In the Kitchen with my Ancestors

Sicilia, non vi ho visti tutti, ma mi sono innamorata. E ritorneremo...

As of late last night, I’m back in New York, and I don’t even know what time zone I’m in.  My body is in one, my mind is—perhaps—in another. I run by the library and see two elderly gentlemen sitting on a bench near my path. Wait—maybe they’re my age? One is Black, one is White. They are drinking cans of something. Beer? They both turn to wave their unoccupied hands at me. They have similar waves.

I say good morning, though buongiorno is still in my throat; I pass them, and head towards Davenport Park. 

The beauty of travel—one of the beauties of travel—is that it helps you see things with new eyes. I look at the water, this time it’s the Long Island Sound, and not the Tyrrhenian Sea—whose warm temperatures, glass transparency, and sparkling turquoise embraced me just a couple of  days ago. Still, this morning, I’m standing before another sparkling body of water that I admire. The sky is clear. The sun is bright. I love this place, too. 

As I continue my run, my mind flashes scenes, people, dishes—the sounds—of Sicily. I imagine telling my parents, especially my dad, all about it: the opera singer on the street of Palermo, the gestures, the food, the vendors, the buildings, the sea, the sounds, the Sicilian expressions we learned.  I want to tell him, “ Now I really get it! I get you! I understand you more now.” 

I whisper the words aloud. My tears sting. 

Images of the markets also flash through my mind. Bold, strong colors. Vendors calling me to try the cherries, figs, watermelon, grapes. The vegetables—deep purple eggplants, bright bell peppers, the shapely cucuzza: Italian squash. And then there’s the prepared dishes. The pasta, pizza, and of course,  caponata: the roasted eggplant and tomato-based dish that was a staple in my home growing up, and everywhere here in Sicily—in slight variations. I think about the focus of the Mediterranean Studies Symposium, "Feeding the Mediterranean: Culinary (Re-) Inventions, Legacy, and Hospitality," and about the presentation I made, in which I shared my family's legacy: their interpretation of their culinary traditions. I now recognize that until I visited and saw—felt—all first hand, I didn't realize the extent to which the heritage of Sicily was sewn into my family's blanket. Beyond Sicilian hospitality—all-welcoming, loving, warm—it’s the feeling of belonging that was gifted to us—to my son and me. 

Now my father's voice whispers; "I told you this, Sweetheart. I knew you would love it all." 

I've finished my loop, and I'm heading back home now. While I’m running, I plan my menus—and how I’ll replicate, or attempt to replicate, the colors and flavors we sampled. I want to, as my parents did upon their return to New York from their visit to Sicily many years before, boast both the flavors and the presentation of the foods there. 

I’ve vowed to study Italian more, to keep more in touch with relatives and friends in Sicily, practice presenting my food and making the dishes I so admired, and grasping the memories so that I can pull them up as needed.  And, of course, to return—with my daughter and husband. In the meantime, I recognize: I'm in the kitchen with my ancestors. 

Sicilia, non vi ho visti tutti, ma mi sono innamorata. E ritorneremo...

Bringing the Colors--and Flavors--Back to New York

Home Fresh Tomato Recreation 

Caponata--and Some Cheeses

Mid-July Contemplations and Colors

“It’s like we are all on a bus,” Silvia begins to tell me her theory of life, and death. "And then," she continues, "often without warning, the bus makes a stop, someone gets off. Still, the bus continues on, stopping from time to time.” 

Silvia’s life analogy resonates with me now more than ever, as it seems too many people in my life are getting off the bus, and, at this point, I can only see them in my memories.  

Silvia was an ESL student of mine at Concordia many, many moons ago. Like so many—if not all—of my students, she taught me way more than I could have ever taught her. Silvia introduced me to Pedro Almodóvar; I believe we saw, Mujeres al Borde de un Ataque de Nervios (Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown)” together. It was my first Almodóvar movie, and I was blown away by his humor, his cleverness, and his irreverence. (Of course, I loved hearing the Spanish, too.) 

Silvia also gave me a copy of Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s El Amor en los Tiempos del Cólera (Love in Time of Cholera). This book has made the move from our house, and survived with an inscription: Este libro y mi amistad, para Arlen, para Siempre –This book, and my friendship, for Arlen, forever. …And signed it. On this steamy and stormy mid-July day, I pull the book off my shelf and make a note to myself: it’s time to reread it. 

Also thinking about timing, food, reunions, and colors. More specifically, I’m especially focused on colors on my table. Some from the flowers that Seth brings from the community garden he so carefully tends, and others, from food. Long ago, I became aware of the importance of presentation of food. I learned a lot from Harry—of Harry’s Sauteuse—who wouldn’t let a plate go out unless it was garnished; parsley, for example, (his most popular of garnishes), had to be artfully placed on the dish. 

I also learned a lot from my mom, who was all about the creation of a plate/platter, as well as attention to detail. Maybe it was her artist’s eye that transposed a canvas, so to speak, onto a plate. Actually, it wasn't just the food and the table. All aspects of her meals and dinner parties were carefully choregraphed: the guest lists, who sat next to whom, the menus, the wines, the presentation, and of course, the music.  

July Garden Bounty 

Purple Potato Salad 

Coleslaw

Sautéed Shrimp in White Wine and Pepper Flakes 

Color on a plate, and a combination of textures—and of course flavors—that all complement each other, is something I still strive for and gain great happiness from. Yes, my ol’ dear Mambo 64 customers know I loved combining these key elements. 

These days, I’m combining at home—so when I can mix the deep blue/purple of a Peruvian potato, or the cream-colored meat of new potatoes, and contrast it with bright yellow of mango (yes—in a potato salad!) I do it. And yes, my friends, I do try to keep it more local for the most part, which is so much easier to do this time of year. And even the simple fresh green beans, cucumber, tomato, fresh herbs, and scallions (purple ones) radishes—and much more, topped with a sprinkle of fresh basil leaves, still dazzles.  

I guess it’s the freshness and immediate gratification of food –admiring it before devouring it—that still gets me. But it’s not too different from the way my body reacts to a beautiful scene—wild flowers, sunsets, a new baby connecting with a parent—sibling, or grandparent. 

Pre-Yoga Class View of Bryant Park 

Last Wednesday, when I was walking by Bryant Park in Midtown Manhattan, I saw a different kind of connection. There was a yoga class going on, and several hundred people were participating. As the teacher directed, they reached up to the sky, they all stretched up, in unison, and the sea of arms—not unlike an Esther Williams swimming movie, only more colorful as far as shades of skin. The collective movement was evocative. There they were, all different people, all different ages, moving in the same way, reaching for the same goal. It was an illustration of togetherness—of human contact positively and constructively achieved. 

I walked away from that scene, got to meet my son for a quick coffee,  and headed to my flamenco workshop. Still, a few thoughts about that Bryant Park yoga scene, along with some others from recent days, have stayed with me. I’m sharing four of them with you here: 

 1) Life is so crazy short. We need to take care of ourselves, and our loved ones, as best we can. So much is out of our control, so we need to foster the things we can. 2) We need to express our love, enjoy our loved ones, and celebrate what and  when we can. 

 3) It’s important to speak out about what we believe in, but equally important to listen to others, and hear where they’re coming from.

 4) There’s so much to live and learn—languages, books, music, art, dance, recipes—ah, places to visit! People to meet! 

My list grows in all different directions and I hear both of my parents’ voices encouraging me to continue on all fronts. As they would often say, “If we’re lucky, we keep learning—always.”

I wish you all days rich of joy and laughter, the courage, confidence and assistance you need to work to change things that you are unhappy with, and the opportunity to find happiness in learning,  and living,  many kinds of experiences.

With love always,

Arlen