I grew up in an Italian immigrant family.
It was an awesome, awesome experience.
In my home, English and the Italian Avellinese and Sicilian dialects were spoken.
The food, the food. Kids at school wanted to buy my lunches. Meatball and bracciole sandwiches on Scala bread. Eggs fried with peppers and onion.
We had Sunday gravy, Wednesday gravy,Thursday gravy. Friday, we had fishballs, lobster or squid in gravy, or broiled fish. My grandfather and his brothers were fishermen.
Saturday night, it was broiled steak.
There was home made pizza, bread, and for holidays, home made ravioli, fettuccine, and Cavatelli.
It was the best.
I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Peppers-and-egg sandwiches are among my favorites, especially with melted provolone on top with a slice of tomato. I made sure my children grew up eating Italian food, but they did not learn to enjoy the variety that I grew up with. When I was a kid, our family ran a bar & grille that served Italian meals, and people would come from miles around to eat there.
That sounds awesome. My grans neighbors in the Grove were Italian. Great people.