Growing up, antipasto, pasta, fish, meat and vegetables, and dessert is the order of courses I remember being served every Sunday afternoon after Mass at my grandparents’ house.
We always started off with a fresh arrangement of cold cuts, fruit, tomato salad and roasted red bell peppers. The antipasto platter also included a variety of meats such as Genoa salami, capiccola, prosciutto, honey glazed ham, roasted turkey breast, roast beef and, my least favorite, Italian stuffed bologna. Fresh, hot Italian rolls and sliced Italian sesame bread garnished my grandparents’ large, long table. Fruit from my grandfather’s trees was served regularly as well as a garden salad made mainly with vegetables from my grandfather’s garden and dressed with a simple Italian vinaigrette.
After an hour or so of eating and talking, the table was cleared. By this time, a normal American family would be full, but I think all the laughing and sometimes crying made us hungrier than most. There was never a quiet Sunday at the table.
Pasta came next. Pasta with marinara, meatballs, sausage, braciola, seafood, olive oil, tomato, basil and garlic with angel hair pasta, pesto, fettuccine Alfredo … My grandmother always served the pasta with a large kitchen spoonful until we said “when,” which meant enough. During this course, no one spoke much; instead, we enjoyed each forkful of pasta and wiped the plate clean with a slice of Italian bread. My grandmother, mom and aunts then cleared the table again and prepared the fish. My favorite seafood was the stuffed clam shells with bread crumbs, garlic, parsley and served with a fresh wedge of lemon. The adults ate crab, cod, orange roughy, mussels, oysters, sardines and any fish from the market. Then the table was cleared again!
It was time for meat to be served. Roasts, chicken, quail, rabbit, dove, pheasant, game hens, flank steaks and pork chops were a few of the dishes. Vegetables were always served with the meat dish. “Mangia” was often shouted at the end of this course, because our stomachs were starting to become uncomfortably full and we needed encouragement to keep going.
The table was then cleared and the dishes washed. While the desserts were being prepared, the men would play bocce in the front yard or cards on my grandfather’s poker table. The women would clean and catch up on the weekly gossip. The smell of fresh-brewed coffee was the signal that dessert was ready.
Sambuca, coffee, espresso and an assortment of liqueurs now sat on the table, along with an Italian pastries, coffee cakes, tea cakes, birthday cakes, cookies, cannolis and whatever else family and friends had baked that week.
A Sunday, to our family, was about more than eating. It was a time to enjoy each others’ company. Food helped to ease the misfortunes of the week or to enhance the celebrations. I learned a lot at the table every Sunday, and I will never forget the memories.
09-01-2006
