

The other night I had a weird dream. It seems like I had died and was being transported to some far off place. I was greeted by Mike the cab driver, Johnny the Jeep and Charlie Buick and they put me in their 1961 Bonneville Coupe. As they started driving I remember looking out the window and seeing Salutation Street. At first I was scared, because we seemed to be flying through some clouds, but they reassured me that everything was going to be all right for they said I would be meeting a lot of my friends.

The car radio was turned on to station WMEX and I heard a man named Woo Woo Ginsburg doing a commercial for Adventure Car Hop. As we ventured higher and higher I could hear my two escorts singing, “If you believe in forever, then life is just a one night stand, if there’s a rock and roll heaven, well you know they’ve got one hell of a band.” As we broke through another cloud, I saw a sign that said Snow Hill St. I didn’t know where I was going and I was worried. I lost track of time, and also lost track of everything. All of a sudden we were traveling in darkness but well ahead I could see a small opening with some light. The closer we got the brighter and larger the light seemed to get until we finally were in total brightness. We took a right turn and we were greeted by a beautiful clear sunny day. A big sign with four letters spelling N E N H greeted us. I asked my escorts where we were and what the sign stood for.

They smiled and said “You’re home. You’re among long lost friends who are waiting to see you.” I was looking all around in wonderment and asked what NENH stood for. They said, “Welcome to North End Nickname Heaven!”

Just as they said this, the place snapped to life. There were people all about. There were many children running around, there was singing and laughter that added to the clear crystal day. I could smell garlic and onions sautéing along with the aroma of fresh basil and the smell of freshly made spaghetti sauce. This did smell like home.

I turned around and was greeted by the friendly faces of Uncle Baldy, Uncle Dave and Uncle Fred who were sitting on a bench waving to me. The street sign just above them said Heaven Over Street and as I looked down the street I could see a marching band approaching.

“Oh, my God! Could that be….?” And before I could finish, my escorts said, “Yes, Lino, that’s Fedeisel leading the Roma Band. You see nothing has changed.”

The car stopped in front of the European. Cuckoo Anna, Annmarie Hunch and Crazy Mary were yelling at me to go in.

I asked my escorts, “What’s going on?” They said, “There’s a big reunion and some of the people have come to celebrate at the European.”

As I walked in, I could see the place was packed. The place was so well lit that I wondered how they could afford the electric bill. Since I didn’t know everyone, they made it a point to introduce themselves as I walked past them. There was Babe, Baby, Bash, Beaver, Ben Blue, Benny the blood, Biffo, Big Al, Big Anty, Big Sid, Billy Bong, Billy Indy, Billy Mouse, Black Jack, Black Mike, Blackie, Blackie Pete, Blouser Mike, Bobby the greaser, Bobby Brad, Bobby Dell, Bobby Popcorn, Bobo, Boccie, Boone, Boopsie, Bosco, Bozo, Bubbles, Buckwheat, Bugsy, Bunny, Butchy Hunch, Butchy Ross, Cadillac Sam, Carmen the baker, Charlie Chan, Charlie Freestone, Charlie Stingy, Chipper, Ciccilo, Cocky ross, Colombo, Coogie, Cueball, Curly, and Cuz. I could see that the European was reserved for people who had nicknames beginning with B’s and C’s.

As I walked around dodging many offers of drinks, I was amazed at the sea of red emanating from the tables. Red was the color of the decade; white and red checkered tablecloths, red sauce on top of anything you ate including your shirt or tie, zinfandel and Chianti was also in abundance. The jukebox owned by MelloTone was playing, Where the Boys Are by Connie Francis. Just before I left, the festivities picked up with the arrival of Topper who proceeded to tell everyone there that Fred Langone had just been elected as City Councilor. He was there to celebrate and to thank all for voting for Fredddie.

As I got near the door I saw a young boy named Sal (DiMasi) hanging around and he was in awe of the greeting that Freddie Langone received. It was at this time that Sal decided that one day he too would go into politics and be a big man in the North End. As we walked out the door Crazy Mary said her goodbye by threatening to hit me with her pocketbook. Now I knew I was back home.

(to be continued)

2005-12-31T01:09:00.000-08:00

"Stiffs"

There's a buzz on Hanover Street about the upcoming shoot of an independent film called "Stiffs" which will star Danny Aiello. While sipping an espresso with Sambuca at the Cafe Graffiti, I bumped into my friend Vinnie. I said, "Vinnie, che si dice, come stai?" He smiled and said, "sto bene." Then with an excited look in his eyes he said, "Did you hear that one of the guys from the North End was picked to be in the Danny Aiello film?"
I asked, "who?"
He said, "you know, the guy that was on Emeril Live, what's his name?"
"Oh, you mean Frankie," I said. "Yeah, yeah, that's it, Frankie."

Vinnie was all excited and I also found out as he sat and joined me for an espresso, that he was also quite ticked off. He said that last week he showed up for a call for people to be extras in the movie. He said that the guy in charge liked his looks and would probably use him in the funeral scene.

I said, "congratulations, salute," as I raised my glass of Sambuca in a toast.
He responded dejectedly, "nah, don't bother, I didn't get picked."
"What happened?", I asked.

He shrugged his shoulders and continued.

"They were in the process of taking my name and phone number down, when all of a sudden from the back I hear this loudmouth yelling, 'Angela, Angela, I'm a friend of Frankie's, he told me to see you.'"

At this point, I had an idea of who he was talking about but I didn't dare to divulge any information to him. He proceeded to tell me that the woman, Angela, came over and said that they would call him if they needed him. He could sense that the other guy got picked over him and that's why he was mad.

As we left, I tried to cheer him up and said to him, "Vinnie, why don't you go see Frankie, maybe he can put in a good word for you." His eyes were a little brighter, and said "you think so?" Then I pulled him over and quietly gave him this advice, "Vinnie, if you buy a few of his cookbooks, I'm sure he'll take care of you, know what I mean?'

In honor of Frankie, who will venture into the acting field with the shooting of the movie "Stiffs" I offer the following which can be sung to the tune, "From A Jack To A King."

From a chef to a “Stiff”
From Emeril Live to a North End gig
He dropped his sauce for a chance to act
And he'll walk away with your heart

From a chef to a “Stiff”
With no regrets he put his apron down
And took a chance with his acting frown
And will be king of your heart

For just a little while I thought that he might lose his chance
But at his audition they saw the sparkle in his eyes

From a chef to a “Stiff”
From Emeril Live to a North End gig
He dropped his sauce for a chance to act
He’ll walk away with your heart

Buon Anno
Buona Fortuna

2005-12-22T05:21:00.000-08:00

Sea Bass Made With Crazy Water (Acqua Pazza)

If you are looking for a fish dish to make up the seven for the traditional Italian Christmas Eve (La Vigilia di Natale) dinner, I offer you the following in honor of my pal, Sal, who is simply crazy about it. You know, maybe that's why they call it Branzino all'Acqua Pazza (Mediterrenean sea bass made with crazy water).

Branzino all ‘Acqua Pazza

Ingredients

¼ cup olive oil
2 cloves garlic, divided
6 large plum tomatoes, chopped (approximately 1-1/2 lbs)
¼ cup fresh oregano
1 medium hot red pepper
1-1/2 to 2 pounds Mediterranean sea bass, cleaned and filleted
salt to taste
1 cup water
3 slices Italian bread, grilled

PREHEAT oven to 350º.
PLACE olive oil and 1 clove of garlic in a 13x9 inch baking pan. Bake 3 to 4 minutes or until garlic turns golden yellow.
ADD tomatoes, oregano, salt and hot pepper; mix lightly.
BAKE 15 minutes. Remove from oven and top with fish. Cover with foil and bake 10 to 12 minutes longer or until fish flakes easily with a fork.
RUB Italian bread with remaining garlic clove and cut into croutons.
GARNISH with croutons and serve.

Buon Natale

2005-12-21T02:50:00.000-08:00

La Vigilia di Natale

La Vigilia (vee gee lee a) di Natale or Christmas Eve is steeped with tradition for many Italians. When you look at the word vigilia, you can pick out vigil from it. The word vigil has two meanings;
-The first means night watch, a period spent doing something through the night, for example, watching, guarding, or praying
-The second means festival eve, the eve of some festivals and holy days, spent in prayer

Christmas Eve, which is the culmination of Advent, a time of waiting and watching, is in essence a combination of the two. We spend the night waiting and praying for the arrival, the birth of the baby Jesus, along with our heavenly parents, Mary and Joseph.

Christmas Eve would find people in southern Italy observing a vigilia di magro, in other words it would be a day of abstinence. No meat would be eaten. Tradition has it that people would sit down to a “Seven-Fish Christmas Eve dinner.”

Depending on where you lived the seven different types of fish would vary, but the one constant fish that I see all Italians serve is baccala, salted cod. You could see this fish served in a salad, or fried in three or four inch pieces or even in a meatball fashion (croquettes), and maybe in a casserole. Another fish that would find its way to the Southern Italian’s table would be roasted or fried eel. The third type of fish that was popular with many was calamari (squid). Like baccala, calamari could be made in many different ways, fried, boiled and cut up in a salad or stuffed. My favorite was fried and I especially enjoyed eating the crispy tentacles.

Those three, baccala, the Anguilla (eel) and calamari have been brought forward by many generations and constitute the core of the seven-fish dinner that continues in many Italo-American families. The ITAMS have incorporated lobster, shrimp, clams and other fish such as sole, haddock, salmon, tuna, etc…

Many start with shrimp cocktail and then will have a dish of spaghetti con le vongole (with clams) which could be spiced up with some anchovies (also in the fish family). The next serving is usually the baccala in a salad (boiled and cut up into small chunks and mixed with olive oil and herbs and maybe garlic or even chopped up olives). The next portion of the meal will consist of a mixed fish fry, roasted eel and baked fish. The lobster has found its way on many a New Englander’s plate. Growing up in Italy, we would have crayfish and crab instead of lobster.

To balance out the fish meal there would be many side dishes. My favorite was broccoli rape. This pungent tasting green was prevalent during the winter months in Italy. I will explain more about broccoli rape in a future feature of Che Si Dice.

I looked forward to Christmas not so much for the gifts but for the traditional cooking. Having been born with a sweet tooth, I especially looked forward to this time of year because of the indigenous dessert offerings. There would be the traditional panettone (a specialty bread with raisins and candied fruit), susamielli (an S shaped cookie made with honey), struffoli (pictured above) (tiny bite size pieces of dough deep fried and covered with honey and sprinkles), mustacciouli (a diamond shaped cookie could filled with different currants and covered with chocolate. All of this was sometimes accompanied by a nut crunch.

Nuts and fruits (fresh and dried) would be the culmination of a meal. The meal could end with a collana del prete (the priest’s necklace). This would consist of dried fruit (dates, figs, nuts, and chestnuts) strung together to form a necklace.

One would finish the meal just in time to head down to church at 11:00 PM for the start of the Christmas Eve festivities which consisted of listening to the church choir singing an array of carols which was then followed by midnight Mass.

The women didn’t get much rest because the next day would be another feast and another special dinner which would always have meat as the center stage. The following day, the feast of St. Stephen, would also be another day of celebration for many.

With all the eating and drinking, why didn’t I see many more fat people around?

Buon Natale

2005-12-06T07:24:00.000-08:00

TOMBOLA

Tombola is the Italian version of Bingo. However, unlike the American version, where you can make Bingo horizontally, vertically, or diagonally, In Tombola, only horizontally counts. A tombola card has 3 rows and 9 columns and in each row five of the nine columns have numbers, the others are intentionally left blank. The numbers range from one to ninety.

As a kid in Italy, I would look forward to Christmas and New Year’s Eve because that’s when the family would be gathered together after dinner and would play tombola well into the night. This was the night that the little ones could stay up until midnight. This was a special treat since there was no television or radio to entertain you. In retrospect it was more entertaining

Tombola was fun and it got all the family members from the one to ninety nine year old together to play a simple game around a table where one had just finished having a nice meal.

The person in charge that called the numbers was called the Tombolone. This person would use a drum to pull out the numbers and would keep track using a large board. The fun in tombola was the calling of the numbers. If the number 25 was pulled out, the tombolone would call out “venticinque – Natale.” (The connection being the 25th which was Christmas.) If the number 33 came up, one would hear, “trentatre – l’anne Gesu Christo.” (The connection was that Christ lived to be 33 years old.) Not all the connections to the numbers were religious however, in fact some were quite risqué in a fun way; but nonetheless as a little one you were being taught as you played a simple game.

The poverty of the day was reflected in what people playing tombola used as markers. Some of the things used were the remnants of what they had just eaten. Since tombola was played after a meal and a typical Italian meal ended with fruits and nuts, I remember it was common to use small pieces of tangerine rind to mark a tombola card. Some would have bits of walnut or hazelnut or almond shells or even dried beans.

There were five rounds of a tombola game.

Ambo – 1st person to cover two numbers in a row
Terno – 1st person to cover three numbers in a row
Quaderno – 1st person to cover four numbers in a row
Quinto – 1st person to cover five numbers in a row
Tombola – 1st person to cover all fifteen numbers on the card

Each round had a corresponding prize and the one making tombola received the larger pot.

The tradition of playing tombola around the Christmas holiday continues with many families in this country. The only difference I found was that most modern tombola cards come already with a built in marker, therefore all the remnants of nuts and orange and tangerine peels are no longer part of the game.

As I mentioned up above, the fun came not only in winning one of the five prizes but in listening to the tombolone calling out the numbers. There is a list of sayings for all ninety numbers but I’ll only give you a smattering of them. There are probably some variations depending on the area of Italy that you came from. You already know what 25 and 33 were called, here are some others;

Italia was called when the number one was pulled out
Marito e moglie (husband and wife) signified number 2

So far there seems to be a rhyme or reason number to the rhyming scheme, 1 = Italy, number 2 = two people, husband and wife.

What do you think was the number when la mano (the hand) was called out? If you guessed five, you’re right – the hand has five fingers.

Try this – La Madonna (Our Lady). You are correct if you guessed number 8. (December 8 is the feast of the Immaculate Conception)

Ok, here’s another religious one – Sant’Antonio (St. Anthony). You are correct if you answered 13; June 13 is St. Anthony’s feast day. Similarly San Giuseppe would be number 19, for March 19 is his feast day.

Here are some that are not religiously connected;

La disgrazia (bad luck) = 17 (in Italy it’s 17 and not 13
Il pazzo (the madman) = 22
Le palle del tenente (the Lieutenant’s balls) = 30
Il vino buono (good wine) = 45
Le due zitelle (two old maids) = 66
L’uomo di merda (filthy man) = 71
La puttana (the prostitute) = 78
La vecchia (the old lady) = 89
La paura (fear) = 90

La tombola is a version of bingo but with an Italian flair.

2005-12-02T12:34:00.000-08:00

La Panetteria

“Grab your pig's feet, bread, and gin, there's plenty in the kitchen. I wonder what the poor people are eating tonight? “

That quote is credited to the great jazz pianist, Fats Waller. But change the gin to wine and that quote could come from any of the Italian nonnos that came to this country at the turn of the century. If you had pig’s feet, bread, and wine, you were eating like a king.

If you lived in an Italian home, God forbid if you ran out of bread and wine, all hell would break loose. “Rosina, where’s the bread? I can’t eat without bread.” If you are of Italian heritage, you have heard these words uttered (or, I show say shouted) a few times during your lifetime. Bread had to be on the table; otherwise the meal would be spoiled.

How could you have an insalata, without bread? Sit at an Italian’s table and you’ll notice a man sitting there enjoying his meal using both hands. One hand will have the appropriate utensil and the other will hold a piece of bread. It sort of provides a balance. I swear that if you take the bread out of his hand he will fall off his chair.

Just walking through the North End of forty and fifty years ago and smelling the wonderful aromas emanating from just about each building would put you in a happy trance. Who needed anti-depressants when your nose was constantly tickled with the smell of garlic and onions sautéing in olive oil? The smell of the sauce slowly simmering would not only make you hungry but would also bring a smile to your face. Who needed a psychiatrist when you could walk on almost any street and be embraced by the smell of freshly baked bread hugging you just like your grandmother would when you visited her on a Sunday morning?

You couldn’t escape the smell because there were many bakeries back then. My friendly historian Frankie I. recently sent me this list and I’m sure you’ll remember the one that you and your family would go to:

Bova’s on Prince St.
Parziale’s on Prince St.
Boschetto’s on Salem St.
Manne’s on Fleet St.
Solimini’s lower end of Hanover St.
Pal’s lower end of Hanover St.
Anna’s on Charter St.
Josie’s on Unity St.
Drago’s on North St.
Drago’s on Salem St.
Umberto’s on Parmenter St.
Prince on Prince St.

Out of those twelve only three remain today – the first three on the list. My soon to be eighty-three year old mother still insists on taking the T from Roslindale to get her bread at Boschetto’s. I think that over the course of time I have tasted bread made in probably ten of the twelve bakeries listed above and even though I liked Drago’s and Umberto’s bread the best, all were good especially when they just came out of the brick ovens.

I remember getting chastised a few times because I had eaten half a loaf of bread on the way home from the store. How could you resist not breaking off a crusty piece of warm bread? It didn’t matter if it was a bastone, or French or a round loaf, I would always succumb to the temptation. Sunday morning ritual was going to church and then coming home to the pot of sauce simmering on the stove. I’m sure you have all taken a nice piece of crusty bread and dipped in the sauce. That got your juices flowing and you just couldn’t wait for dinner time to roll around. My mouth starts watering each time I think of bringing home a dozen spacchi rolls and filling one up with either cold cuts or peppers and eggs or even better potatoes and eggs.

Over time many of the bakeries also started selling pizza. History has it that it was Giuseppe Parziale who first introduced pizza at his shop back in 1908.

With the gentrification of the North End many of the artisans of the past have moved on and are now sprouting up in some of the suburbs. I’m pleased to find at least half a dozen bakeries within a 10 minute drive from my house in Roslindale.

“Bread is the king of the table and all else is merely the court that surrounds the king. The countries are the soup, the meat, the vegetables, the salad but bread is king.”Louis Bromfield, American novelist (1896-1956)

2005-11-29T17:17:00.000-08:00

La Tiella

La Tiella, pronounced (thee ella) was and continues to be one of my most favorite things to eat. Many people claim to have originated this dish but history has it that it had its inception in my home town of Gaeta, Italy.

Gaeta is a hidden gem in Italy simply because it is out of the normal route of travel. Located between Rome and Naples it is a historic and beautiful seacoast town on the Tyrrhenian Sea. In years past, fishing provided the natives, Gaetani, their main source of income. That is where I want to reconnect to my topic of the tiella.

Since the fishermen were not able to be home to eat lunch, the men out at sea needed to bring something with them to sustain them until they returned home and this is how the tiella was born over one thousand years ago in 997. One of the characteristics that lend it suitable for people who are to be away for a few days is the fact that it keeps well for a few days and can be eaten either hot or cold.

The best way I can describe a tiella is that it’s almost like a stuffed pizza except the dough is slightly of a different texture. The perfect tiella is one where the filling keeps fairly moist and at the same time not wetting the top or bottom pieces of dough which must remain light but still well cooked.

The filling can be either of products from the sea (fish) or from the earth (vegetables). The best tiella I ever had, I can still taste it now, was made by Zia Maria. The filling was of fresh baby calamari. She made four of them one night and all were devoured within 20 minutes. She knew I liked it so much that she got up early on the morning I was to fly back to Boston to make one to take back. It was still hot as I made my one hour ride to Rome. I carried my prized tiella on board with me all the way to Boston. On arrival I shared it with my mother who was truly reminded of her growing up in Gaeta.

La Tiella Gaetana is to be eaten with your hands. A tiella is cut into quarters and
When one eats it the oil should run down ones forearm, otherwise it’s not the real thing.

When life has me down, I don’t reach for Prozac, but ask my mom to make me a tiella. Since we can’t get fish as fresh as we could buy in Gaeta, my mom will stuff her tiella with spinach, escarole, zucchini, or eggs and cheese. A vegetarian tiellas is filling yet with few calories.

2005-11-25T03:46:00.000-08:00

"Where Have You Gone Joe DiMaggio..Our Nation Turns It's Lonely Eyes To You"

It was on November 25, 1914, that Joseph Paul DiMaggio was born to Giuseppe and Rosalie in Martinez, California. He was the eighth of nine children to bless the home of these Sicilian immigrants who came to the US at the turn of the century. It was also the year that would see the start of the bloodiest war in history, WWI.

Due to economic hardships, Giuseppe, a fisherman from Sicily, came to the United States and chose to make the San Francisco area his home because of the good fishing possibilities and a climate that compared somewhat to his native homeland. He followed his father-in-law over and worked for the railroads making 10 cents an hour. By 1904 he made enough money to bring his wife Rosalie and first child to America. He left the railroads and went to work as a fisherman naming his first boat the “Rosalie D” after his wife.

It was after the birth of Joe that the family moved from Martinez to San Francisco’s North Beach, which was closer to the fishing grounds and was also a neighborhood with good schools, something Rosalie, a school teacher in the home country, had wanted for her children. Rosalie and Giuseppe spoke Italian at home. Like all other immigrants, the DiMaggio’s spoke Italian at home and English outside their homes. Rosalie was the moral backbone of her family, telling Bible stories to her children and for the setting of a high standard of conduct. It was Rosalie who would sometimes take the train across the country to see her son play.

Giuseppe, as like many others who had lived in poverty, wanted his sons to get a good education and frowned upon them playing baseball. He didn’t think that they could make any money at it. The senior DiMaggio’s view changed when he saw his son Vince bring home some serious money from playing baseball. As Joe became a star, playing for the San Francisco Seals, Giuseppe would wake his son Dom (later to play for the Red Sox) and have him read the latest news about his brother and interpret the box score for him.

Giuseppe, in forty years living in this country, hadn’t bothered to become a US citizen and with the bombing of Pearl Harbor, he was prohibited from going to the wharves where he made his living. He was one of many Italian immigrants who was rounded up and put under house arrest during WWII. This restriction came barely six months after Joe had become an American hero for hitting in 56 straight games.

Giuseppe died in 1949 and during the 1950 and 51 baseball season, Joe spent a good amount of time by his mother’s side who was sick with cancer. In late June 1951, Joe left the Yankee line-up to be with his mother when she fell into a coma. She never came out of it and died shortly thereafter. As Joe approached the twilight of his career, his parents were no longer there to watch.

From this background, was born an American legend. “Joltin’ Joe” and the “Yankee Clipper”, he was called by fans and sportswriters for his hard hitting and graceful fielding as he patrolled center field in Yankee Stadium. He played for the Yankees from 1936 to 1951 carrying the baton passed from Babe Ruth taking them to the World Series ten times and leading them to nine championships.
It was during 1941 with America on the brink of WWII that Joe’s feat of getting a hit in fifty six straight games gripped the nation. Fans even non fans of baseball would wake up each day asking, “Did he get a hit?” The record is one of the most hallowed achievements in baseball history.

Far less known is that DiMaggio out-did his own record while just a teenager playing semi-pro ball for the San Francisco Seals in the Pacific Coast League. The year was 1933 and Joe at the age of nineteen, playing in his first year with the Seals would go on to hit in 61 straight games, shattering the minor league record of 49 set by Jack Ness in 1914.

His lifetime batting average was .325 and he hit 361 home runs in his career. He also hit 131 triples, 389 doubles, and was involved in 4,529 put-outs in the outfield. In 1954 DiMaggio was elected to the National Baseball Hall of Fame.

In one of his little-known achievements on the baseball diamond, DiMaggio only struck out 369 times in 6,821 at-bats, a remarkably low number for any hard-hitting slugger. His ratio of strike outs to home runs was about one to one, a ratio that is far better than most other home run hitters of his day or ours.

Joe’s reputation surpassed the statistics he accumulated. It was his grace and ease of playing the game that made him look like he was born for the game. DiMaggio was renowned for never slacking on the ball field. When asked why he played so hard, he replied: "Because there is always some kid who may be seeing me for the first time. I owe him my best."

DiMaggio didn't have the same success off the baseball diamond. In his private life, he was often shy, awkward, and guarded.

To be continued………

2005-11-17T04:02:00.000-08:00

It's the birthday of film director Martin Scorsese, born 1942 in Flushing, in the New York borough of Queens. Scorsese grew up in Little Italy in Manhattan where he lived until he was 24. He had asthma and wasn't able to work odd jobs during the summers or play with the neighborhood boys. Instead, he went to movies with his father and afterward sketched motion picture scenes on drawing pads.

Scorsese was raised a devout Roman Catholic and enrolled in a seminary with the intention of becoming a priest. But he was expelled for roughhousing during prayers and transferred to a high school in the Bronx where he found that what he really wanted to do was make movies. He went to New York University and won awards for his student films What's a Girl Like You Doing in a Place Like This? (1963) and It's Not Just You, Murray (1964).

Then in 1973, he made a 45-minute documentary out of an after-dinner conversation with his parents. The film, Italianamerican, includes his parents telling stories about their childhood, and a demonstration of his mother making spaghetti sauce. It received a standing ovation at the 1974 New York Film Festival, during which his mother blew kisses to the audience.

Scorsese's big breakthrough was Mean Streets (1973), based on a relationship between a couple of small-time hoods in the criminal world of Little Italy. That movie also launched the career of Robert de Niro.

Did you know?

"I only wanted to be an ordinary parish priest." - Martin Scorsese

Backstage at the 1980 Academy Awards show when Scorsese was nominated for Raging Bull, he didn't understand why the security was so tight. "Everybody knew why besides me. Robert Redford told me that a connection with Taxi Driver had been made to the shooting of President Reagan. I never thought in a million years there was a connection with the film. It turned out even my limo driver was FBI."

Scorsese on his family and Italian food: "They were Sicilians, they felt they had to eat every part of the animal. I remember they would serve the head of a lamb, you know, with the eyes and everything. Me and my brother Frank, we were Americans. We figured we didn't have to eat that stuff. I'd say, ‘Hey, it's looking at me. I don't want to eat it."

During a visit to Dublin, a fan carried up a door from a yellow New York taxi for Scorsese to autograph, which the director did.

2005-11-16T00:28:00.000-08:00

Hey Frankie, Che Si Dice?

If I was your mom, I would pinch your cheeks and say "Congratulations, your recipe is a big hit with the viewers of the Food TV Network. "

The reviews keep coming in at the Food TV web site for Frankie's award winning recipe, Frankie's Gravy and Meatballs, which was aired on the Emeril Live show of August 7, 2005 and February 15,2006.

The majority of the reviews, with the exception of a couple, rate the recipe as 5 star. Hey, nobody can be perfect, what the heck, even Joe DiMaggio's hitting streak ended at 56 games.

The reviews below are listed as posted to the web site. No correction to spelling or grammar have been made.

Here they are:

Easy and delicious!!! *****

I'm a very picky spaghetti sauce eater, and found this sauce to be relatively easy and full of flavor. It was my first time making meatballs and I felt like an Italian for the very first time in the kitchen. ****

i've been looking for a great meatball for 40 years...thank you! *****

My boyfriend, and his friend loved this recipe. This was my first time cooking for him and he loved it. *****

I LOVED THE MEATBALLS BUT THE SAUCE WAS TO BLAND MAYBE SOMETHING IN THE RECIPE WAS LEFT OUT I FOLLOWED LIKE IT READ--STEVE ****

This is time consuming but well worth it! I hate to cook but when I saw this on the show it looked so good I had to try. I now make this about once a month. I have never used jar spaghetti sauce (ick!) I have always made my own, simple sauce, but this is now my one & only pasta sauce recipe! *****

This recipe promised, but failed to deliver. The sauce was very bland and the meatballs tasted like something out of a Spaghettio's can. Yuck. I will not use this one again. **

I have to admit that I've never made my own sauce and this receipe was easy and it tasted great. The meatballs were so moist and melted in my mouth. I used a can of Rotel tomatoes to step it up a notch. My family loved it. This receipe will be in my family for years to come.*****

Absolutely wonderful and I didn't even have the measurements. I had to ad lib a bit, but it was the best best best spaghetti and meatballs I'd ever had. Thank you for holding the contest and thanks to Frankie. *****

Great recipe! When are you going to have Frankie on again? I'm sure he has other award winning Italian recipes that he can shre with the Food Network family. Can't wait! *****

This is the recipe I will be passing on to my kids!! Frankie, you outdid yourself! My husband and I think you're awesome!! *****

Not hard to make - the meatballs were so tender and the gravy just delicious - Thank you, Frankie! *****

great *****

This recipe was great!!! The sauce was rich with flavor and the smell throughout my house was heavenly!! Thanks for a great recipe!!! ****

This recipe is a great starter recipe, I altered this recipe a little bit ok maybe alot I like my sauce spicey. ****

I made this last night, and although the prep time took me longer than anticipated, the final results were well worth it! I used crushed tomatoes and gave them a quick few pulps in the food processor as my son hates chunks of tomatoes. The meatballs and sauce were absolutely wonderful! My son, the pickiest eater I know, said it was "delectable" and he was right! *****

This was a very good take on the classic meatball dish. It was fun to make but wow what a mess. The end result was worth it. Definetly a Sunday kind of thing ****

always wanted to make meatballs and this is the first time I did. I used ground sirloin and the meatballs were delicious! I thought the sauce tasted too much like tomatoes, but it was still good. I used crushed tomatoes and I didn't think the sauce was too thick. My whole family loved it! Tonight we are making meatball subs with the leftovers. *****

Good Great & Wonderful,what more can be said *****

The sauce and meatballs make and awesome sandwich *****

Fantastic Gravy!! Easy to make and just delicious. *****

Growing up Italian, you grow up to love your mother's sauce. Once you acquire a taste for your mother's, it's hard to accept another. After trying Frankie's Gravy, sorry mom if you read this, I must say it is better than my mom's. That's the best compliment one Italian can offer to another. As the for the person who wants to kick it up a notch, go ahead knock yourself out. Remember Frankie didn't make an Arrabbiata sauce, just a nice southern Italian spaghetti sauce. Complementi da Lino *****

This was an awesome recipe. I have never made spaghetti sauce in my life let alone meatballs. They were so good, something I will make again for sure!!! *****

This is one FANTASTIC pasta sauce, and the meatballs are wonderful. One suggestion: double the sauce recipe. There isn't enough sauce to go with all the meatballs. Next time I make this--and I definitely will make it again soon--that's what I'll do. Delicious! Thanks Frankie! *****

I agree with another review in that if someone doesn't like this, they don't know what a good sauce is supposed to taste like. This tastes exactly like my grandma's (she was Sicilian, but raised in New Orleans), and I'm so glad to find this recipe because I have regretted not getting hers before she died. My sister and her family was over today, and we all reminisced as we loved every bite. Thanks! *****

Had our kids and grandkids over and we all loved it. *****

A big hit in my house. We love it! *****

A big disappointment. Meatballs were good but the sauce was so bland. It needs to be "kicked up" a notch or two for sure. Brenda, San Diego, Ca ***

very good *****

it seems really easy and cant wait to try it out this week *****

Very tasty meatballs! My husband and I loved it! It's in my list of recipes. Thank you Frank!! *****

Anyone who doesn't like this has not a CLUE was authentic sauce should taste like. It has a rich bold flavor with stick to your ribs satisfaction. If you like a thinner sauce, just add broth or wine. Don't add too much extra or you will lose the traditional flavor. I added a tad more pepper and a little onion/garlic powder. My husband is Italian and he LOVED this recipe. I WILL DEFINATELY make this again! *****

What kind of tomatoes did everyone use. I used crushed tomatoes and found the gravy a little to thick. ****

Very good tastes great in your mouth *****

This is a wonderful recipe and so easy to make - my family will never let me even think about a jar of sauce, those days are gone. The meatballs are nice and firm and delicious. Thank you Frankie *****

A taste of genuine home made cooking like Grandma use to make...Food brings a feeling of memories to warm your heart and feed your soul. Anytime a taste of something familiar comes along leaves you feeling happier and content. *****

To view the actual reviews, click on the following:

http://www.foodnetwork.com/food/my_recipe_box/review/0,1973,FOOD_9919_31438,00.html

2005-11-08T06:58:00.000-08:00

Italian Names

When it comes to languages, English, especially the pronunciation, is got to be one of the most difficult. Look at a pronunciation table in any dictionary and you’ll find that our vowels can have many different sounds. If it’s hard for an English speaking person just think what it must be like for a foreigner. Could a foreigner distinguish the meaning of the word two, couldn’t he confuse it with to or too? A word with three different meanings spelled three different ways yet all sounding the same. “Gimme a break”, they say in the prison yard.

The Italian language on the other hand has a very precise pronunciation guideline. The vowels, a,e,i,o,u have one and only one pronunciation.

A is pronounced ah as in pa
E is pronounced eh as in pet
I is pronounced ee as in see
O is pronounced aw as in octave
U is pronounced oo as in rule

The steadfast rule in Italian is what you see is what you read all the time with the exception of any foreign words that have become part of their vocabulary.

This leads me to ask why people, especially of Italian descent, butcher their names. If you have an Italian name, why do you pronounce it as if it were English? Are you ashamed of your heritage? One of the best examples which I came across years ago was in football. There was a quarterback with an Italian last name that was totally butchered. I heard the announcer say, “Tollifer drops back to pass…”, I couldn’t distinguish if he was saying Tollifer or Tolliver, but in either case the man’s name which means iron cutter in Italian was being mispronounced to say the least. I condoned this butcher job since I figured the announcers didn’t know any better, until I found out that the player himself asked that it be pronounced that way. I always have wanted to meet this man in person to ask him why he chose such a pronunciation.

His name was not Testaverde (meaning green head), who by the way most people do a fairly good job at the pronunciation with the slight tendency of not rolling the r, but Tagliaferro. How in God’s good graces does one get Tollifer out of Tagliaferro? Look at it yourself and dissect it. Start at the back, there’s an O at the end, what happened to it? There are two r’s and only one is pronounced. The fer is not spelled fur as its’ pronounced. Now we come to the first five letters taglia which are way off in the Tollifer pronunciation. First of all it is ta and not to and glia in Italian is pronounced lia, just like in the name Talia of actress Talia Shire. Now put these all together, Tah lia feh rro and see if you come up saying Tollifer. (I can see that I’m going to overtax my spell check with this article)

I’d like to get my hands on whoever came up with the spelling of some English words and beat some sense into them. One of my first questions to them would be, why do you waste precious letters on a word and then have them be silent. Why put an e at the end of come when it’s not even utilized. Wouldn’t just com have sufficed? And while I’m on it, why spell it com when we’re taught to pronounce it cum? And while I’m thinking of my precious spell check, even that cannot do the perfect job because it can’t read my mind. You have created too (to, two) many words that sound alike but have different meanings.

Years ago, on Washington Street, across from the Jeweler’s Building, I believe, was a department store called Raymond’s. Their advertisements were written phonetically. I remember seeing ads in the paper that mentioned, Raymond’s, Where U Bot the Hat. I loved this store because many of the advertisements were written to be read just as they sounded. Here’s an example:

It iz beter tew pay az yew go then tew hav tew go bekaus yew cant pay.

It looks cryptic but it’s certainly readable and understandable by all and look at the space one saves by eliminating all the excess and unused letters. It would certainly please the environmentalists. Would anyone have problems distinguishing to, two, or too when it’s spelled here as is sounds, tew?

To be continued…….

2005-10-30T14:01:00.000-08:00

IL BARBIERE - The Barber

Continuing with the series on the changes that have taken place since I grew up in the North End in the 50’s and 60’s is the slow disappearance of the barber.

Let’s first start off with the word barber, which takes its root from the Latin word barba which means beard. There’s still a shaving product on the market today called Barbasol, very appropriately named since it has barba as part of its name. A barber is one who cuts hair, gives shaves and cuts beards. Years ago barbers also performed surgeries. The barber unlike today’s hairdresser or hairstylist, works in a barbershop. The other high falutin people work in a salon and charge you anywhere from three to ten time the amount as a barber.

Barbers had names like Mario, Vinny, Tony, Carmine or Domenic. Hair stylists have names such as Richard, Andrew, Charles, Marcel or Mr. G. I’ll trust my hair to Vinny before I go to Mr. G. thank you.

My uncle Paolo (Paul) was a barber back in Italy. I remember visiting his barber shop quite frequently during my month’s stay there. My uncle was the typical barber who kept and sported a nicely trimmed mustache and also had a nice crop of hair. The first time I entered his shop he looked at my hair and said, “Who cut your hair?” “Get in the chair, and I’ll show you what a haircut should look like.” He took a lot of pride in his trade and hated to see anyone walking around with a bad haircut.

The barber's trade is one of the oldest and barbering is mentioned in the Bible by Ezekiel who said "And Thou, son of man, take thee a barber's razor and cause it to pass upon thine head and upon thine beard."

Barber shops were popular centers where men got their daily news and gossip since a morning visit to the barber was part of a daily routine started back with the Romans. My uncle’s shop was a social stop for many of the men that lived in the area. Some of them would come everyday for a shave. My uncle had a young boy who worked for him, sort of an apprentice. This boy would help when it got very busy, but most of the time he would spend sweeping and keeping the floor clean. His most important job appeared to be as a runner. Whenever there were two or three people waiting, my uncle would tell the boy to go and get some coffee and dolce (sweets) at the nearest bar (coffee shop). I often wondered how my uncle ever made a profit.

Not all barbers were skilled craftsmen, some had reputations as clumsy butchers, leaving their patrons scarred and nicked about the chin. I’ve seen and been the recipient of some inferior work. Often when seeing a bad haircut people would ask if you went to the shoemaker by mistake.The barbers of former times were also surgeons and dentists. Many of the early physicians did not like to perform surgery, and therefore, as well as haircutting, hairdressing and shaving, barbers performed surgery of wounds, blood-letting, cupping and leeching, enemas, and the extraction of teeth.

The barber’s pole origin is associated with the service of blood-letting. The original pole had a brass basin at its top representing the vessel in which leeches were kept and also that which received the blood. The pole represented the staff which the patient held onto during the operation, with the red and white stripes portraying the bandages - red for blood stained and white for the clean ones. Being hung out to dry on the pole after washing, they would often blow and twist together forming a spiral pattern which leads to the subsequently painted barber's pole of red and white stripes.

Well I figured I’d give you a little history while we’re at it. Barber shops in the North End as like other areas have been supplanted by fancy Salons. The North End currently has three left:

Johnny Shoes and Gino's - on Hanover St.
Gaetano's Barber Shop on Salem St.
North St. Barber Shop (Michael Firicano) North St.

This is what is left from the following list from the good old days:

Carmines Barber Shop - Hanover St.
Castignetti Bros. Barber Shop - Endicott St.
Cooper St. Barber Shop - Cooper St.
Dom Leo's Barber Shop - Endicott St.
Grande's Barber Shop - little Prince St.
Kenny's Barber Shop - Salem and Tileston Sts.
Mario's BarberShop – corner Richmond and HanoverSsts.
Orlando's Barber Shop - Salem st--near the old north church
Shorty's Barber Shop - lower end Hanover St.
The Friendly Barber Shop - corner of Hanover and little Prince Sts.
Tony's Barber Shop - Clark St.
Vinny's Barber Shop - Prince St.

Just like the butchers, the barbers are slowly dwindling
down to a precious few.

2005-10-28T23:01:00.000-07:00

The Macelleria

As I remember, many had wooden floors covered with sawdust. I can still picture the white, tiled walls, a white enamel display case for the meat and the walk-in freezer. On the walls you would see post cards sent by the loyal customers who would go back to Italy each year. Some would even have large travel agency size posters, picturing the mountains and beaches of Abruzzi or Sicily, and no matter where you shopped you always found large pictures of St. Anthony or some Madonna hanging there with dollar bills clipped to them. These would be pinned onto the saint's respective statue when it was paraded through the neighborhood during its feast in July or August.

If you haven't guessed, I'm reminiscing about the butcher shops that were doing business forty to fity years ago in the North End. Remember how many of them would have freshly slaughtered animals hanging on hooks out front? When Easter approached you would find agnelli and capretti (lambs and baby goats) decorating the store fronts. Danny, the proprietor of DelBene's Meat Market which was the closest to where I lived, made some wonderful hot Italian sausages, which my mom made with broccoli rape.

Going to the butcher was a social experience. At times you could spend and hour or more there because everything was cut to your liking. Meat never touched styrofoam or plastic wrap. Hamburger was always ground up right there in front of you and made with whatever combination of meats you chose. You knew exactly what you were getting because everything was done right in front of you. Do you really know what's in the package of ground beef that you purchase at your local super dooper market? Danny knew exactly how my mother wanted her meat cut and what combination of meats to give her when she asked for meat to make the Sunday sauce. I don't remember eating much steak as a kid, but I do remember having beef and pork braciole, tripe, veal cutlets, rabbit, lamb, calf's liver, chicken, and sausages. Many of the meat markets had what now is known as a deli section. I couldn't wait for my mom to come home with the thinly sliced mortadella, salami and prosciutto. Nothing tasted better than fresh cold cuts on the fresh baked panini from Parziale's bakery. You can have your Subway sandwiches.

In it's heyday, the North End must have had about twenty or more meat markets opened at one time, now there are only three.

My friend Frankie compiled a list of all the meat markets he remembers:

DelBenes Meat Mkt. - Endicott St.
DeMasi Meat Mkt.- Hanover St.
Derosa Meat Mkt. - Endicott St.
Diorio's Meat Mkt. - Salem St.
Economy Meat Mkt. - Prince St.
Fleet Butcher Shop - Fleet St.
Frankie Mauro's - Hanover St.
Gandolfo's Meat and Supermarket - Commercial St.
Genoa Meat Mkt. - Hanover St.
Gino's Meat Mkt. - Prince St.
Iacopucci's Meat Mkt and Deli- Fleet St.
Joe Luongo's Meat Mkt - Salem St.
Magalada's Meat Mkt. - Prince St.
Mario's Meat Mkt. - Richmond St.
Martignetti's - Salem St.
Moscardini's Meat Market- Salem St.
Nicks Meat Mkt. - Salem St.
Paisano's Meat Mkt. - Salem St.
Providence Meat Packing- Fulton St.
Sharkeys Meat Mkt. - Salem St.
Thatcher St. Meat Mkt. - corner Thatcher and Endicott Sts.
Uncle Daves - North Square.

Today the number of meat markets have dwindled down to the following four:

Abruzzese Meat Market 94 Salem Street
DiPaolo & Rossi Meat Market 56 Salem Street
Golden Goose Market179 Commercial Street
Sulmona Meat Market 32A Parmenter Street

It seems like the butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker are joining the list of endangered species. All the little niceties of life seem to be passing us by simply because people are in a hurry and have no time to slow down and savor the wonderful relaxing experiences that was part of our grandmothers' and grandfathers' daily routine.

While we chase the almighty dollar to make our lives better, we lose sight of the fact that we are losing the intrinsic values of life. We have become a sterile and antiseptic society, each living in a little bubble for fear of catching some communicable disease. These stores were places where prior generations not only shopped but learned of what was going on in the world - now we stare at a tube that feeds us information with a spin. Some of the yuppies today don't have time to do their own shopping - they rely on someone else to pick their tomatoes for them and pay a fee for services such as Peapod. My mother had to use her five senses before she purchased anything that would eventually end up in our stomach. If something didn't look good or smell good or feel good, she wouldn't buy it.

My mother relied on me to go to the store for her when she was busy or had forgotten an item. She knew that the proprietor of where ever I went wouldn't take advantage of me. "Go to Danny's and ask him to give you a few soup bones." When I entered the store, Danny knew that I was Rose's son and would take time to ask me about school, or would ask "Com'e sta zio Antonio?"He knew that my uncle Tony had just been operated on; does anybody at your supermarket take the time or for that matter even know who you are?

Will the butcher go the same way as the cobbler? What's a cobbler you say? It's not a pie or a tart, but the cobbler was a craftsman skilled in shoe and leather repair. It's a story for another day.

2005-10-28T09:45:00.000-07:00

HAYMARKET

As I’m walking around the North End of Boston on a bright and sunny Saturday afternoon I overhear the following, "You wanna kick the tires?!?" "You wanna take it out for a test spin?" “Gee! What the heck is going on?” I murmur to myself. I feel like I’ve just walked by a car dealership. “I must be going nuts,” I say to myself. “When did they put a car dealership down here? I shake my head and can see that I’m in the middle of Haymarket, Boston’s great outdoor market.

What I had just heard came not from a used car salesman, but from Tony P., the watermelon man. The vendor was upset at a would-be customer for trying to get a feel for his fruit. I really don’t blame her, because if you don’t know the vendor you can walk away with a purchase that you might have to throw away as soon as you get home.

The fruits and vegetables sold at this outdoor market which is open on Friday’s and Saturday’s are of the third quality, meaning that they have a short shelf life. You can hear them yelling. “Hey, a buck a box!” “One dollar for the strawberries!” “Hey, look at the size of those carrots!” The place is definitely loud with vendors trying to outdo each other.

You just don't see prices like this in the supermarket. And just as you're congratulating yourself on getting eight ears of corn for a dollar, you walk a few feet and see, if only you'd waited, you could have gotten ten. But no matter, it's still a bargain, even after you get home and you see that one of those 50-cent cantaloupes is all black from mold on one side, the side you didn't see as the guy put it in a bag. You're still up one, and even $3 is a good price for a large melon most places.

Some of the vendors remind me of the soup Nazi character in a Seinfeld episode. If you don’t follow instructions get ready to be shouted at. If you’re proficient at the Italian language you might even catch the vendor swearing at you in Italian because you just squeezed one of the oranges. The Italians who still live in the neighborhood are used to this and will just yell right back at them – it’s sort of a ritual.

All in all it’s a very unique and colorful place. This is one of the most photographed areas along the historic Freedom Trail. Will it survive once the Big Dig is over?

2005-10-27T13:33:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid, if I had a fever, had a cold, had a fight , had a fall, had a cut, was depressed, had a disappointment,, fell off a truck, woke up with a headache….no matter what the situation, my mother’s solution was always, “Eat this, it will make you feel better.”

When my father, who had an Italian temper, would yell and scream at me for some childhood indiscretion, my mother was always there with a reassuring cookie, saying, “Eat this, it’ll make you feel better.”

We used to have gigantic meals, at the end of which I would say, “That was great, Ma, that was delicious, but I can’t eat another thing….I’m going to burst!” That’s exactly when my mother would appear with a tray of goodies and say, “Eat this, it’ll make you feel better.”

My philosophy of life had begun! If you have a pain anywhere, inside or out, “Here, eat this, it’ll make you feel better.”

This is taken from Dom DeLuise’s cookbook Eat this…It’ll Make You Feel Better.

Food back then was a pacifier, an elixir, a cure all for any ailment. But even with all the food that was on an Italian family’s table, most kids had the look and physique of James Dean (thin as a rail).

When I visited Italy back in 1971, I was 24 year’s old and weighed approximately 165 pounds. I was in Italy for one month and was treated to one feast after another. I was invited to dinner at aunt’s and uncles and cousin’s houses almost the whole time there. Even when I went to Rome, I stayed at my cousin’s aunt’s house who cooked for us delicious meals each day. Everywhere there was family and if they weren't, once they got to know you they treated you like family.

Every day at the dinner table, I would always hear the same thing, “Mangia, don’t be ashamed. Make believe you’re at home.” They couldn’t or wouldn’t believe that I did not eat a lot back in the States. They would take offense if I didn’t have a second helping. I found that the worst thing you could do to an Italian is to refuse to eat what they have prepared for you. God forbid you didn’t do a scarpetta, that’s the wiping the dish clean with a chunk of bread.

Who needed a dishwasher? All the dishes would go back almost shining clean after each course. They were so clean that they almost required no washing. If you sent the dish back with a little sauce left, that was a slap in the face to the cook. It meant that you didn’t appreciate their cooking.

One month later, I returned home weighing a plump 195 pound. In one month of eating pasta, prosciutto, minestrone, pizzas, bread, and assorted sweets, I easily added 30 pounds to my five foot ten frame and I have never taken it off since.

I must say that I enjoyed a good meal but getting stuffed to the gills was not a pleasant or healthy experience.

So if you should be visiting and Italian household, that still maintains the old traditions, be careful what you say or do, because you might have the grandmother or mother pop out of the kitchen with a nice plate of rigatoni and meatballs, saying, “Mangia, it’ll make you feel better.”

Forget about the Atkins diet, if he listened to mamma he would have eaten and felt better.

2005-10-24T12:52:00.000-07:00

Sient’a me (phonetically pronounced see ent ah mae) say that all together and you’ll sound like a true paisano.

Sient’a me means listen to me. My mother has gotten into a habit of starting most of her conversations with these words. If someone were to eavesdrop on our conversations, one might assume that I’m not a very good listener. Quite the contrary, I think I make a concerted effort of letting the other person finish their thought before I jump in.

I think the most important element in the art of good communication is listening. I find many people need much improvement in this field. I find it very frustrating when I’m talking to someone and notice that they are not paying attention. I can tell just by their facial expression that they are not hearing a word I’m saying. If they don’t cut you short, you will notice how fidgety they get in trying to find the right moment where they can jump in with what’s on their mind. It’s almost like watching somebody fidgeting about when they have to go to the bathroom and are being held back.

Sient’a me is used by my mother as if to prepare me for something very profound, almost as if she was about to tell the secret of how I could make a million.

Sient’a me conjures up a scene in a movie where two spies pass each other in a dark alley and one says to the other, “Psst, Sient’a me.” (“Hey, buddy, listen to me.”)

I can envision a Norman Rockwell painting with a little boy sitting on a chair with feet dangling looking up at a grownup pointing their finger at him and saying sient’a me.

Sient’a me has become a precursor for a bunch of meaningless gibberish. Listen, sient’a me, next time you hear these words just tell the person, aspetta – wait and then see their reaction.

2005-10-22T15:01:00.000-07:00

Italian Culture – Curses

Growing up Italian exposed one to all the superstitious cults and beliefs. I found that Italians are very superstitious. They believe in numerology. I would often hear my mother tell me about a dream she had and whatever the general topic of the dream was would be converted to a corresponding number. If you had a dream and you didn’t know the corresponding number, one could always call on an aunt or grandmother who would readily provide you with that corresponding number. I remember people betting their hard earned money on that number at the local lotto establishment.

Malocchio

To hear a cat sneeze would supposedly bring good luck to all who heard it. However, to have birds in the house would bring bad luck. The “malocchio” (evil eye) reigned supreme over all other superstitions. The belief in evil spirits could come even in the form of a compliment. As a toddler, I would be walking down the street with my mom and someone passing by would say, “oh, what a beautiful child!” As soon as that person was out of sight I would hear my mother muttering and frantically making the Italian hand sign to ward off evil spirits toward the person that just complimented me. That sign if you have never seen it, is the “hook ‘em horns” sign made by the Texas football fans. It’s made by extending your pinkie and index finger while keeping the others folded back.

Another way to ward off evil spirits was by wearing a tiny horn shaped charm (the corno) around your neck. Many Italian gold necklaces will have a saint, a Madonna, a crucifix along with the corno hanging from them. Some people don’t want to leave anything to chance, so they will rely on as many things as they can to ward off evil spirits. If you feel that you are under the spell of the evil eye (the malocchio) you can always find someone to confirm the presence of it; most of the time it’s a woman who has been handed down this special gift of performing the ritual. I’ve seen the ritual done over my wife. When I was dating my wife, we would often go and visit a friend in Everett. Apparently my wife’s girlfriend’s mother had always wanted me to marry her daughter, so any time she saw me with my future wife, she, according to my wife, would give her the evil eye. The malocchio would manifest itself in the form of a splitting headache.

In order to see if someone had been afflicted with the evil eye, they would sprinkle drops of oil in holy water. If the oil stayed in drops, they were okay, if the oil spread out – big trouble. Some people believed that if the oil stayed in one blob, THAT WAS the evil eye. To expel the evil eye, a “trained” person with a blessed right hand would pray and chant and bless the afflicted one.

There’s a rumor that the Yankees have been given the “malocchio” by HBO’s Sopranos.

The black cloud began when the Yankees and then Mayor Rudy Guiliani invited "The Sopranos" to participate in the last Yankees World Series victory parade. The following season the Yankees were snake bitten by the Arizona Diamondbacks and lost the World Series with one pitch. How low can you go to be beaten by a snake!
Then for some unknown reason this year "The Sopranos" cast is invited to throw out the first ball(s) at a Yankees game. The team is just asking for the super-sized "Malocchio!" The Yankees finish the season with the best record in the American League and find themselves in the playoffs battling the Angels.
Then the best team money can buy with a super pitching staff, crumbles before our very eyes. What happened? Could it be the "Malocchio?"
Mr. Steinbrenner needs to hire, someone that will lift the curse of the "Malocchio," what ever the cost. He must immediately disenfranchise himself and the Yankees from HBO's "The Sopranos" if he has any chance of winning another world series in the future.

After-death rituals

After-death rituals were performed in hopes of keeping the dead person’s spirit from returning. A circuitous route was often taken while carrying the coffin to the cemetery – and survivors would take another route on their return home. This was done in thought of confusing the dead spirit. Various personal items, such as cigarettes, lighters, and pocket change would be placed in the coffin, that way the spirit wouldn’t return looking for their treasured possessions. If you forgot an item, it would sometimes be included in the next person’s casket, with the assumption that the first deceased would meet up with the second in the hereafter.

These are only a few of the curses and superstitions that I'm familiar with, but I'm sure that many of you can add to this list. It seems that each region has their own peculiar myths and beliefs.

A Classic Recipe

2005-09-18T15:19:00.000-07:00

In the book, Pomp and Sustenance, Mary Taylor Simeti writes the following:

“Historians have as yet been unable to pinpoint the moment in Italian history when pasta asciutta as we think of it – the heaping dish of spaghetti or fettucine crowned with sauce and cheese – was born. There is good reason to believe, however, that it all began in Arab Sicily. Noodles known as rishta were eaten in ancient Persia and are mentioned in the cookbooks of medieval Islam. In Italy, the earliest mention of pasta’s being produced on a commercial scale from a survey of Sicily written by an Arabic geographer at the request of the Norman King Roger II.

Regardless of finding the exact moment, my friend Frankie has carried forward from his Sicilian grandparents (the Imbergamos) from Caltanisetta, the art of making a truly delicious sauce to accompany any pasta dish. Pasta by itself is asciutta, dry, and it calls for a nice sauce. Frankie’s gravy when placed over any pasta will call out to you, inviting you to Mangia, eat!

This sauce that had it’s origins in beautiful sunny Sicily and refined in Boston’s Little Italy, the North End, was recently unveiled as part of a winning recipe and presented on the Food Network. Frankie’s gravy, not to be mistaken with another with a similar name out of New York, was recreated by the famous chef Emeril LaGasse on his show Emeril Live.

Ninety five percent of the reviews that have been received at the Food Network web site for Frankie’s Gravy have given the recipe five stars. You will find this classic recipe along with Frankie’s cookbook at the following web site.

http://www.pastene.com/eng_emeril-story.html

Many will claim that their cuisine is the best but the following quote from Alexis of Tarentum in the fourth century B.C., will lend some credence to Sicily being the place where Italian cooking got it’s roots:

I learnt to cook so well in Sicily that I will cause the banqueters to bite the dishes and the plates for joy.

I guarantee that’s what you’ll do after tasting Frankie’s gravy.

Doo Wop

2005-09-17T09:49:00.000-07:00

I established the Che Si Dice blog to capture the memories of growing up Italian in the North End of Boston. In retrospect this was a golden era, the country was booming, everything was good. It was the era of the ‘greatest generation’ and the baby boomers. I don’t recall being called a baby boomer back then, but the name given to us fits. Babies were booming in the fifties and sixties and we were being led into Camelot with the Kennedy’s in the White House.

As kids growing up in that era, we were constantly in motion. We were always playing something, from various versions of playground baseball, touch football, hockey, to basketball. In between all of this we also played other kid’s games which included tag, relevio, marbles, pitching baseball cards, tops and yoyos. We would go from one game to another until we were exhausted; maybe that is why I don’t remember too many overweight kids.

One thing I remember was that at the end of a day with darkness setting in, you would find groups of kids imitating the ‘doo-wop’ groups of the time. Sometimes we would get so carried away with our acapella singing that it would disturb the grownups in the area. Their lack of appreciation and misunderstanding of doo wop would be demonstrated by their yelling at us from the window, “Hey you bastards, get lost! Go Home!” When that didn’t work they would disband us momentarily by throwing water at us from the same windows. If we chose to be disrespectful, we would be guaranteed to get a visit from the cop on the beat, whom we feared and respected. The cop on the beat was on foot and patrolled a designated area and he knew all the kids, especially the wise guys.

While the grown ups were listening to Mario Lanza and Frank Sinatra we were listening to the ‘Italo American Rock’ groups such as the Neons, the Regents, the Mystics, Dion and the Belmonts, and the Crests with lead singer Johnny Maestro. We especially liked to sing the songs that were performed by the DRIFTERS, the DEL-VIKINGS, and the FLAMINGOS and given the right mixture of kids, we did a pretty good job at harmonizing. There was one area of the Clinic called the dungeon, surrounded on three sides by buildings, which provided a perfect acoustical backdrop for our singing. We would go on for hours until we ran out of places where we could sing without being harassed.

A Cappella singing is still alive today. Vinny Straccia (pictured above) who grew up in the North End leads a group called North Shore A Cappella and Carmen Federico and Stephen Gambale are affiliated with the group Street Magic Acappella. I’m glad to see guys from the old neighborhood having success and for keeping Doo Wop alive.

Games We Played in the 50's and 60's

2005-09-13T11:35:00.000-07:00

As a kid, we would play handball, stick ball, punch, and errors with one of two types of balls; one was called a pimple ball and the other was a star ball. I preferred a pimple ball over a star ball much like a golfer would choose a Titleist over a Nike golf ball. The pimple and star balls were white in color and the same size but the pimple ball had more elasticity and seemed to travel farther when it was hit, where the star ball seemed to be made of a heavier rubbery consistency and not offer the same type of bounce. There was a third type of ball called a pinky, pink in color, which was smooth and a little smaller than the pimple and star ball. Girls played with the pinky ball.

The pimple ball got its name I guess by the raised pimple like indentations that were all over the ball. The difference with the star ball was that it had a star on the north and south pole of the ball in place of the pimple. Both balls also had to my best recollection 5 thin raised ring-like ridges that went all around the ball. The ridges and the pimples gave you the opportunity to put various spins and effects on the ball, where with the pinky, which was smooth, you couldn’t.

Back in the late fifties we would buy these balls at Joe’s Variety store which was at the corner of Cooper and North Margin Streets. The variety stores then were typical mom and pop type stores that one would go to supplement their normal grocery shopping. We were in there so much that Joe and Mary, the proprietors of the store were almost an extension of our own family. These stores were the precursors of the Store 24s of today but on a much smaller scale.

A day wouldn’t go by where I didn’t stop at the store at least a few times. This was the place where every kid in the area would stop to get their daily sugar fix. The store was strategically located about 20 yards from St. Mary’s Grammar School and had as its main attraction a large assortment of ‘penny candy.’ The penny candy assortment of maybe twenty to thirty different types was located in a window display on the Cooper St. side.

You see, the old timers already knew about product placement well before it became the science that it is today in many of the stores. You could not walk by the store without being enticed by the sweets in the window. There were probably anywhere from three to four hundred kids attending St. Mary’s in its heyday and I would venture to say that 99% of those kids would stop at Joe’s to purchase some candy either to or from school on a daily basis. You would also go to Joe’s to buy a tonic. A tonic was what we called a soda back then. It was also the place where we bought our balls. I recall that pimple balls cost a nickel then inflation set in and went to a dime and eventually fifteen cents.

We generally chipped in to buy the balls, and I must confess, given the fact that the statutes of limitation have passed, we occasionally resorted to stealing balls. It was easier to steal off Mary than Joe. You knew when Joe caught someone, because you would see him come running out of the store with broom in hand yelling, “You little bastard!” It was difficult to hold on to a ball for more that an hour.

If a ball was hit or thrown into Mrs. Pino’s yard we would never get it back. She didn’t appreciate us playing there, so she had a high fence put up around her small yard which was kept locked. We were probably a nuisance to all the people that lived around the Clinic, especially the ones that live at the end of Baldwin Place. Mr. Cecca owned the building that took the most abuse from our ball playing. The side of his building that faced the Clinic was almost window less except for one skinny rectangular window on the extreme left hand side on each floor. We used his building to play handball off of. We even took the liberty of painting a white line three feet off the ground that went the entire length of the building. This line served a dual purpose; it signified the net for handball and a demarcation for a home run when we played errors. No matter how much yelling and screaming he did at us, he knew that he couldn’t get us to stop playing ball against his building.

One day he took down the wooden framed screens that covered the lone windows and replaced them after he had pounded about 30 protruding nails on the frame of each screen. He knew we could only afford to buy so many balls in a day, so he was hoping that any ball that was batted against one of the screens would be susceptible to getting punctured and rendered useless.

So between Mrs. Pino and Mr. Cecca we started to lose balls at a faster rate than normal and you could only steal so many balls before you got caught by Joe. Even Joe made it harder by moving the placement of the balls to a more secure location in his store. The only kid that was successful at stealing the balls from this new location was a kid called Tillie Rags, one of the fastest kids in the Clinic. Tillie Rags’ streak finally ended and he got barred from Joe’s Variety. Imagine getting barred from a Variety Store.

One day, bored from not being able to play ball, as we were hanging around and fooling around with a couple of dead, punctured pimple balls, I took out my frustration on the ball and ripped it in half at the seam. Now I had in my hand two halves of a ball. As I looked at them, I got mad and threw one of them away in disgust. We noticed how the half of a ball sailed and traveled Frisbee like (this was before Frisbees were in vogue or invented) for about thirty feet. The other kids that were looking on decided to try to duplicate it. Some could, but others couldn’t get the half ball to go more than a few feet. With some practice, most of us got the hang of throwing the half ball, it was different. We couldn’t use for it for handball, nor punch, nor errors, since there was no bounce to a half of a ball.

Since we had little to do, we decided to try using it for stick ball. Over time we were all playing halfball. The half ball didn’t travel as far but we learned to have fun with it just the same. It was fun experimenting with the different ways you could throw the half ball. You could make it curve in either direction, you could make sink and you could also make it rise starting it from one inch from the ground rising as much as three or four feet all based on how you held it. It was easier striking out your opponent playing halfball. I don’t know where half ball originated, but if it was in Boston we owe it all to Mr. Cecca and Mrs. Mammaluca.

The Clinic was where I hung out. The Clinic was a building that the city owned and at the time housed dental and medical offices for low income people. The courtyard behind the building was where we played and it was also a bypass for people going from Salem St. to North Margin or Endicott Sts. It wasn’t a large area but it served our needs and it was safe because it kept us from playing in the streets. Whenever we needed a larger area to play in, especially for stick ball, we would venture a couple of blocks over to Prince St. to the Gassy.

The Gassy was huge in comparison to the Clinic. You could easily fit at least 40 Clinics in there. Since this wasn’t our home turf, we knew that we could be tossed out at any time by the local kids. The unwritten code was that you didn’t barge in on someone else’s hang out and start playing, you would ask for permission. We were on fairly good terms with the kids from the Gassy, so they accommodated us most of the time. Our biggest hurdle was getting by a tough guy named Anco, who was affiliated with the mob. You could hear Anco’s loud raspy voice from a few blocks away as he patrolled the corner of Prince and Snowhill Sts. You had to go by there on the way to the Gassy. I think he was a lookout for the Angiulo’s, who headed the mob at that time. As a kid, you knew to stay well away from him and his dog. You could tell that he was missing a few screws. I think he loved to scare the kids and you would occasionally see him yelling and chasing after someone with a bat in hand.

This one square mile area, the North End, which was our world, was small but it had approximately twenty different hangouts for kids. Many were schoolyards, i.e., St. Anthony’s. the Eliot, Michelangelo and others were playgrounds or just open spaces like the Charter St., Foster St. and North Square playgrounds. The North End Park had two baseball diamonds which was used by all, but only a small percentage were enrolled in organized ball such as little league. I remember the park curtailing the career of many a prospective big leaguer.

The North End park was unforgiving with an infield that was a mixture of dirt, sand, pebbles, and rocks. I saw many an infielder get hit by a batted grounder which took an unsuspecting hop after hitting one of the rocks. No matter how many rocks you would go around picking up and throwing out there always seemed to be another coming out just behind it.

For the many that didn’t play any organized baseball there was always the competition from playing groups of kids from other playgrounds. Kids from the various playgrounds had got together and came up with a schedule of games. One night we would go to St. Anthony’s to play them, then the next night the kids from the Gassy would come and play us in the Clinic. Just like the regular baseball games we would have a meeting of the captains of each team to go over the ground rules at each of the playgrounds.

It was quite impressive for a bunch of kids in their early teens to initiate things without parental involvement. We communicated without the use of cell phones. We used our voices and our feet, we weren't lazy. You went to your window and yelled at some kid playing below or nearby to give a message to bring to a friend at another part of the North End. You didn't use your phone because all the kids were outside. Each of us also seemed to have a keen sense of hearing especially when our mothers or fathers would call us to come home. There could be five Anthony's playing together, but when Mrs. Ciampa called, you knew which Anthony she was looking for.

The game that I enjoyed playing most was errors. Errors was played with a pimple ball that was thrown against some protrusion of a building. If you had enough kids for two teams you would play running bases which meant that once you struck the ball against the wall you would run to first. The bases were a combination of manhole or sewer covers, to ones that we painted on the ground. Umpiring our own games created some of the biggest disagreements and fights.

The reason I enjoyed playing errors was because I had very quick reflexes. I was not a tough kid; I never liked to fight, so the only way I got respected was making the tough kids look sick when they played against me. Because I could humiliate them at that game they never bothered me. I wish that I had the foresight to keep one of those pimple balls for they provided us so much fun and enjoyment at a time in our life when we had so little, but in retrospect, we really had a lot.

Now I find you can get halfballs (pictured above without the pimples) courtesy of Marc Polish (he's on the outskirts of Philly). These precut halfballs use the same type of rubber as pimple balls (without stars or pimples).

2005-08-29T16:40:00.000-07:00

Golden Fish

I enjoy trying different restaurants in the Boston area. Along with my friends, Frankie and PalSal, we try to get together approximately every six weeks and generally have Frankie pick the place where we will dine. A high percentage of our dinners have been in one of the many restaurants in the North End of Boston, the place where we all grew up.

The reason that we rely on Frankie is that he has been to many of the places that he'll recommend which is a plus. Approximately two years ago, he recommended we try Restaurant Dolce Vita on Hanover Street, saying that he had a very good experience there. He was impressed by seeing an actor from the Larry David Show on HBO the night he and his wife ate there.

We met and headed to the restaurant where Frankie had placed a reservation for us. We were welcomed and ushered in by the owner, the heavily mustached, Frank. Frank reminded me of Super Mario, the character from the old Nintendo game. Right off the bat I noticed a twinkle in Frank's eyes, it was almost as he was saying to himself, "eh, I got a ripe trio here for plucking", while escorting us to our table. After a little small talk, we ordered a bottle of Sicilian wine. Frank served the wine. Frankie tasted it and gave the OK to pour. After a toast to health and friendship , he came back and took our order for an antipasto for three.

After each trip, the owner's twinkle seemed to get brighter and brighter. When we were just about finished with the antipasto, the owner made his next appearance right on cue. "Have you gentlemen thought about what you want next?" whistled Frank through his distinctive mustache. I don't remember who it was, but I was warned about men whose mustache covered their upper lip. Maybe it was a woman friend who was saying it because they're lousy kissers, but in any case my inner sense kept flashing a yellow light - proceed with caution.

Frankie knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted a man's dish, a stuffed pork chop with vinegar peppers. "Excellent choice!" echoed Frank. PalSal as usual couldn't make up his mind, thinking about all his problems back in the apartment building, and was asking questions about what was in the veal pizzaiola, while I continued to change my mind from a pasta dish to a veal dish. At this moment of indecision, the owner went to work promoting a beautiful dish. He said it was his specialty. By this time he had me and PalSal at attention. He said he would prepare a beautiful Golden fish. By this time I felt like King Midas. He said the fish was fresh and it had been flown in that morning (we never bothered to ask from where, as if it made any difference). He also explained that he would make it with acqua pazza, crazy water. He had me now. We placed two orders of Golden fish, one for me and the other for PalSal. With the order in hand, the owner turned to a waiter and very enthusiastically said, "OK, let's snap into action!", clapping his hands together twice.

What the heck, the anticipation of the golden fish, called for another bottle of vino. This time the wine was brought to us by a waiter, since the owner was busy preparing his culinary specialty (crazy water and golden fish). By this time the dining room was filling up and we had people sitting all around us now. In retrospect, I think these people were plucked off the street to become an impromptu audience to witness the upcoming presentation of the golden fish. I must say that I remember a very festive air. Waiters singing as they went back and forth from the kitchen.Maybe it was the vino that was taking it's effect, but the place seemed to be jumping. This was a veritable bacchanalia.

A waiter brought Frankie's manly dish first, and it looked very good. Following closely behind was the owner and another waiter. I didn't know what to expect. The golden fish was being carried almost as if it was a gift to the Gods in two regal platters that were adorned by a golden colored linen cloth. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted PalSal straighten up on his chair, much like the privates do when the General comes for a visit. We looked at each other with a very quizzical look, shrugging our shoulders. I was waiting for the platter to be lit on fire and for the sounds of a trumpet flourish.

Frank came over to the table and paraded the fish around, almost like they parade the St.Anthony statue when someone is about to place a wreath of money around it's neck. All that was missing was the Roma band playing that accompanying fanfare tune. With an audience at attention, he announced the arrival of the golden fish much like they do when a dignitary arrives at the King's court. The fish looked peaceful laying in the platter surrounded by the crazy water sauce. The owner now proceeded to do his best imitation of a Japanese sushi chef and srarted to filet the whole fish and serve us. He was the only one that could touch the fish. He was very careful not to break the fish into pieces. Within a few minutes, PalSal and I were presented with two filets of golden fish each with the crazy water. The waiter then took away the remaining carcass.

The fish was tasty. It did seem fresh and it did not have that strong fish taste. The broth made a good accompaniment to the fish. Interestingly enough, I don't remember any of the surrounding people ask us how the fish was. I found it strange that after that grand presentation no one's interest was piqued. We finished our meal with espresso and Sambuca. The owner was now less visible and was busy working other parts of the dining room.

We had a decent meal with a few glasses of wine and some nice conversation with a few laughs. The bill came and Frankie picked it up to see what we had to come up with. We never quibble about who has what, since we always split it envenly three ways. PalSal asked Imber, "How much?" Imber looked at it, and without batting an eye said $197. As he said the amount, I saw PalSal do one of those rooster movements with his neck. His neck went in and his jaw came forward toward Imber and said, "How much?" with a slightly raised voice as if he hadn't heard. PalSal's jaw finally came back down to it's normal position, and said, "C'mon, you're kidding, let me see that."

Frankie passed the plate with the bill over to PalSal, and looked at me with the look that said, "What's the matter with him, he doesn't believe me." I just shrugged my shoulder and made sure that I finished the last drop of Sambuca. I thought to myself, what the heck at this price let me make sure to get my money's worth. PalSal was now sitting on the edge of his leather chair and kept turning the bill to make sure it was in the proper light. At a distance, directly in the line of vision with the bill, I spotted Frank, aka Super Mario, looking our way. It almost seemed like he had eaten one of those mushrooms (the ones that give Super Mario power in the viddeo game), he appeared to be moving at a much spirited pace.

PalSal had now put on his reading glasses which were halfway down his nose. He looked at the bill through his lenses and then looked at it again from above the rim of the glasses. No matter how looked at it the price was still $197. He turned to me and said, "Son of a B-----!, and then asked me, "Did you know how much the Golden fish was?" Not knowing, I said, "no, how much?" Pointing to the bill he said, "Look!, he charged us sixty dollars!!" Now he turned to Frankie and asked him, "Did you know that fish was sixty dollars?" almost as if Frankie had been in cahoots with the owner to make us order the fish.

Frankie reached over and said assertively, "Give me that!" taking the bill out of PalSal's hand almost as if to say stop complaining I'll pay. As the bill made it's way back to Frankie, I was reaching in my pocket to come up with $80, I could hear PalSal mutter a couple of a fa nculos for Super Mario who was nowhere to be seen.

As we headed out, I too felt like we had been taken with that fish dish, but all we could do was chalk it up as a lesson for the next time. Never order anything without knowing how much it costs. As we approached the exit, PalSal first then me and then Frankie, Super Mario flashed by thanking us and hoping we had a pleasant meal. With the greeting, he slapped Frankie on the back almost as if to say, "Thanks, for bringing these suckers here." At the same time I could hear Pal Sal mutter, "Yeah!,Right! We'll come back for another taccarata." I don't think the owner heard the comment, but even if he did it just rolled off his back.

We have kidded Frankie many times about this particular adventure. We know that he would never set us up, he's too good of a friend. Now, whenever I go out with them, I never order what PalSal orders.