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“YOU REALIZE
YOU ONLY HAVE
FOUR MONTHS TO LIVE?”
Stopping for lunch at a restaurant overlooking Riva Del Garda, I stood from Ohio) Costantino and Massesnza, Gabrielle, Flavia and Chiara. Despite
on the terrace, spellbound by the grandeur of the scenery and wept as the language barrier they had no problem conveying their feelings. Between
I absorbed the enormity of the gift I’d been given. My brother’s eye’s their kisses (one on each cheek) and the way they said “Susie, Susie,” with
welled up too, in recognition of the strong pull of this gorgeous land. their hands touching first their heart and then mine, I knew they were thrilled
After a long, teary hug from my cousin it was time to order: spaghetti, to meet me and that I was one of them. My Italian family treated me like
of course, al Vongole, with mussels. royalty – you would have thought it was the Pope himself coming home.
Off we went again, the road twisting and turning like a fork in a plate The mood was as effervescent as the Asti Spumante bubbling in my
of pasta. My first glimpse of Darzo was the bell tower of the church glass, and I was so hungry, I had no problem consuming an entire
where my grandparents worshipped. Seconds later we turned up the Pizza Quarto Staggione – four season’s pizza with prosciutto, carciofi
steep driveway to Santa Barbara, the agritur owned by our cousin Marcella (artichoke) fungi (mushrooms, local of course) and acciuga (anchovy).
and her 85-year-old mother Alicia, who greeted us with hugs and
kisses and showed us to our rooms. After attending mass Sunday morning, we set out for Fabiola’s house
THE ART OF My excitement cancelled out any fatigue I felt later as we walked in salita,
sempre in salita – uphill, always uphill in Darzo, to Casa Marini, the fam-
for lunch. As we headed up the mountain I reminisced about my grand-
mother’s cooking; rows of spinach ravioli drying under linen dishtowels,
canederli – bread dumplings that were a reminder of the harsh life
TRANSFORMATION ily homestead where our cousin Giampiero and his wife Claudia now live. they’d left behind, salamis hanging by the kitchen door and polenta,
the staple food of their Italian forbearers.
Their living quarters are housed above a gracefully arched, open-air
STARTS HERE... caption garage, which in my grandfather Candido’s day, was used to house
the farm animals. I tried to picture him and his brothers feeding the
Real polenta, according to my grandmother, had to be cooked in a
copper pot over a wood burning stove; it took 45 minutes of stirring
cows, and doing their chores, but there was no time for contemplation; with a wooden paddle to reach the proper consistency, then it was
In August, the dream came true: I ‘went home’ to Italy, met my Italian family, we were meeting the rest of the Marini’s at the local pizza place and poured out onto wooden boards and smoothed with a spatula before
✦ COMPLETE KITCHEN & BATH DESIGN & INSTALLATION ✦
the Marini’s, and consumed approximately 31/2 pounds of pasta. Amazingly, we had lots to see on the way: waterfalls, grottos, the local lake, Lago serving. Think rustic. I’ve dreamed about it all my life, never imagining
✦ CUSTOM CABINETRY, COUNTERTOPS, TILE, LIGHTING & MORE ✦ I didn’t gain an ounce. I did, however gain a new sense of who I am and how D’idro and a stop at the local pasticceria for bread. that anyone still clung to the tradition.
✦ CAREFUL & THOUGHTFUL DESIGN FOR YOUR LIFESTYLE ✦ I fit in this world.
At the restaurant I met more family, their names as lovely as their faces: Liliana As I walked through Fabiola’s front door I saw a long row of tables
✦ REMODELING SPECIALISTS ✦
The trip, courtesy of my brother, was especially poignant in that my father and Angelo, Fausta, Giulio and Maria Pia (who looks just like a cousin of mine and a crowd of people huddled in the far corner, their heads obscured
had passed away earlier this summer. Papa Lou had never visited Italy so we
dedicated the trip to his memory. He would have loved it.
Arriving in Milan, we downed espressos to combat jet lag, then took the
trolley downtown, where we toured the Duomo, stopping to light candles for
our parents. We posed for pictures outside of La Scala, pretending to be opera
stars, and then wandered up and down the side streets, peeking through the
windows of the famous couture houses. My only purchase in Milan was a
pistachio gelato – delizioso!
Our official culinary adventure began at Via La Pre, with a spread of antipasto
so decadent it was hard to not be greedy: fish cakes, zucchini flowers stuffed
with mascarpone, escabeche, head-on shrimps and a dish of octopus and
potatoes drizzled in olive oil; all this before the shatteringly crisp squid and
leeks frittarini appetizer. By that time, my head was light from the glass of
Vermentino wine, but the fish stuffed ravioli was even lighter. Definitely a
memorable introduction to Italian cuisine.
Lugging suitcases up the steep stairs of the Milan train station the next morning,
I understood why my brother had insisted I pack light; the station was lovely but
antiquated, as in ‘hope you’ve been working out, because there’s no escalator
or elevator.’ As we left behind the industrial scene of Milan and headed north,
my mind raced with questions: would the mountains be as grand as I’d imagined
919-870-9202 and the food as good as I anticipated? As good as Grandma Marini’s? I wondered
Peach Tree Market Plaza | Raleigh, NC about the relatives I’d soon be meeting, thinking it would be really cool if there
was a family resemblance. Maybe someone would have red hair like me.
www.CarolinaKitchens.com
“Ciao, Susie!” said my cousin Marisa (a brunette who looks nothing like me)
when she picked us up at the station. As Marisa’s partner, Guido maneuvered
the car up the winding road toward Darzo, the mountains lived up to their repu-
tation – they were maestoso, majestic. Any food comparisons would have to
wait till the family gathered on Sunday for a home-cooked meal.
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After a long day of walking and exploring, we drove back to the agritur for My trip to Italy was a dream come true, a gift so precious I want
dinner – Our Last Supper. Marcella and Alicia outdid themselves. Il primo, first to clutch it close to my heart and never let go. And yet I know
course, was tagliatelle fungi, made with tiny red mushrooms called finferle, that it’s only in giving it away that the gift has meaning. I wanted
in a cloud of steam. My heart began to thunder in my chest; could it local cheeses that had tempted us the whole meal. The Slow Food and strangolapreti, which translates “priest strangler,” but is actually luscious to share it with our readers here at Midtown and the publisher,
be? I made my way through the crowd, and there it was, like a scene movement and eating local is a way of life to these folks – they’ve spinach dumplings served with a sage-infused browned butter. Il secondo Gina Stephens was kind enough to grant me the privilege. I hope
from a fairy-tale: the ancient wood stove where a little redheaded eaten this way for centuries. was a staggering array of involtini, (spinach-stuffed veal rolls), polpette (flat- you have enjoyed it.
woman named Sophie stood stirring the polenta, which heaved and tened meatballs), krauti with fresh sausage, zucchini, green beans, cabbage
rolled inside an old battered pot. Declaring the golden mass ready, “Cin! Cin!” we cried, raising our glasses of Prosecco for a toast. salad with cucumbers and more polenta, this time made with potatoes. When I was a little girl, my Dad used to say that I was “half” Ital-
she poured it out on two wooden boards, the ladies swooping in with More glasses were lined up and I watched, fascinated, as a mysterious ian; I remember thinking, “So will I be all Italian when I grow up?”
their spatulas to smooth the surface before it set up. It was a ritual as light green beverage was poured into them – perseghena, an herbal- As the family gathered to say goodbye, my cousin Giampiero, the family
old as the grain itself and everyone had a part to play. Polenta is made infused grappa made by Sophie. As the citrusy, woodsy concoction jokester, grew serious as he leaned over and asked me if Italy had lived This past summer’s visit to Italy was more than a trip for me;
for special occasions now, but it’s still cooked with love. raised my body temperature I was warmed even more when she up to my expectations. I choked up and could barely speak, but managed it was a journey towards wholeness – not to becoming wholly
handed me my very own bottle to bring home as a remembrance to whisper, “I feel like I’ve come home.” He just smiled and nodded. Italian, but becoming wholly alive. I left home empty and
Claudia’s veal stew called spezzini cuddled up to the polenta, sur- of my Italian family. came home filled with the joy of family and the shared table.
rounded by buttery, oven-roasted potatoes, and homemade sauerkraut, There’s an Italian proverb that says, “A tavola, non si invecchia.” The trans- I hope you’ll join me as we explore this topic more thoroughly
made savory with chunks of Speck ham and bits of fresh sausage. A group of women cleaned up, as others gathered for a card game called lation has become my recipe for life: “At the table with good friends and in upcoming issues.
After a salad of bitter greens, we were finally given permission to Briscola, chatted or snoozed by the fire. Marisa asked if I wanted to join family, you do not become old.” As the wine flowed and the conversation Happy Holidays,
dig into the gigantic wheel of Pecorino and wedge of Baggos, two her for a walk and I agreed, forgetting that she had recently climbed the rolled along, I figure I added at least four more months to my life’s span. Susan
Café Tiramisu
CAFE TIRAMISU | NORTHERN ITALIAN | 6196.120 FALLS OF NEUSE ROAD | RALEIGH | 981.0305 | WWW.CAFETIRAMISU.NET
CAMERON BAR & GRILL | 2018 CLARK AVENUE | RALEIGH | 755.2231 | WWW.CAMERONBARANDGRILL.COM
NORTH RIDGE PUB | PUB RESTAURANT & BAR | 6196-116 FALLS OF NEUSE ROAD | RALEIGH | 981.6005 | WWW.NORTHRIDGEPUB.COM
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