Land line phones? Are they going the way of the dinosaur? My brilliant computer consultant Cyndi turned us on to Magic Jack. We have dumped our Comcast Cable Triple Play Plan at home and just use the VOIP Magic Jack gizmo. VOIP stands for Voice Over Internet Protocol, a technology for making telephone calls over the Internet in which speech sounds are converted into binary blah, blah, blah techno jargon blah blah… Bottom line – you need access to the internet to make a phone call.
For the initial investment of $69 for the Magic Jack gizmo that plugs into either a router or a computer. You get a U.S.A. number that goes with you anywhere in the world. Now that is pretty groovy but I wanted our existing number. If I finally sold a play or if something tragic happened at home like tidal waves from the Raritan River, how would people find me? Don’t worry, for about $10 you can “port” your existing number to Magic Jack. That is exactly what we did. For $79 for the initial year we now have unlimited calling in the USA and Canada and unlimited international calling to the USA.
We were just a tad apprehensive. I am a “show me” kind of chick. We set up the gizmo at home – dumped Comcast phone service – it worked great. The voice quality was fine and as long as we had high speed internet we would have a phone, voicemail, e-mail alerts of voicemail, caller ID, free directory assistance, call waiting and FREE international calling to the USA.
To have a Comcast bill that made sense we dumped cable TV too – that was a wee bit more challenging. The Triple Play Plan – means you use them for the phone, cable television and high speed internet. Since our plan is not to be home much, having the flexibility of carrying our phone number with us is wonderful. The internet is everywhere and so is connectivity.
Before we left for Italy we tried the Magic Jack with my laptop and Jack’s. It worked fine. We just had to buy a traditional phone with a cord that could be jacked into the Magic Jack. I bought a $9.99 model at Radio Shack. We plugged it in and tested it at home. It worked great. Jack packed it in his suitcase and off to Europe we went.
The initial dilemma was the lack of internet service at the house we rented. Ooops. Magic Jack is a VOIP – need that internet. Wait – there is an iPhone App for Magic Jack! I set it up on my phone, logged into Magic Jack and boom had free international calling over my 3G data network. (Remember, the earlier blog – we only pay $13 a month for unlimited data with WIND.) We did the same thing to Jack’s phone. My phone carries the number that came with the Magic Jack and Jack’s phone is our old home phone number – hmm, we really need to switch that.
Meanwhile back at the Wi-Fi quest, it took us about a week and a half to get internet installed and the router working. A sigh of relief. We could set up the real phone and now hear that pleasant ring when folks in the USA call us. We put an Italian adapter at the end of the plug, plugged the phone into electricity and into the Magic Jack. Hey, what’s that smell? Burning plastic – the $9.99 phone was fried by the Italian current. Don’t ask me why, just don’t bring one.
We ran out and bought a cheapy Italian phone. Now the cheapy Radio Shack phone was small, white, plastic and ugly. Check out the form and function cheapy Italian phone.
Cute!
Note the lines! Feel the beauty! It cost $9.99 and is cute and didn’t melt. Yeah. We have a phone. It works – sometimes.
In all fairness, the sound quality has a lot to do with the internet connection. At our house in Italy we have an antennae on the roof that brings us Wi-Fi from the Wi-Fi gods of the mountain. I have no idea how it works. When it is windy – which in the mountains is often – the antennae is doing dirty dancing and the reception is less than great.
There are other VOIP opportunities out there but they seem to cost more. So, even though we can’t hear you when the wind blows over the mountain, we are still happy with our Magic Jack.
You know how little girls imagine themselves princesses twirling at the ball? Well, I tried to imagine that but after tripping over a hoe somehow knew that my family sure as hell wasn’t royalty. It felt really special to be about 6 years old and discover I was from a long line of serfs! Hey, quit smirking – a lot of us first generation folks come from families who – well – didn’t have the proverbial ‘Pot’. Salvatore Guerrera, the patriarch of my family, was a contadino, farmer. Now, don’t think of the agri-businessman of today or even the great local organic farmer. In the Pontelandolfo church and commune records my family members are all listed as “contadino and/or bracciante” They were peasant farmers who “gave their arms work” for another person. Serfs – now that is a word we all know. Or sharecroppers – these men and women worked the land for a piece of the garden pie – a very small piece.
Over a period of 18 years, I have shared many a long and wonderful Pontelandolfesi meal with my extended Italian family. When the coffee was served, I often steered the conversation to stories about my bisnonno. The elders, his grandchildren, vaguely remembered him but really remembered the stories about him that their parents told. What was he like? Where did he live? What did he do? These alert and fun filled men and women regaled me with tales – all in the dialect of the town. I didn’t have a clue as to what they said. They knew I didn’t have a clue, but kept right on talking. Today, having taken years of Italian, I still only understand about 20% of what anyone says in dialect. Not to lose the stories, I shot lots of video tape. Much of it still needs to be translated. The ever gracious linguist, Annarita Mancini, helped by giving me some short summaries.
The central theme was that my incredibly well built bisnonno was a Robin Hood kind of guy. If the landowners weren’t sharing, he would not so subtly help the process along. One tale, set after World War I, told of great deprivation – everything of any value was used for the war or stolen by the enemy. There wasn’t a bit of food to eat or even wood to burn for heat. Salvatore Guerrera approached the landowner and asked if he could cut down a really big tree – one of the last trees. The man said, absolutely not, I’m saving that tree for myself. Salvatore looked at this incredibly tall tree and thought 50% is good enough for that uncaring @#$%$#. “Noi braccianti have provided him with much much more.” He then climbed up to the middle of the tree and began to saw. Soon the top of the tree tumbled to the ground, was chopped up and shared. No one remembers what the landowner did – but they kept remarking that their nonno was really big and really strong. Hmmmmm.
Three walls are left of my great grandfather’s house.
We were led to what is left of Salvatore Guerrera’s house by his grandchildren. I could write about it but, frankly, am enjoying editing video. What follows was shot in August 1995 – the first time I saw the house with my Zia Caterina – and June 2002 when we brought my father there.
Remember those one ring circuses that scurried into small home towns across America? The one elephant, two-horse shows that still bedazzled us with its newness. The traveling small tent show may have died in America but thanks to families like the Frimers it is alive and well in Italy.
My interest and excitement was piqued when the signs appeared on the main intersections of Pontelandolfo. Signs that showed a scantily clad damsel fighting off the sharpened teeth of a great piranha – or was it a catfish?
That must be one huge fish tank.
“In less than a week,” the signs taunted, the incredible Frimer Acquatic Show would be setting up shop in Ex Campo Calcetto. Not wanting to forget the where and when, I snapped a photo of the signs.
Are there different names on each poster?
Friday, from deep within the kitchen of our all stone house I heard a voice so loud I dropped the tomatoes. I raced out side. Speakers topping an old blue van – the new circus parade – were encouraging us all to experience the wonders of the circus tomorrow. OK, I didn’t understand a word of what they said, but I bet they were touting the wonders of the circus. Finally, it was Saturday – the day the circus was setting up its tent. After stopping at my favorite salumeria for the best mortadella in the world, I found the most incredible gift under my windshield wiper. Two discount coupons for that night’s performance! It was fate. Jack and I could see the world’s greatest Frimer Acquatic Show for only 7 euro each!. I could barely contain myself. The performance was at 9:15 PM. It was 4:00 PM. How could I wait five hours????
Only 7 euro – about $9 for live entertainment.
We got into the village at 8:30 – I wanted a good seat and went to the Campo di Calcio – no tents? Cripes, did I read it wrong? Where is the circus? We walked back to a local bar and noticed people heading towards the piazza behind the the village center – the what I thought was a parking lot that holds the recycling bins. We started to follow them – I heard music – circus music! We were getting closer. Like Conestoga wagons of the wild west, blue tractor-trailer sized trucks had encircled the piazza. A line had formed in front of the ticket counter – people were clutching the same coupons I had. The ticket booth was in a truck and about 6 feet off the ground. Folks were standing on tippy toe to hand their coupons and money to the overly made up but pretty young ticket taker girl. She suddenly stopped taking money. No! Were they sold out? No, she was out of change and no one had any. We waited about 5 minutes for a navy blue suited burly roustabout to appear with some change that he pirated from the closest bar. Whew, we were getting closer. I paid and then we looked for the entrance. The tent! I see the tent! Jack pointed out that the tent we used for picnics was only slightly smaller. I scoffed at him – this is the world’s greatest circo acquatico. When we enter the space I am sure the grandeur of the circus will unravel itself before us. The burly blond ticket taker ripped our tickets and we walked down the path to the tent. It was small! I counted about 100 K-Mart style old white plastic chairs set up in 3/4 round – for you non theatre folks that means that the performance space had chairs on three sides of it. The performance space was pretty small but look there is a large yellow curtain behind it.
Could the piranha be behind the curtain?
I bet that lifts up and we see the tanks of water. People slowly filed in. The first night audience was small – about forty of us. Jack and I were probably the oldest, but we have young hearts! There were two men in their fifties or 60’s at the light and sound boards. They looked vaguely familiar – like the dads of the ticket seller and burly blonde ticket taker guy. The music changed, the lights dimmed and the ringmaster appeared. He welcomed us all and a clown – who kind of looked like the ticket taker and light board guy – came out and started an old vaudeville shtick – it doesn’t matter which one. Just know you have seen the Marx Brothers do it – it involves kicks in the butt. All laughed and the music changed to great entrance rumblings.
Rings and things fly in the air.
Suddenly, dressed all in black and juggling madly, a handsome young man appeared. Wait, he looks familiar – it was the ringmaster! He juggled clubs, balls, tennis rackets, rings – the usual and when he dropped them all applauded and laughed. He raced off to the applause of tiny hands.
The clown skirted in with a baby carriage – the baby cried – he picked up the baby. He showed us the baby. The baby squirted water on all of us – including my new white pocket-book. Well it was Il Circo Acquatico. H’mm he kind of looks like the ringmaster/juggler guy too.
Next a chef appeared with a stack of plates – wait he looks familiar. Ahh, the burly blonde guy who took the tickets. Plates, rods, balance – you’ve seen that schtick before too. Nary a plate broke, all were spinning madly and the audience cheered.
Burly ticket taker guy is also the balancing plate guy.
A platform was wheeled out and a sexy lady with the usual boobs on a plate outfit appeared. She bent into a back bend and walked up the platform steps on her hands. Wait – she looks familiar? Ahhh the girl in full make-up who sold the tickets! She was a modified contortionist – think yoga and gymnastics with a little double jointed tossed in for good measure. It hit me. Everyone looks alike! They must be a traveling circus family.
Sexy ticket taker and contortionist gal.
What could top a contortionist! The bored five year old member of this talented circus family that’s what. She came out with silver hula hoops and whirled them on her waist, feet and arms. Since she couldn’t be seen above the ring wall, we all stood to watch this tiny tot perform. I figure she is probably on the payroll for tax purposes and needs to do something entertaining. Or the family insists that all earn their keep.
Soon the juggler/ringmaster was back dressed as a magician assisted by ticket taker/contortionist lady. How did she escape from that sack after being locked in a black box? How did he get from the audience into the sack? Whoa! Cheers went up.
Damn, more water from Il Circo d’Acqua – this time the clown tried to clean the audience and sprayed us all. Ugggg
During intermission most everyone exited to go and lood at the tank of piranha and something else that I couldn’t translate. Maybe the contortionist/ticket taker/ magician assistant girl climbed in the tank? We missed that.
Take filled with creepy fish has its own truck.
We decided to watch the show happening by the popcorn and candy corn vendor – who was obviously the mom, sister or aunt of the performers. Hoping to be discovered by the fathers/uncles who were in charge of sound and lights I entertained the kids around me with my silly faces and freeze game. Well, I thought it was entertaining.
Burly ticket/dish guy is also the hot fire guy.
Suddenly the lights dimmed and the music was foreboding. With muscles bursting, burly ticket taker/ twirling plate guy appeared juggling fire! Soon the fire was in his mouth and racing up his arms. He burned up the audience with pyrotechnic surprises. He actually stroked his arms with lit wands – we could see the charcoal black swaths cut over his biceps. The women went ugggg, the kids went “can’t wait to get home and try that mom”.
Indian Jones music floated through the tent. Roustabouts – the burly fire eating guy and clown guy – dragged out big mysterious black boxes. The frame of a coffin was set center stage. Clown guy returned dressed all in black. He became the animal trainer guy and slowly opened a box. Shouts of fear went up as he took out a four bazillion foot white snake. Screams from all as he walked closer and closer to the audience! The magician/juggler/ringmaster guy pulled out a huge unhappy iguana. They kept pulling out creepy crawly things and bringing them into the audience so all could see these fierce creatures. Adults pulled back. Small children reached up to touch them. I gotta tell ya, snakes for a finale – now that is something I have never seen.
Did I mention the snakes were enormous?
This revealing of a different snakes and having them dance, hiss and crawl went on for about fifteen minutes. Ticket lady/contortionist/magician’s assistant girl came out sexily dressed and stepped into the coffin. She laid frozen still as all of the snakes were plopped on her and slithered all over her. I must admit, I got a little turned on from this – don’t tell my husband. But no – I don’t want to try it.
H’mm slithering serpents! A devilish good time.
The crowed cheered, the lights came up and the incredible cast of four bowed for all. Ooops, I forgot the little girl – cast of five. Their versatility is what makes them incredible. Everyone doubled and tripled so that the show could go on.
This is a theatrical family that is doing what it loves to do in small towns across Italy. Frankly, I am a little jealous. Wafting nostalgic over my children’s theatre touring days, I wondered if I was too old and feeble to buy a van and tour a one woman show…
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????
In 2007 my mug graced my brand new Italian Passport. The process to become a Cittadina Italiana took me about three years and numerous trips to the Philadelphia Consulate. It took my sister less than one year and two trips to the Newark Consulate. It took my niece (her picture is above) about 6 months. It will take my cousin about three years plus. WHAT???? Let us start at the beginning. The questions most people ask me are these: Why would you do it? What is the benefit of having dual citizenship? Is the process difficult? How much did it cost you?
Why would I do it?
Why wouldn’t I do it is more like it. In the early 1990’s I started actively researching the Guerrera Family Tree. Piece by piece, I was collecting data, adding branches and getting more and more involved with the lives of people I had never met. To get a better handle on the research, I knew that I had to go to Pontelandolfo and visit the archives of the commune. Zia Caterina, Jack and I made that journey in 1995 – another blog will tell you that whole story. We not only added numerous branches to the tree but discovered my father and Zia Caterina’s first cousins! When Zia Caterina and I had gone to Italy in the 70’s their uncles were still living – we missed an incredible opportunity then. After meeting my extended Italian family, I became even more obsessed with all things Italian. Particularly, all things related to this small village in Campania, Pontelandolfo. While we were there I bought a few copies of my grandmother’s and grandfather’s birth certificates and certificate of marriage. That was an incredibly smart thing to do since folks have told me it is difficult to retrieve those documents via mailed requests – unless you use a service like http://myitalianfamily.com.
Nonno and Nonna
A quick search on line revealed that I was indeed eligible for citizenship – an act which would bring me even closer to my roots. There was no “aha” moment or benefits lightbulb that exploded in my brain – just the deep seated need to be closer to my “i parenti,” the DNA that makes me who I am.
What is the benefit?
How American of us to want to know what the hell we get out of the deal. Like feeling closer to ones heritage isn’t enough! Well, let me think what do I get out of it? If Jack and I really do retire to Italy we are already part of the Italian community. During the Bush Jr. years, My sister and I did talk about moving quickly forward so that if the draft was reinstated and we didn’t particularly agree with the why behind the war we could get her kids out. Now, that might have been our 1960’s sensibilities kicking in, because Italy had mandatory service until January 1, 2005. The other benefit is being able to work anywhere in the European Union – a benefit that my niece is actively using. Further, I can stay in Italy or any of the Schengen Treaty countries for as long as I like – no ninety days for me! ( Of course we are only staying 90 days this trip because Jack hasn’t applied for spousal citizenship yet.) The USA State Department explains all this. http://travel.state.gov/travel/cis_pa_tw/cis/cis_4361.html OK, I am bored with the what is the benefit idea – the benefit is IT MAKES ME HAPPY.
What is the process?
Ah, this is tricky! In the over ten years since my family has gone through this process it has changed based on who we spoke to in which consulate and new regulations. Here is the basic tenet – if one of your parents was an Italian citizen at the time of your birth – no matter where you are born – than you by blood are an Italian citizen. Yikes, my dad was born in Manville, NJ – does that disqualify me? No! My grandparents had not become American citizens until after my dad’s birth. That automatically made him an Italian citizen living abroad. Did my father know that? No! When I explored the process I explained it to him and he couldn’t believe it. He had served as a Navy pilot during WWII, had been Mayor of our home town – how could he also be an Italian citizen? Guess what – lots of you probably are eligible – here is what is currently on The Italian Embassy Website.
CITIZENSHIP BY DESCENT / DESCENT (” jure sanguinis “) And ‘the son of an Italian citizen parents (father or mother) Italian citizens. Citizenship is transmitted from parents to children regardless of generation, with the condition that none of their ancestors ever renounced the nationality.
Go to the web site to read all of the rules and regulations.
The first step is to discover when the elder of your Italian American family became a citizen. We were lucky, my Zia Caterina saved everything. Including her dad’s certificate of citizenship.
We still have the original!
Since my dad didn’t know he was an Italian citizen, he didn’t renounce it. When he found out, he was thrilled and admitted he never would have renounced it. OK, I had the blood line covered. Now what – this is the story of what I went through. Next will be my sister’s story, then my niece and finally my cousin.
Midge’s Story:
I hop over to the Italian Consulate in Philadelphia and ask for a list of the requirements for citizenship. At that time it listed things like : Birth and Death Certificates of my Grandfather, Naturalization Certificate of my Grandfather, Marriage Certificate to my Grandmother, Birth Certificate of my Grandmother,Birth Certificate of my Father, Marriage Certificate of My Parents, Birth Certificate of Midge, Marriage License and Certificate of Midge, Birth Certificate of Midge’s Husband. Easy – no brainer! When I had the time, I drove from city to city in New Jersey and New York and bought the required documents. Full of myself for accomplishing this, I waltzed into the Philadelphia Consulate without an appointment. They took me into a secret room and I waited. After about a half an hour of staring at the art, a lovely woman pulled me into an office and looked at my fat folder. She smiled an said I was on the right track but needed an apostile for each document. An apostile? Wasn’t that one of the men who travelled with Jesus? Turns out an apostile is a certificate from a state that guarantees that the documents that I just bought from a variety of towns were valid. OK, so on the way home I stop in Trenton and go to the apostile office. They explain that they can’t put an apolstile on any of the documents that I just dropped a couple of hundred dollars on because I didn’t buy them from the NJ Office of Vital Statistics. But, I stammered, the oficies of vital statistics in each town were happy to take my money. A week or so later, I go back to Trenton and buy all of the same documents. Since there were so many I had to have them processed. That took a few weeks – when I got them guess what they looked like? The same bloody pieces of paper but they originated from the NJ Office of Vital Statistics! Off to pay for the apostiles. I don’t remember what all this cost me but I think about $25 a piece of paper times two. If you order documents online there are additional fees. This is from the NJ Office of Vital Statistics:
How do I obtain a record with an Apostille Seal?You must purchase a copy of your vital record from the Office of Vital Statistics and Registry and indicate on your application that it is needed for Apostille Seal. You will receive a certified copy, which contains the original signature of the State Registrar or Assistant State Registrar. You must forward this certificate to theDepartment of Treasuryrequesting an Apostille Seal.
Since my parents were married in New York City, it took a full day to gather the documents from NYC Boro Hall and then walk a few blocks to the State of New York Office to request the apostille. During each step of the process, I purchased additional copies of every document so that my sister would have a set. When I had a completed set, I made an appointment at the Philadelphia Consulate and carried the box in. I did make a copy of my entire packet, just so that I knew what I submitted. About one and a half years later I got a letter from Pontelandolfo saying that I was a citizen. Wheeeeeeeeooooooooooo.
Sister Susan:
Susan had copies of all of the documents. When she got around to doing this, residents of Somerset County New Jersey were told to use the Consulate in Newark. We read the website and made an appointment for her – it was about four months out. We also read the new regulations – she needed a translation of every document – including the apostiles. You were only allowed to use an Italian translater from the consulate’s approved list. That cost her about $50 a document. This was all done via e-mail. We scanned the documents and sent them off. Scanned translations came back. This was great we thought – because now my cousin Maryellen can use the same translations. Susan took her two children to the appointment. We figured we would process everyone at the same time. WRONG. Susan had to be certified first. She was missing something – I can’t remember what – but I do remember pleading and begging with the consulate employee because whatever it was I knew was on file from me in Pontelandolfo. Susan made a second appointment and returned with whatever had been left on the dining room table. During the second visit, she is given a document that she is told her daughter can use to prove lineage and easily apply for citizenship. We go for dinner and a drink or three. Just a few months later Susan gets her letter of recognition.
Niece Alex:
Alex lives and goes to university in London. I suggested she use the London Consulate. She took her handy document from Newark and back up documents and headed to that office. They told her she needed to supply the same complete package that her mother had submitted and that the little certificate from Newark was nothing. UGGGGG. All of this is now done electronically, Alex asked if they couldn’t just get the same documents sent back to them? No. Another appointment please. Oh yeah, now we have to make the packet and get it to London! She brings the packet and is nervous about completion. She would like to stay and work in Europe and the EU Passport would be very helpful. Months go by and she hears nothing. She visits and e-mails the London Consulate and they say all things were e-mailed to Pontelandolfo. We asked our cousin to visit the Pontelandolfo office of Vital Statistics and check on Alex’s status. Instantly, her paperwork was done and her certification sent off.
Formal Letter
Cousin Maryellen:
Takes all of the same documents – but adds her dad’s information – translated and in a cute folder to her appointment at the Newark Consulate. There, she doesn’t get past the triage dude. You see, my grandfather’s birth certificate from Italy says Francesco Guerrera but his citizenship papers say Frank Guerrera – how do we know it is the same person? This name change – a common occurrence – happened with her father’s documents and our grandmothers. They told her nothing could be processed until she got the documents certified as belonging to the same person. I was with her and argued up a storm, explaining that two of us had already used the exact same documents and gotten citizenship. Further, all of the documents were already on file in Pontelandolfo. He shrugged. We left and Maryellen hasn’t moved the process forward. So lessons learned. Double check everything. Read all new regulations. If you can, have a local relative in Italy lobby for you! What did it cost me? Do we count the trip to Italy to buy the birth and marriage certificates? I’d say if you include travel and all the mistakes I made it cost me about $1,000. It cost my sister about the same because it was $50 a document for translation plus the cost of the original documents and apostile.
Gardens all over Pontelandolfo are bursting with zucchini flowers. Folks plant tons of plants – not because they are looking for an abundance of zucchini to give to their neighbors, but so they can eat the blossoms!
First step was to pick the flowers. In Flagtown, NJ where we have tried to plant zucchini, the deer get there first. Here in Pontelandolfo, deer are not a problem. Midge, who loves fried zucchini flowers, is the natural predator. Today, when I got back to our house Zia Vittoria,our fabulous landlady, walked out and said don’t cook – I have fiori di zucca. Well, I don’t really know what she said because she speaks the dialect of the village and I only understand about 10 %. But – I saw the flowers – and I knew where she was going. So, I volunteered to help her fry up a batch and learn her technique. I’ve made these too and my recipe is a bit different. We will follow Zia Vittoria’s recipe and talk about mine later.
Flour, eggs, salt and tad of yeast powder. Let it sit a bit.
It looked and felt like the consistency of pancake batter – or a Bisquick batter. She had it resting in front of a sunny window and it was uncovered.
How pretty those sweet things are.
The zucchini blossoms were fairly large. First we popped off the stems. (I’ve never seen that done before) Then we washed them and let them drain.
Squish and they are flatter and bigger looking.
This next step was totally new to me. She took a dish towel, hand dried each blossom and flattened it. Just a bit of pressure between two sections of the dish towel.
Blossoms just floating in batter.
Then she dumped a bunch of them into the batter and let them sit a while.
Most village homes have more than one kitchen. The working kitchen where you make really messy stuff, like huge vats of sauce, smoke prosciutto, can vegetables etc. This home has a working kitchen in a small separate house – with a huge fireplace and wood burning oven – they really do smoke meat there.
Meanwhile she choose a small frying pan with high sides and filled it about 3/4’s of the way with olive oil. She ladled the oil from a big vat in her working kitchen. I was shocked! We have all been told for years not to deep fry in olive oil. I asked her and she said something like, ” why should I buy oil to fry in when we make our own perfectly fine olive oil.” I waited to see if it would smoke or flame or turn us into strega – but no it worked perfectly fine.
Gentle does it!
The next step was to gently turn each blossom in the batter. She used a flick of her wrist and didn’t tear one flower.
At this point my mouth waters.
By now the oil was sizzling and bubbling – stil no flames of death or smoke. Each blossom was plopped in the hot oil until she filled one layer of the pan. After the first side was brown, she used a slotted spoon and flipped them over. Meanwhile, I put paper towels on a number of trays – yes I got the simple job – I washed the dishes too!
I should have doubled up the paper towels.
When the second side was brown the blossoms were taken out – again using a slotted spoon and placed on paper towels to drain. At this point, you can add some salt to them. Here is the finished product! They were enveloped in a light pancake and very tasty.
Instead of an appetizer this turned out to be lunch – we couldn’t stop eating them.
Mine were a little different. What follows is a batch I made last week from some purloined blossoms.
Jack and I had wine and blossoms for a late night snack. Ahhhhhhh
I didn’t use yeast – just eggs, flour, salt and pepper. We had some left over cheese that was drying out so I sliced chunks and stuck a few pieces inside each blossom. Then I dredged them in the batter and fried them in canola oil. As they were draining, I did toss some salt on the blossoms . They came out really crispy and light with oozing cheese in the middle.
Yikes, these Apple products are cool. I had no idea how to make a video blog of myself talking about Pontelandolfo. Then I remembered, I had a Mac Air Book – or is that a MacBook Air – and I guessed there would be a way that was so easy a kid could do it. So I called over a 5 year old Italian kid – who couldn’t read the English directions but pointed the screen of the lap top at me and said “Parli”. So I did. Let me know what you think of the Video Blog idea. As an aging theater professional, it is easy to talk and talk and talk….
I walk down the cobblestone hill through crushed rose petals tossed at me by sweet young girls in flowing white robes – their hair festooned with crowns of flowers. Birds are singing and the cadence of soles on pavement stirs me. Instinctively, my inner muse comes to life and I begin to move my arms in the fluid style of Isadora Duncan or Ruth St. Denis. POP – POP POP- ZZZEEEEE – I hear the pop and feedback of the sound system and then the rhythmic reading of Mons. Giusseppe Rosario Girardi, the Pontelandolfo parish priest. Whoops, I remember where I am – processing to celebrate Corpus Domini (Corpus Christi) and I start behaving like the good woman I am.
To celebrate Corpus Domini the parish of San Salvatore in Pontelandolfo (Arcidiocesi di Benevento) and many parishes across Italy had a mass on June 2nd followed by a procession. My cousin called and suggested I come to mass and participate in the procession. I didn’t know what to expect. The last Pontelandolfo procession I walked in women were barefooted – silly me not understanding enough Italian at the time thought they were barefoot to protect their expensive shoes from the harsh cobblestone streets – not reliving the pain of Christ. My Italian has improved a lot since then but I still wasn’t sure what I was in for.
The past week I went to mass in this same Baroque style building and the church wasn’t full. Of course, folks do have multiple masses at three different churches to choose from, so it is difficult to assess the strength of the Catholic Church The Corpus Domini mass was held in the church in which my grandmother was married. It was first built before 1500 (Romanesque) and then destroyed totally in an earthquake in 1688 and up and running ten years later. Inside, the church is divided into three naves with incredible paintings – but we’ll save the church/art tour for another post. I love going to the church and imagining nonna on her wedding day or holding her children at the baptismal font. I can feel the presence of my history in these stone walls and sense the eyes of my family looking at the incredible art. Yeah, yeah, I am rambling.
The alter is amazing!
Back to this particular mass – it was packed. There was barely standing room. A group of young girls sat in the front wearing white robes and garlands of white flowers in their hair. At first I thought the boys I saw enter in white robes were alter boys but there were too many of them. I found out later that the children who had their first communion either one or two weeks earlier always get to lead this procession. The sounds of the service surrounded me. The choir, accompanied by guitar, overwhelmed the naves and primary space with sweet music. The priest didn’t have such success with the microphone system which tweaked with feedback and growled irregularly. However, everyone participated verbally in the mass – this really surprised me. Even the children maintained a sense of decorum. I hadn’t a clue as to what was being said but the magic of every voice – without the aid of a missal – responding and singing was chilling. During those brief periods when I attend church, everyone clutches a book and reads along. One of the young women told me that even as children they didn’t look at a book to learn responses. Little kids actually listened in church and mimicked their parents to learn the responses, prayers and creeds.
When the mass was over, I hung back to take a picture of the alter to show you. The little guys in white were all lined up holding candles and also waiting for the space to clear. I didn’t know how the procession worked and – well oops – my presence may have gotten them in a bit of trouble over a missed cue. As I quietly went to the front of the church – to the nave on the left and lit a candle for my nonna – I heard of chorus of sweet young voices say “hello, hello”. I turned and with big smiles and candles waving, six charming elementary students that I had been a guest English teacher too were happily demonstrating their vebal prowess. A quick rebuke from an elder and they stopped smiling and started down the aisle. I snapped my picture and also headed for the front of the church.
Piazza in front of the church – note the girls in white to the right.
I’m guessing there were well over two hundred people waiting to walk in the procession.
Procession started from the front steps of Chiesa Madre del S.S. Salvatore.
Six men carried a golden canopy out of the church and stood poised on the church steps. Under canopy is a gilded cup holding the host. The beautiful young girls stood in two parallel lines, holding baskets full of flower petals. Young members of the church held up the portable speakers and microphones. One young woman started reading and the priest slowly came down the steps. The young girls tossed flower petals on the ground. The priest walked through and the congregation followed.
This is the alter of San Donato, who along with Sant’ Antonio, is the patron saint of the village. He merits a huge festival in August here and in places around the world – like Montreal and Waterbury CT – where people from Pontelandolfo have gone.
Little alters are permanently placed around the village.
As we all walked up and down the hills of the town, the readings were broadcast through portable speakers and everyone was contemplative.
If you go to You Tube you can see quite a few Corpus Domini processions. I felt I would be the ugly American if I pulled out a video camera to record the event. OK, I did sneak a few photos on my phone – —
Silently we walked up and down the village lanes.Two sets of young people carried the portable speakers. One pair was in the front and one in the rear.
Now that is pretty groovy but I wanted our existing number. If I finally sold a play or if something tragic happened at home like tidal waves from the Raritan River, how would people find me? Don’t worry, for about $10 you can “port” your existing number to Magic Jack. That is exactly what we did. For $79 for the initial year we now have unlimited calling in the USA and Canada and unlimited international calling to the USA.
Inside, the church is divided into three naves with incredible paintings – but we’ll save the church/art tour for another post. I love going to the church and imagining nonna on her wedding day or holding her children at the baptismal font. I can feel the presence of my history in these stone walls and sense the eyes of my family looking at the incredible art. Yeah, yeah, I am rambling.
Nonna's Mulberry Tree 