"Italians Explained..."

[Enologo]

Buongiorno

This is why I love the Italian culture… they are very natural and earthy... please enjoy this truth about Italians - especially if you grew up in an Italian family - some of these will hit home. Gustare! (enjoy)

Italians Explained…

Do you know why most men from Italy are named Tony?
On the boat over to America they put a sticker on them that said
(To New York ) TO N Y

Do you know where the slur word *** came from? Supposedly when the boats came from Italy to Ellis Island NY, those who didn't have proper documentation had a sticker on them that said *** (without papers)

You know you're Italian when… You can bench press 325 pounds, shave twice a day and still cry when your mother yells at you.

You carry your lunch in a produce bag because you can't fit two cappicola sandwiches, 4 oranges, 2 bananas and pizzelles
into a regular lunch bag.

Your mechanic, plumber, electrician, accountant, travel agent and lawyer are all your cousins.

You have at least 5 cousins living in the same town or on the same block. All five of those cousins are named after your
grandfather or grandmother.

You are on a first name basis with at least 8 banquet hall owners.

You only get one good shave from a disposable razor.

If someone in your family grows beyond 5' 9", it is presumed his Mother had an affair.

There were more than 28 people in your bridal party.

You netted more than $50,000 on your first communion.

And you REALLY, REALLY know you're Italian when . . .. .

Your grandfather had a fig tree.
.
Christmas Eve you eat only fish

Meatless meals every Friday - especially during Lent

Your mom's meatballs are the best.

You've been hit with a wooden spoon or had a shoe thrown at you.

Clear plastic covers on all the furniture.

You know how to pronounce "manicotti" and "mozzarella."

You fight over whether it's called "sauce" or "gravy."

You've called someone a "mamaluke."

And you understand "bada bing".

Italians have a $40,000 kitchen, but use the $259 stove from Sears in the basement to cook.

There is some sort of religious statue in the hallway, living room, bedroom, front porch and backyard.

The living room is filled with old wedding favors with poofy net bows and stale almonds (they are too pretty to open).

A portrait of the Pope and Frank Sinatra hang in the dining room.

God, forbid if anyone EVER attempted to eat 'Chef Boy-ar-dee', 'Franco American', 'Ragu', 'Prego', or anything else labeled as Italian in a jar or can.

Meatballs are made with pork, veal and beef. Italians do not care about cholesterol.

Turkey is served on Thanksgiving AFTER the manicotti, gnocchi, lasagna, and minestrone or scarole soup.

If anyone EVER says ESCAROLE, slap 'em along side the head - it's pronunced SCAROLA.

The family arrived for Sunday dinner at 2:00PM sharp with lots of baci e' abbracci (kisses and hugs)

The meal went like this...We all say Grace! Hey kids - sta 'zitto ( shutta u face-a)

The table was set with everyday dishes. It doesn't matter if they don't match. They're clean; what more do you want?

All the utensils go on the right side of the plate and the napkin goes on the left.

A clean kitchen towel was put at Nonna's & Papa's plates because they won't use napkins.

Homemade wine and bottles of 7-UP are on the table.

First course , Antipasto... Change plates.

Second course , macaroni. All pasta was called macaroni... Change plates.

Third course, roast beef, potatoes and vegetables... Change plates.

THEN, and only then - NEVER AT THE BEGINNING OF THE MEAL - would you eat the salad drenched in homemade oil & vinegar dressing... Change plates.

Next course, fruit & nuts - in the shell - on paper plates because you ran out of the real ones.

Last was coffee with anisette espresso for Nonna, 'American' coffee for the rest - with hard cookies (biscotti) to dunk in the coffee.

The kids would go out to play or dropped off at a movie.

The men would go lay down. They slept so soundly that you could do brain surgery on them without anesthesia.

The women cleaned the kitchen.

We got screamed at by Mom or Nonna, and half of the sentences were English, the other half Italian.

Italian mothers never threw a baseball in their life, but could nail you with a shoe thrown from the kitchen while you were in the living room.

Other things particular to Italians...

The prom dress that Zia (Aunt) Ceserina made for you cost only $20.00, which was for the material.

The prom hairdo was done free by Cugina (Cousin) Angela.

Turning around at the prom to see your entire family, including your Godparents, standing in the back of the gym... PRICELESS!

Those with Italian blood will love and relate to all of this.

Those who are married to Italians will understand this. And those who wish they were Italian, and those who have Italian friends will remember with a smile.

 

[lanomed]

Sounds about right.
AL Guido Ursillo Jr

 

[tonyt]

Not true! We never ran out of plates. My dad got them wholesale.

 

[jswordy]

My Italian grandmother (Tomasina) shopped at Jewel Tea Stores and did so faithfully because they offered a dish set that you could buy one piece or setting at a time with a grocery purchase. Over years, she assembled the Jewel Tea set and it is one of the most complete sets I've ever seen. I now have it. It is amazing what some of those pieces are worth now.

My grandmother and grandfather (Antonio) were never rich, but to us kids, we never knew that. What it meant to us was that a trip to grandma's would always find soup on the stove and lots of times would find every flat surface of the kitchen laid with blindingly white dishcloths on top of which were homemade noodles drying. Commodity flour, commodity cheeses, and homemade wine were combined with canned bounty from a garden that took up 2/3 of the backyard. And there was always a little dish of Brach's butterscotch candies on the living room table. Always.

I remember watching my grandfather eat soup for lunch with homemade bread in one hand after coming in from the garden. He was methodical about it, sipping from a tiny glass of wine as he ate. Afterwards, he would play checkers with me. "Let him win!" my grandmother would tell my grandpa. "No, he has to learn how to do it himself!" grandpa would say. And those times I rarely won were a triumph to me.

You never went into my grandma's house, or any of my aunt's and uncle's houses, without being greeted with a hug and a kiss and the statement, "Eat."

The pinch to the cheek was kind of like an Italian BMI test. "Yeah, you gotta eat, you-a lookin' so thin!" And if your visit wasn't close to mealtime, you'd be set down at a table and served leftovers that tasted better than the fresh-made food at 5-star restaurants. My mother, rest her soul, made potato rolls that were so good that cousins would travel for Thanksgiving at our house from as far as California to taste them again, and many were mailed out during the holidays to those who could not make the trip.

At Thanksgiving or Christmas when my grandparents were alive, we would pack the basement of their small house. Wine would flow from my grandpa's barrels in the little room at the back of the basement, and there would be course after course of rich food. When they passed, my aunt Della - the only one of the kids actually born in Italy - took over Christmas and my mom did Thanksgiving.

Della's husband, Al, who at 91 right now is sedated and in his final days on this Earth, would make pizelles with a wonderful melty flavor. My mom would stay up all night baking and cooking every Thanksgiving, and our basement would feature fold-out tables full of food. The turkey was a side dish! There was lasagna and ham and roast beef and vegetables and bread and rolls and cake and pie… oh my, such a feast.

And everybody would be buzzing and catching up on the family at these great gatherings, and laughing.

Now our family is so spread out and far-flung it never gets together as its nuclear self. I like to tell people that I can see four generations of Italians now. Generation One came over on the boat, and everything was made from scratch. Generation Two made almost everything from scratch but bought the wine and the pasta. Generation Three dumped a jar of Ragu in the pan and seasoned it up a little. Generation Four orders from Dominos on their cellphones!



Thanks for the memories!

 

[Enologo]

You know I placed that bit in there in the joke forum and it is so funny but as they say many a truth is spoken in jest and it brings out so many fond memories of my younger days in the old neighborhood and even later on after we had moved out and the family struggled to maintain the old traditions. I tried to instill in my children the importance of our great heritage but times and everything have changed so much I could never recreate the wonderful things that we experienced. I guess you had to be there. They were very special people, pioneers, and as you say were able to make everything seem wonderful despite having little funds compared to the way things are done today. But at least we have the wine.

 

[BobR]

Ciao Enologo, where were you from? And yes, most was not a joke, but was a part of everyday life. I'd go back 50 years and relive those days without any problem.

 

[Enologo]

I was born in Manhattan. In a neighborhood they call Little Italy where everyone knew each other and especially knew your parents if you did something wrong. Growing up I didn't think there were any other kind of people in the world but Itialians. We lived in the apartment in the rear and my aunt lived across the hall in the front apartment. My cousins lived two buildings away but we didn't even have to go down to the street to visit them we just went through my aunt's, opened the window and went along the fire escape to their window and went in. Those were some of the best times of my life. What memories.

 

[Stefani]

Not true! We never ran out of plates. My dad got them wholesale.

Wholesale... or would that be purchased from someone who got the plates with a "five finger discount" (back of a truck).

Hey no offense. Remember, there's a statute of limitations on those type of aquired goods.

I grew up in St Paul. My grandparents lived on the East Side and owned a bakery on 3rd and Maria. They lived next to my Great Uncle Adelmo, whose business was flipping houses.

The meals my Grandmother, Aunt and Great Aunt made were exactly like that. Even though my Grandmother had a pristine kitchen upstairs, food was cooked in the basement and we ate in the basement of their story and a half house.

All the bread and baked goods were always fresh fro the bakery.

 

[jswordy]

Well, my Uncle Albert passed, and I went to Illinois for the funeral. At the visitation, a DVD made from home movies he had filmed in 1963, 64, 65 and 66 was playing. Someone turned up the sound, and there was Uncle Albert's voice describing what was going on, with the sound of the projector in the background - just like when he would show the movies when we were kids.

I was 5 and 6 when most movies were taken. They showed the family gatherings, even the ones held in my grandma and grandpa's basement, this being about 5 years before they died within a few months of each other. I saw my deceased mother, about age 35, holding two jugs of grandpa's wine, and my sister. My dad when he was a young man, and so on.

This was a tremendous surprise to the family, this gift my uncle managed to give us even in death. No one outside his immediate family knew of this recording of these 50-year-old films. Once the sound was turned up, a crowd began to gather. I watched feeling as though I was in a time warp. It was very powerful.

Needless to say, my cousins now have a lot of requests for that DVD.