When our grandson began his college career at George Mason University he lived with us as we lived very close to the school. We enjoyed having a young person with us, and once he settled in a routine was created. He was at home quite often when I was cooking. His favorite meal was pasta with meat balls and tomato sauce. One day he decided he wanted to make it himself. He enjoyed cooking and did very well with the tomato sauce
What was supposed to be a one-semester stay with us turned out to be four years. I had to evict him when we moved to Greenspring. At that time he asked me to type out the recipe for the sauce. He and some friends lived in a town house and he practiced his cooking on them.
Between 2002 and 2007 he made several trips to the Mid-East, studying its history, culture, and religions. One day he e-mailed me from Amman, the capital of Jordan, asking me to send the recipe to him. He cooked for over 30 friends while there studying Arabic as part of the Critical Language Scholarship group. On another occasion he cooked for a smaller group and even had them chopping onions and making the meat balls. He bought all the ingredients at a Safeway in Amman! He told me that everyone enjoyed the meals, even those who had traveled in Italy. He said as the sauce cooked, it filled the area with a wonderful smell that drove everyone crazy. His travels included Israel, Jordan, Egypt, Yemen and Saudi Arabia.
Who could imagine that the sauce that my mother learned to make in a small village in Italy would travel to America and then all the way to the Mid-East. I am sure she would have been amazed!!
The amazing thing is Christopher is Korean by birth, American by adoption, with a lot of Italian thrown in.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Saturday, July 11, 2009
FIRST CLASS? OH, YES!
Although I have done much traveling with my husband and children, it has always been tourist class. This spring my niece asked me to go to Italy with her but I was very reluctant to make this journey at this particular time. My son joined her in urging me to go. They knew of course how much I loved to see my relatives. Finally I gave in and my niece made all the arrangements. We were to leave from the Newark, NJ airport. A few days after we had paid for our tickets, she received a call from Alitalia, the airline we were using. The agent offered a deal which my niece said we could not refuse. After much convincing I finally said yes, we would travel first class on our way to Italy.
At boarding time, the first class passengers were called first. We were escorted to our seats. One of the male flight attendants explained to us the various buttons on our recliners. They were much too plush and comfortable to be called seats. Then we were given blankets and a lovely pillow. In the package with these items there was a small zippered bag which contained a comb, tooth paste and brush in its own little holder, a sleeping mask, lip moistener and cotton slippers. There was plenty of room to put our tote bags. I thought to myself, “Hmmm, so far so good!” Then, in no time at all, one of the flight attendants came to bring up our trays from the side of the recliner. These were covered with small linen tablecloths. Then he brought our silverware (which was really silver) and two glasses. Menus followed this and he poured wine – white for me, red for my niece. I read the menu, both in Italian and in English and I thought, “Wow, are we going to get all this?” Assorted hors d’oeuvres to go with the wine, then crepes au gratin with artichokes and feta cheese, or bowtie pasta with tomato and basil sauce, tenderloin in a Tuscan red wine sauce with polenta and portobello mushrooms, fresh fruit and cheese selection for dessert and of course expresso coffee. Throughout the meal the attendants were ever present asking if there was anything we desired. I must admit that after I spoke in Italian to them, they were even more solicitous. It was nice having these young handsome guys at my beck and call!
Not too long after dinner, the cabin was darkened and everyone prepared to sleep. We put on the slippers, played with all the buttons on the side of the recliner, until we hit the right ones to lift up the foot rest and lower the back, so in effect it became a comfortable bed. Out came the blanket, the pillow was put in place behind my head, and I prepared to sleep. I did sleep a good part of the night except the night was not very long. In just a very few hours it was complete daylight. The flight attendants did keep all the window shades down so as to keep the cabin dark as long as possible.
Soon a lovely breakfast of fresh fruit, orange juice, scrambled eggs with Canadian bacon, tomatoes and grilled mushrooms, various cookies and sponge cake and warm pastries were served with coffee, tea, or milk.
When it became time to leave, help was ever ready for us. The whole experience was great.
First class again? Oh, yes indeed!!
At boarding time, the first class passengers were called first. We were escorted to our seats. One of the male flight attendants explained to us the various buttons on our recliners. They were much too plush and comfortable to be called seats. Then we were given blankets and a lovely pillow. In the package with these items there was a small zippered bag which contained a comb, tooth paste and brush in its own little holder, a sleeping mask, lip moistener and cotton slippers. There was plenty of room to put our tote bags. I thought to myself, “Hmmm, so far so good!” Then, in no time at all, one of the flight attendants came to bring up our trays from the side of the recliner. These were covered with small linen tablecloths. Then he brought our silverware (which was really silver) and two glasses. Menus followed this and he poured wine – white for me, red for my niece. I read the menu, both in Italian and in English and I thought, “Wow, are we going to get all this?” Assorted hors d’oeuvres to go with the wine, then crepes au gratin with artichokes and feta cheese, or bowtie pasta with tomato and basil sauce, tenderloin in a Tuscan red wine sauce with polenta and portobello mushrooms, fresh fruit and cheese selection for dessert and of course expresso coffee. Throughout the meal the attendants were ever present asking if there was anything we desired. I must admit that after I spoke in Italian to them, they were even more solicitous. It was nice having these young handsome guys at my beck and call!
Not too long after dinner, the cabin was darkened and everyone prepared to sleep. We put on the slippers, played with all the buttons on the side of the recliner, until we hit the right ones to lift up the foot rest and lower the back, so in effect it became a comfortable bed. Out came the blanket, the pillow was put in place behind my head, and I prepared to sleep. I did sleep a good part of the night except the night was not very long. In just a very few hours it was complete daylight. The flight attendants did keep all the window shades down so as to keep the cabin dark as long as possible.
Soon a lovely breakfast of fresh fruit, orange juice, scrambled eggs with Canadian bacon, tomatoes and grilled mushrooms, various cookies and sponge cake and warm pastries were served with coffee, tea, or milk.
When it became time to leave, help was ever ready for us. The whole experience was great.
First class again? Oh, yes indeed!!
Thursday, July 2, 2009
A Visit to Nonna
In 1949, when my husband received orders to go to Germany as part of the Occupation Army, I was very excited. Excited that I would get to see Germany and probably Europe, but more excited at the thought that I would eventually get to Italy. All our relatives were there and I had never met any of them.
We traveled to Europe on the USS Rose, a ship which had carried troops but had been refitted to carry families. Upon our arrival at Bremerhaven, Germany we traveled overnight by train to Munich. We stayed in the Excelsior Hotel for ten days until we were assigned our own quarters. Actually, it was only half a hotel; the other half had been bombed. We were very pleased when we saw our very nice house with a lovely garden. We settled in quite quickly and our son Jim who was only l6 months old was doing fine.
In October my husband got leave and we planned to go to Italy. Now I really got excited. When we finally got to Spoleto, our destination, I was anxiously looking for the address. And suddenly there they were – two of my aunts were outside waiting for us. They had been worried about how they would communicate with this American niece and were amazed that I could speak as well as they did, thanks to my mother’s teaching. Suffice to say that the next few days were spent in a whirlwind of visits. So many relatives, but I already knew who belonged to whom!
Memorable occasions were happening every day, but the most memorable, the happiest and saddest, occurred when we went to my father’s village. My grandmother had been told we were coming. The car was left down on the narrow dirt road we had traveled, and we walked up a narrow, winding path. There at the top of the hill was this very old lady, very thin, but standing very erect. Finally, after all the years of wanting to call someone “Nonna” the moment had come! I held out my arms and for the first time said “Nonna, Nonna!” We embraced and I was trying hard not to cry. Then she, instead of calling me by name, looked at me and said “I want my little boy!” Her little boy! This 93-year old woman wanted again that young 19-year old who had given her one last kiss and then left. Did either one realize it would be forever? This was almost 40 years later, and she wanted her little boy back … her little boy who was my 60-year old father. She never saw him again. It was the one and only time that I saw her.
Those of us who were children of immigrants never thought of the tremendous sacrifice that was made, and that we benefited from – it gave us the chance to be born in this country. The sadness and loneliness of those early years, completely separated from their families, must have been so great. And yet, as children, we did not recognize the nostalgia that would come upon them from time to time. This still remains one of the happiest, and yes, saddest experience s of my life. A wish granted – a dream fulfilled.
We traveled to Europe on the USS Rose, a ship which had carried troops but had been refitted to carry families. Upon our arrival at Bremerhaven, Germany we traveled overnight by train to Munich. We stayed in the Excelsior Hotel for ten days until we were assigned our own quarters. Actually, it was only half a hotel; the other half had been bombed. We were very pleased when we saw our very nice house with a lovely garden. We settled in quite quickly and our son Jim who was only l6 months old was doing fine.
In October my husband got leave and we planned to go to Italy. Now I really got excited. When we finally got to Spoleto, our destination, I was anxiously looking for the address. And suddenly there they were – two of my aunts were outside waiting for us. They had been worried about how they would communicate with this American niece and were amazed that I could speak as well as they did, thanks to my mother’s teaching. Suffice to say that the next few days were spent in a whirlwind of visits. So many relatives, but I already knew who belonged to whom!
Memorable occasions were happening every day, but the most memorable, the happiest and saddest, occurred when we went to my father’s village. My grandmother had been told we were coming. The car was left down on the narrow dirt road we had traveled, and we walked up a narrow, winding path. There at the top of the hill was this very old lady, very thin, but standing very erect. Finally, after all the years of wanting to call someone “Nonna” the moment had come! I held out my arms and for the first time said “Nonna, Nonna!” We embraced and I was trying hard not to cry. Then she, instead of calling me by name, looked at me and said “I want my little boy!” Her little boy! This 93-year old woman wanted again that young 19-year old who had given her one last kiss and then left. Did either one realize it would be forever? This was almost 40 years later, and she wanted her little boy back … her little boy who was my 60-year old father. She never saw him again. It was the one and only time that I saw her.
Those of us who were children of immigrants never thought of the tremendous sacrifice that was made, and that we benefited from – it gave us the chance to be born in this country. The sadness and loneliness of those early years, completely separated from their families, must have been so great. And yet, as children, we did not recognize the nostalgia that would come upon them from time to time. This still remains one of the happiest, and yes, saddest experience s of my life. A wish granted – a dream fulfilled.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)