Fried Zucchini and Mostaccioli
Italy is a place where I’m often reminded of my nonna’s cajoling.
“Have you eaten?”
“Yes, nonna.”
“Ah, okay, have some of this,” as she sets the table with three different pasta dishes, fried zucchini, and beans. And you probably think I’m exaggerating. I assure you that I am not.
Splendor of The Seven Seas
My relationship with food evolved over the years. I’m typically willing to try most things, but I do have dietary restrictions: I’m a pescetarian. And Firenze isn’t exactly the seafood capital of Italy. That’s not to say you can’t find some good calamari fritti or salted baccalà at the market. You can.
On Christmas Eve, seafood is the star of the show. The Roman Catholics restricted meat and dairy on “holy days.” This developed into the “Feast of the Seven Fishes,” or “Festa dei Sette Pesci,” becoming an Italian tradition whether you’re Catholic or not. On New Year’s Eve, many cultures, including Italian, believe that eating seafood and lentils (especially lentils) brings luck, prosperity, and good fortune in the year ahead.
Poetic Provisions
Food is a symbol. It can conjure up memories, and many joyous occasions revolve around food. Most people who can cook have one thing they’re really good at, even if that thing is merely toast or scrambled eggs. Never underestimate the skill it takes to make a perfectly scrambled uova.
Food is such an integral part of human life. It’s no wonder we find ourselves talking about dishes we ate years ago or restaurants with the best [insert dish name here]! And I think you’d be hard-pressed to find a human on Earth who understands this so vividly and personally as a chef. Anthony Bourdain, anyone?
Remembering Mio Cugino
I also think of my dear, late cousin. We lost Nick in February, and if you ever had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of Nick’s cooking, then you’ve experienced that passion I’m talking about. Now, he had many influences, but I know our nonna was one of the most influential.
If you wanted to get to know Nick, you would ask him about food. You talked to him about cooking. I swear you’d come away wiser and equipped with new knowledge to make better decisions at the grocery store and in the kitchen. Not to mention, you’d come away hungry!
This past Friday was Nick’s 41st birthday and the first without him. I took a Florence Food Tour. That was my way of remembering a great cook and a loving cousin. To my earlier point, we even use food as a memorial. He would have loved every minute of the tour. From truffle tasting to aged balsamic vinegar, olive oil, cantucci dipped in vin santo, and even the lampredotto, the fourth stomach of the cow. He would have probably eaten the lampredotto if he were here.
Grief teaches us how to make the most of now because it puts “later” and “tomorrow” and all their woulda, shoulda, couldas, on vivid, disruptive display.
The Beauty of Youth and The Roots of Remembrance
As children, my nonna took my cousins, including Nick, to Italy. She didn’t take my brother or me, and looking back, I remember being pretty hurt by this. As I got older, I realized that us not being able to join probably had a lot to do with money, which I understand.
Unfortunately, it also means I missed out on the opportunity to meet and get to know any of my Italian relatives. To this day, it’s not for lack of trying. My mama used to say that beauty is wasted on the youth, suggesting that young people often don’t appreciate their own beauty as a result of lacking the perspective we gain with age. In many ways, I feel like this applies to lots of things – not only beauty. You could replace the word “beauty” with traveling, physical stamina, or even food! And maybe that’s what my mother loved about the adage because she, too, understood that “beauty” applies to so many things that we often take for granted in our youth.
That said, I’d love to sit and have a conversation with my mama, Nick, nonna, my dad, and the relatives I never got the chance to meet. I’d love to ask them questions I never would have sought the answers to in my youth. I’d love to gain perspective on the people, places, events, and food that I missed out on.
Obviously, that day on Earth won’t arrive, but it is a reminder to appreciate the present beauty – the people, places, events, and food that are around me now. Grief teaches us how to make the most of now because it puts “later” and “tomorrow” and all their woulda, shoulda, couldas, on vivid, disruptive display.
Nasal Nostalgia
Scent and taste are two of the strongest senses, influencing our brains’ ability to recall specific moments in time. And for those who are no longer with us, we’ve got memories. Often, at least for me, those memories are food-centric. There are many others, but my nonna’s mostaccioli pasta and my cousin’s gnocchi, which he learned how to make from our nonna, come to mind first.
Just the scent of someone’s Sunday dinner wafting in through the screenless windows or up the stair shaft of the apartment building can send me into a nostalgic spiral. Just this afternoon, I smelled fried zucchini in the hallway. It transported me back to my nonna’s kitchen, where she demanded I eat even though I wasn’t hungry.
This isn’t an Italian grandmother cliché. This was a very real and repeated occurrence. One that I’ll remember for the rest of my life with a smile on my face, a pang of hunger in my stomach, and a void in my heart.
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