Stories

It seems only fitting that my first story would be about how I grew up cooking with my Nana Jo in her tiny first floor apartment, at about 500 square feet, everything was done in the kitchen, and her kitchen door was always open, literally, it was her way of saying come in for a visit. Family and friends came through that door all day and night, you were always offered a cuppa a coffee and somethin to eat, as if she were running her own little cafe, and we loved it.  We had the most simple lifestyle, shopping for food, cooking, eating family meals together, and spending time with friends.  For the most part, I live my life the same today as I did then.

One of the unique things about The North End is the shopping. It never had and still doesn’t have a supermarket, every day we’d shop for fresh ingredients  making our rounds to the butcher, there was one on every corner and everyone had their favorite, where you’d walk past the rabbits and sides of beef hanging from hooks outside, fresh chicken breast were hand cut into cutlets and pounded thin with the side of their clever. The bakery for fresh Scali bread, seeded and sliced for a “sangwich”. The Salumaria, where you would walk in and kick up the sawdust that covered the floors, dried Bacalao sitting in wooden crates and the smell of fresh cheeses and meats perfectly sliced to order and wrapped in white paper, and the very best olive oils from Italy. I loved walking into the fruit store, where the sweet and smokey smell of orange peels roasting on the wood burning stove would smack you in the face, and Pasquali always wearing his brown scali cap and hunter green vest would hand pick your fruits and vegetables for you, always packaged in brown paper bags. Polcari’s on the corner, which is still there, for fresh ground coffee, nuts, dried beans and flours of all kinds held in sacks, sitting on the worn wooden floors. For a special treat we would buy their homemade lemon slush, then go next door to Umberto’s, at the time, it was down the stairs in a cellar, they only made trays of crusty, hot cheese pizza and freshly baked bread. 

I still shop this way today at my local market, I’ve made it a point to get to know almost everyone who works at the fish counter, the meat counter, in fresh produce, and the cheese and cold cut counter.  One of my friends who works there actually grew up in the North End and I was so happy to see her when I first moved here, her parents used to own Joe and Mary’s on the corner of the street where we grew up. A mom and pop store we’d buy candy everyday.  It’s so nice to see her every day, we chit chat for a few minutes and exchange our memories and family recipes. She’s also the only Italian I know in this town, besides my husband and two sons, so I love the familiar connection we have. 

 I’ll never forget the day my Nana Jo handed me her wooden spoon and asked me to stir the Gravy (sauce). It was a ritual of “ the passing of the torch”. We cooked on the same stove that belonged to her mother, my great grandmother. The aroma of meatballs and sausages sizzling in her black cast iron pan would make there way one by one into the gently bubbling gravy for the next couple of hours to finish cooking.  Fresh flour and egg pasta dough resting patiently on the table, while Nana and I would drape clean white sheets over her bed to wait for the dozens of homemade ricotta filled ravioli. Clamping her hand crank pasta maker, ( which she has since passed on to me) onto the table to roll out the dough. It’s still the same pasta maker I use today, and every time I use it, I can still see Nana Jo’s hands folding the dough in half, feeding it through the top and catching the thin sheets from the bottom. This was how we prepare every Sunday to get ready for this. 

The first course is usually a cheese and charcuterie board, Prosciutto, and Soppressata, briny olives, crunchy bread and a perfectly chilled Rose’ wine. Nana Jo sitting at the table talking about the casino or bingo, she loves to gamble… anything. Tony and Chris, (he’s our Greek cousin and the family contractor, he really is a contractor)  always present her with scratch tickets, her favorite. She scratches them immediately with the coin she keeps in her smock pocket. We all know when she wins if she gets quiet and slips the tickets in her pocket. Tony and Chris talking about my fantasy house projects, that according to Tony, are usually bad ideas. Terese, sits with her glass of wine and “oversees” everything from her kitchen chair until it’s time for her to set the table.  Auntie Tre, standing at the stove, stirring the gravy at the same time yelling at Uncle Eddie as she catches him sneaking a couple of her Almond Biscotti. The kids coming in and out of the kitchen for snacks, saying their starving as if they haven’t had a meal in days. 

Second course, everyone comes to the table, this is where the talking gets a little louder. Homemade pasta, a platter of meatballs, (Auntie sometimes put raisins in the meatballs, and oranges in the salad, Tony still can’t grasp why she puts fruit in the food, it’s a Sicilian thing)  sausages, veal braciole, more wine, a rustic red with dinner. Jay and Kristen come in with their new addition, Everliegh, who is the cutest little baby, everyone gets so excited to see and hold her… this is when it starts to get really, really loud. Now the salad course, more bread, more wine, voices are starting to hit a crescendo. 

This is usually the point where Tony says everyone is “yelling”, and… we really are.

The boys leave the table to go out to have cigars while we clear the table to get ready for dessert.  Auntie is the baker in the family, she loves it and she’s great at it, she makes all the desserts and biscotti, everyone’s favorite is her Almond biscotti. Oh and by the way, I hate to bake, so it will be a very rare occasion you will see a dessert recipe from me on this blog, if ever. 

But this is one of my favorite moments of the day, when we all come to the table for copious amounts of desserts, coffee and cordials.

 As I look over at Nana Jo, with a mischievous smile on her face as if she’s about to tell a secret, she passes her Sambuca around to share with the kids, and they accept with little giggles and wide grins as if their getting away with something, they each take tiny sips out of her glass. It’s one  of her ways of connecting with them, she still has her naughty sense of humor, and they love it.  At 91, she is still one of the coolest people I know. 
LM Lorizio