Remember that scrumptious ravioli Carmela made for my birthday? (Check the May 15 blog – Pumpkin Ravioli.) She used an incredible Tupperware ravioli mold – former – thingy. I had to have one.
The Tupperware Lady told me that they don’t ship the stuff made in the USA here – cost too much. There are Tupperware factories in Belgium, France and Portugal. H’mm do they make special EU stuff that we can’t get – like great large ravioli former things????
Bye for now! I’ve got ravioli to make.
I have to admit, sports and I have never been “Purrrrfect Together”. In high school I went to football games and walked around flirting with boys – oh was there a game on? First down – hut – uggh. When I was a young teacher and recruiting boys to be in my musicals, I discovered that the boys who wrestled moved well and could be taught to dance, hence, I attended wrestling matches. OK – so for two periods of my life I “went to a game, match, meet.” Beyond that – niente, nada, nothing. Then I got to Italy and discovered Calcio Mania in Pontelandolfo.
My introduction to calcio was in 2002. Italia was in the World Cup! I pretended I knew what that was – had no clue. Here is what happened.
Part One:
It was a lazy afternoon in Pontelandolfo. I was sitting at the kitchen table in our apartment reading when suddenly the piazza became a cacophony of sound. The air was filled with screams, horns blaring, tears and sobs. Had terrorists bombed the Vatican? Were the beaches at Anzio breached? No, my husband calmly informed me. Italia had tied their last world cup game. That meant they were holding on to second place in their division. That couldn’t be it – second place couldn’t cause this chaos. I raced to the terrace to peer at the piazza.
A parade of almost every motorized vehicle in the village had instantaneously formed in the piazza. Horns of all pitches and rhythmes – the staccatto beep beep beep of the Ford Pronto – the tiny motorini bip bip – and the I must really live in Manhatten keep your hand pressed down on your blaring big horn whaaaaaa. A wee little boy is leaning out of the passenger window clinging to the pole supporting a full Italian flag as his father/brother roars in a circle around the fountain. Italian flags wave from almost every vehicle. A motorini whizzed by – a girl on the back with both arms raised to support the flag. It followed behind them like a Jersey shore promotional banner tailing a plane. One car has not one but four full size flags, bigger than the passengers hanging on to them, flying from each window. The cars continue to circle and circle. shrieks, screams, tears – eeks. What was it like when the allies landed? I don’t get the sports thing. Men in tight shorts touch each others butts and the homophobes think its ok. Adults visiting a foreign country paint themselves in their country’s team colors and raise angry fists in the air. Behavior considered pagan any other time becomes ritual allowable drama during high sports celebrations. The wails and beeps have been going on for 15 minutes now. When do you think they’ll get bored of and start reading a book or having caffe?
Part two:
I entered my cousins house to find 6 pre-teen girls clutching each other as they stared morosely at the television. The referees are obviously favoring Korea over Italia – home court advantage and all that. Tears and angry tirades filled the room. One girl with tears streaming down her face wailed from the depth of her soul. The chilling sound had to reach around the world to that evil World Cup referee. The match was still close.
These were the emotions needed to move their team on. Oh, oh – time – they lost. I moved as far into the corner as I could because I didn’t know what emotions would erupt. Heart wrenching sobs erupted from another floor in the house and got closer as the resident 5 year old raced to find the comforting lap of his mother. His father and cousin were close behind. With anger plastered on their faces they stormed out of the house and headed out to the rural men only bar. The girls in the living room frozen in place did not speak. The wimpers and silent tears said everything.
Part Three:
Now that I have been introduced to the calcio world, I went to a local match on the villages’s impeccable playing field. Pontelandolfo plays in a five on five league, so the field is shorter. Makes it easier for the fans to surround the field and see every exciting moment. The enthusiasm is infectious. As you’ll see from the video, the upper promenade is packed with fans of all ages. It feels like the entire village has come together on the field of battle to press it’s warriors on. How could I not be part of that? How could I not connect with that passion? Between Nick Losardo and Jack Huber we have visuals of last weeks game. It ended in a tie!
Brava Real Five Pontelandolfo! http://www.realfivepontelandolfo.it/
Everyday can be a culinary adventure! My nephew Nick was flying in to meet the family and see Pontelandlofo for the first time. Being “Auntie Never Late”, my accommodating spouse and I set off a little after noon for the Naples Airport. The idea was to explore a town or two along the way. Being foodies we started salivating at the signs for fresh buffalo mozzarella and various local trattoria. What can I say, we slowly drove ignoring the incredible mountain vistas and looking for a place to stop for pranza. I’d spy something on the left and bellow there! Jack would swerve and through clenched teeth say look for something on the right. That was the right advice.
The next place on the right was “Il Re Ghiotto”. It looked interesting and – this was incredibly important on a busy narrow street – it had a parking lot. Inside the tables all had sweet checkered table clothes and linen napkins. We could see the comfortable layout clearly because there was absolutely no one in the place. We knew why, but hated to admit it. We were hungry Americans who stopped for pranza on the early side of appropriateness – 1:00 pm.
Being in mozzarella di bufola country we of course ordered a caprese salad to share, aqua minerale frizzante and vino rosso di tavola. Within moments toasted quarters of artegean bread appeared topped with diced tomatoes and fresh basil that had been marinating in the regions incredible olive oil. Yummy. I wondered if my Italian had been so bad that my “l’insalta caprese” sounded like “bruschetta “. I shouldn’t have worried, the bruschetta was simply a gift from the kitchen. Like every caprese salad we have had in Italy, the tomatoes tasted like fresh tomatoes not hot house drek and nothing beats really fresh mozzarella . Since we had about 5 hours before the flight was due and were only an hour from the airport, we ate slowly and savored every bite.
Jack had ordered miniature penne pasta tossed with porcini mushrooms, a few diced tomatoes, loose sausage and of course that amazing olive oil. He made me taste it and I wanted to grab the plate. But if I did that he’d grab my risotto and I refused to share. I ordered mystery risotto. A mystery because the only word I recognized in the description was “risotto”. It was purple in color, had teeny tiny bits of something meaty in it and was amazing. Jack took a taste. I took two tastes. OK – purple- maybe squid with squid ink? But everyone knows the word for squid – calamari. This word started with A. Of course, I didn’t write it down. Didn’t tell master mind Jack the word. Hence, I couldn’t look it up. ( I found out later it was made with red wine.)
For contorni we had rucola (arugula) that Jack pointed out must have been picked 5 minutes ago. They were tiny leaves perched in a bowl and served with bottles of olive oil and vinegar.
After our coffees,I asked the owner in what I thought was impeccable Italian for the check. He looked at me and responded in impeccable university grade American Standard English,” are you from New Jersey or Connecticut?” All those Italian classes and I still can’t pass. We introduced ourselves to the charming Pasquale and he joined us for tale swapping
He was born in Jersey City and lived there during his adolescent years. The family has a marble, granite and stone business in Patterson,NJ. They also own the R\restuarant in Rotondi (AV). He and his parents fly back and forth often. We promised to come back the next time we made the airport trek and take a picture for this blog of his dad’s circa 1970s Cadillac Coupe De Ville sitting I the garage flaunting its NJ liscence plates.
You will notice there are no pictures of food. Why? You damn well know why! It was so good we scoffed it down before I remembered to take a picture. If you want to see the food visit:
Il Re Ghiotto – Ristorante Pizzeria
S.S. 7 Appia, 62
83017. Rotondi (AV)
Tell Pasquale that the New Jerseyans sent you.
Nonna's Mulberry Tree 