Monday, February 25, 2008
It was a weekend of new things for me. You see, I’ve known my good friend Rob for about 6 years now, and it’s just this year that I’m starting to get to know his family, quintessential New York Italians.
Sunday I was invited over to his family's for dinner. Dinner with them, I found, is not a just meal but an epic journey where many generations gather for a larger occation wherein all involved debate the good and bad of what they are up to.
I arrived at 1pm expecting lasagna. When I walked in there were two turkeys on the counter. “What are those for?” I thought. “Are we having turkey?” I said. “Um, lasagna is just part of the journey.” Rob told me.
Dish after dish was served between cigars, neighbors coming in, biting criticism, children, grandchildren, aunts and uncles, wine, alcohol, coffee, nuts, and more conversation and drama than one could shake a stick at. There, clearly, is a lot of history among these people here. I finally understood where Rob got his confrontational style that, despite its harshness, ultimately forgot and forgave. I felt like part of the family. (All at a palatial home along the Hudson in Westchester, just north of the Bronx. )
Mother (80 years old): “What are we thinkin’ electing these morons in Yonkers?! I couldn't get anywhere during the snow on Friday!”
Rob: Well, the people cleaning the snow were stuck in the same storm you were getting to work.”
Mother: What?! You can’t turn on the damn weather channel and figure out that a storm was comin'? You cheap son’s a bitches just didn’t want to pay overtime and have em come in early!”
Rob: They were stuck? What can I do? (He works for the city.)
Mother: Enough with your smart mouth! Matt. Be a dear and pass the beans. You don’t look like you work for the city. What do you do?
Me: Um. I work for. . . .
Mother (to Rob): Are you sayin’ I complain? Are you sain’ I don’t know what I’m talkin about? What you are is naïve.
Rob (put in his place by mom): I’m not saying nothin. Let’s just eat.
Mother: (Says nothing but has a look on her face that could kill.)
All men then go down to the smoking room and drink and smoke more.
It’s like the family I always wanted. Cut to the chase and don’t hold back, but don't go too far, either. All during a 10 course meal that would put Little Italy out of business.
Aunt (turning to me): Are you Italian?
Me: No
Aunt: Do you appreciate Italian food?
Me: Absolutely
Aunt: Well, you're never going to have it again till you come back. Mark my words. . . Now pass that damn sambuca. Ha! Gimme your damn glass. Why are you so quiet.
Me: Um, well. ..
Aunt (pouring into my glass and hers): Oh, just shut up and drink this with me.
I'm in heavan.
Sunday I was invited over to his family's for dinner. Dinner with them, I found, is not a just meal but an epic journey where many generations gather for a larger occation wherein all involved debate the good and bad of what they are up to.
I arrived at 1pm expecting lasagna. When I walked in there were two turkeys on the counter. “What are those for?” I thought. “Are we having turkey?” I said. “Um, lasagna is just part of the journey.” Rob told me.
Dish after dish was served between cigars, neighbors coming in, biting criticism, children, grandchildren, aunts and uncles, wine, alcohol, coffee, nuts, and more conversation and drama than one could shake a stick at. There, clearly, is a lot of history among these people here. I finally understood where Rob got his confrontational style that, despite its harshness, ultimately forgot and forgave. I felt like part of the family. (All at a palatial home along the Hudson in Westchester, just north of the Bronx. )
Mother (80 years old): “What are we thinkin’ electing these morons in Yonkers?! I couldn't get anywhere during the snow on Friday!”
Rob: Well, the people cleaning the snow were stuck in the same storm you were getting to work.”
Mother: What?! You can’t turn on the damn weather channel and figure out that a storm was comin'? You cheap son’s a bitches just didn’t want to pay overtime and have em come in early!”
Rob: They were stuck? What can I do? (He works for the city.)
Mother: Enough with your smart mouth! Matt. Be a dear and pass the beans. You don’t look like you work for the city. What do you do?
Me: Um. I work for. . . .
Mother (to Rob): Are you sayin’ I complain? Are you sain’ I don’t know what I’m talkin about? What you are is naïve.
Rob (put in his place by mom): I’m not saying nothin. Let’s just eat.
Mother: (Says nothing but has a look on her face that could kill.)
All men then go down to the smoking room and drink and smoke more.
It’s like the family I always wanted. Cut to the chase and don’t hold back, but don't go too far, either. All during a 10 course meal that would put Little Italy out of business.
Aunt (turning to me): Are you Italian?
Me: No
Aunt: Do you appreciate Italian food?
Me: Absolutely
Aunt: Well, you're never going to have it again till you come back. Mark my words. . . Now pass that damn sambuca. Ha! Gimme your damn glass. Why are you so quiet.
Me: Um, well. ..
Aunt (pouring into my glass and hers): Oh, just shut up and drink this with me.
I'm in heavan.
# posted by otas : 6:20 PM
