Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

Si Mangia!: Memories, Lessons and Recipes from Italian Immigrant Life
Si Mangia!: Memories, Lessons and Recipes from Italian Immigrant Life
Si Mangia!: Memories, Lessons and Recipes from Italian Immigrant Life
Ebook217 pages1 hour

Si Mangia!: Memories, Lessons and Recipes from Italian Immigrant Life

Rating: 0 out of 5 stars

()

Read preview

About this ebook

Part memoir, part cookbook, Si Mangia! Memories, Lessons and Recipes from Italian Immigrant Life is a precious memento that captures the heart of a culture whose values of simplicity, gratitude and community are shared in heartwarming and humorous stories of growing up in an Italian immigrant family. In an effort to document age old traditions which are now in danger of disappearing, in Si Mangia! you will also find the process of making homemade wine, preserved meats and tomato sauce, as well as original Calabrese recipes such as Melanzane Ripiene (Stuffed Eggplants), “A Chi-na” (Bread and Cocoa Torte) and Rigatoni al Forno (Oven Baked Rigatoni Pasta) which were verbally handed down for generations.
Si Mangia! is a treasure to share for generations to come.
LanguageEnglish
Release dateJun 26, 2015
ISBN9781483431628
Si Mangia!: Memories, Lessons and Recipes from Italian Immigrant Life

Related to Si Mangia!

Related ebooks

Cooking, Food & Wine For You

View More

Related articles

Reviews for Si Mangia!

Rating: 0 out of 5 stars
0 ratings

0 ratings0 reviews

What did you think?

Tap to rate

Review must be at least 10 words

    Book preview

    Si Mangia! - Luciana Longo

    age.

    LESSON 1

    Sharing the Bounty

    Tomatoes for the Neighbors

    Harvest time was a time of great abundance; the larger-than-life, organically-grown vegetables from my parents’ garden overwhelmed us with their bounty. One zucchini alone, the size of a medium-sized watermelon, was enough to feed our family of five and then some. When the stems of the zucchini plant overflowed and all of the zucchini were gathered and displayed on the dinner table, I knew that there would be much work to do in the days ahead: the gigantic zucchini would be finely sliced into slivers that would later be marinated for the giardiniera (preserved vegetables); mounds of its pulp would be shredded for what would eventually be formed into palm-sized patties; and it would be diced into a million little cubes and added to the conza (frozen minestrone base) that would warm our bellies deep into the winter.

    Besides the vegetables that would be used to prepare our meals, there were always plenty of vegetables left over that my mother would lovingly pick and reserve for friends and extended family. Her generosity was shared by all Italians; sharing the fruits of their labor is an instinctive aspect of producing food. Heart-centred and innately altruistic, Italians’ communal way of life in the mountain villages was extended to friends and neighbors in their Canadian suburban villages. Our Canadian neighbors were the frequent recipients of my mother’s generosity. The best piece of sausage, the healthiest tomatoes, and the heartiest zucchini were all saved for non-family members. Used as a way to form a bond, my mother would take a stroll down the street and unabashedly offer baskets of goodies as tokens of friendship. She eventually formed bonds with all of the neighbors and, I remember feeling safe as a child playing outdoors for hours for there were no strangers in our vicinity.

    When my former husband and I were first married, strapped for money and saving for a home of our own, we rented a lovely basement apartment in North York that was patronized by my uncle’s aunt Elena, an elderly and huge-hearted Italian widow. Elena, like most women of her generation, loved to make homemade food to share with others and, from the recesses below, the aromas of her freshly baked breads, biscuits, and tortes would comfortingly make us feel right at home. Often Elena would prepare homemade pizza, my favorite food, and offer us a few slices. "Tony, Luciana, so fatto la pizza, (I made pizza) she would call in her Abruzzese accent. Of course we would never refuse, nor could we ever put off eating the pizza, as she always handed it to us right out of the oven. The first time she generously offered us a few slices, we gobbled them down like new food enthusiasts. A few minutes later, having barely finished eating, we heard a knock on our door once again. Tony, Luciana, so fatto la pizza." Tony and I shot each other looks of confusion. Perplexed but curious, we made our way up the stairs to her door only to have the entire scene repeated exactly as it was moments before. I felt as though I was caught in a time warp when we were greeted once again with a few fresh slices. I thanked Elena very much for her offer and explained to her that she had just shared some with us, but she pressed the additional pieces into our hands, ignoring my words like a woman on a mission. Tony and I experienced many of these scenes during our stay with Elena. We sadly watched Alzheimer’s slowly decimate her mind, but fortunately it did not affect her generous and beautiful heart.

    Last year, we planted four tomato plants in our backyard. Eager to imitate, albeit on a smaller scale, the glorious vegetable gardens of my parents and my extended family, we set about creating a small four by eight foot plot. Never mind peppers, eggplants, or zucchini—we decided to try our beginner’s luck with tomatoes only. The soil lacked manure, but it was richly supplemented by compost. As the season progressed, the lack of harvest was evident: my parents were already collecting tomatoes in July while our scant tomatoes were as green as granny smith apples into most of August. Then, as if overnight, the four plants suddenly produced plenty of tomatoes and some of them were even oversized and reminiscent of the famous gargantuan varieties found in the best Italian immigrant gardens. Our meagre efforts were generously rewarded by Mother Earth. There was plenty to satisfy the craving for fresh bruschetta and homemade tomato sauce over the late summer and early fall. It seems that nature rewards even those who pay little bits of attention to their garden; no wonder zio Giò’s garden is such a marvel for it is the beneficiary of his devout attention.

    As I write these words I realize that I did not share even one tomato with a neighbor. Was I distracted by this first harvest and filled with wonder and excitement about all the fresh salads I would make? Or, am I deluding myself by denying that the spirit of interdependence, modelled by my parents, did not seem to penetrate into my being? Whatever the case, I wonder at the loss of connection and the lost opportunity for giving that my independent stance creates. Conscious of this now, I will try again with the next harvest.

    POLPETTE DI ZUCCHINI

    Zucchini Patties

    1ZucchiniPattiesRETOUCHED.jpg

    Zucchini is an under-appreciated vegetable as far as I am concerned. Considered by many to be bland and flavorless, this recipe will, in my opinion, change the heart of even the most die-hard carnivore. My mother would regularly fry up a pan full of these crispy and tangy patties, selecting zucchinis that looked ripe and plentiful from her lovely vegetable garden. Although they can be eaten at room temperature, my siblings and I would often eat them right from the pan so that they would not even make it to the dinner table!

    Yield: 12 patties

    3 small or medium zucchini, scrubbed, washed, stems removed

    1 teaspoon (5 mL) sea salt

    2 eggs, beaten

    1 garlic clove, minced

    1 tablespoon (15mL) Italian parsley, chopped

    2 tablespoons (30 mL) grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, or as needed

    ½ cup (125mL) All Purpose flour, or as needed

    ¼ cup (50 mL) breadcrumbs

    pinch black pepper (optional)

    olive or canola oil for frying

    Shred the zucchini into a large bowl and add salt. Toss and set aside for 10–15 minutes to allow the salt to draw out the moisture.

    Remove a handful of the zucchini/salt mixture and squeeze so that the water will drain, ensuring that the zucchini is as dry as possible. Place the drained zucchini into a second large bowl. Repeat with remaining zucchini mixture.

    Add the eggs, garlic, parsley, cheese, flour, breadcrumbs, and pepper to the zucchini. Gently toss until the ingredients are completely combined and the batter sticks together. If the batter is too runny, add a little more cheese and flour. Set aside.

    Pour enough oil into a large skillet to cover the base of the pan and heat to a high temperature. Drop batter by heaping tablespoons into the skillet being careful not to overcrowd the skillet. Reduce the heat to medium. Fry patties on one side until golden, flatten gently with a spatula, and carefully turn over to fry the other side. Remove with a slotted spoon and transfer onto a plate lined with paper towels to drain excess oil. Repeat until all batter is used. Arrange patties on a serving dish.

    Alternative Version: Use shredded pumpkin or squash instead of zucchini.

    Home-grown Tomatoes

    The organic, home-grown tomato deserves a special place in the world of food. This delicate fruit is the magic ingredient in so many Italian dishes, but nowhere does it shine more than in simple, unaltered dishes where its natural state can be fully savored.

    Italians take great pride in the care and cultivation of their tomatoes. My zio Giò (calling him a Master Gardener would be an understatement) has a relationship with his tomatoes each year. He carefully tends to them, caressing each leaf, admiring the various shapes and colors and squeezing them gently as if to offer encouragement like a new mother transfixed by her newborn. When the tomatoes ripen each year, the sight of a large, plump San Marzano sends him into a state of ecstasy. I watch him cut a thin slice of the red pulp and carefully lay it on a piece of ciabatta and top it with a drizzle of extra virgin olive oil and a sprig of fragrant basil; nothing tastes better than this.

    When zio Giò talks about his plants, if one were not privy to the context and happened to be eavesdropping mid-conversation, one would think that he was conversing about humans. He describes, with great joy in his eyes, how his family grows from infancy through to maturity and how he does

    Enjoying the preview?
    Page 1 of 1