Espresso

When I was little, my Great-Grandmother used to make espresso in a stovetop espresso maker. She would then heat milk in a separate pot. When the coffee was done and the milk was hot she would pour the espresso into the pot of milk, stir, and that she would have with breakfast. I remember her having a chunk of Italian bread and a piece of imported cheese.  A little after that was an orange, which she usually split with me. If there were no oranges we would split a pear or an apple.

She sometimes would switch the typical stovetop maker with a Napoletana pot. It would flip over. I remember her showing me how it worked; like it was a trick or something. I was amazed. When the water boiled, you would flip the pot over and the hot water would then fall past the coffee grinds. You have to see it; Amazing.  Good times.

Espresso has always been such a big part of who we are. The smell is one of those smells that bring back dozens of memories. One of them is dunking cookies. It was either breakfast cookies, you know, the plain ones, or cookies from the Brooklyn bakery. There was always such an assortment. And they all tasted good dunked in espresso.

After dinner, the smell of coffee mixed with anisette liqueur; is there anything better? It’s so tasty.

Black espresso, 2 sugar cubes, in demitasse cups, with those little decorative spoons.  The demitasse cups were always fine china. No everyday cups. No, we always used something that was worth something. Don’t get me wrong, there were several sets, but they were all good. Some were just better than others! The Holiday set was only used on Holidays. (Just had a memory of the women getting up after dinner to make the coffee.)  And you always had the saucer with the cup. There was never a demitasse cup alone without a saucer. It’s matching saucer. What else!?

With espresso and the giant coffee epidemic that we have here in the U.S. now, I doubt most are experiencing it the same way us Italians did or do. It’s an experience. No take out, drive up, paper cup mess. Definitely loses something. Loses a lot!

We had Espresso with cake. It was always some Sicilian cake.

Even when I was little I was allowed to have espresso. Albeit small amount, it was allowed. It was normal. Just like the little glass of wine I was allowed. Normal. It was part of our culture.

 

I still have my Great-Grandmothers espresso pots. My mother gave them to me. I cherish them. Whenever I make espresso I think of my Great-Grandma. I see her. She’s with me.  I still make coffee the same way. Granted, I did the American coffee way for a while, but I came back. There’s nothing like the old way. Again, it’s the experience. Think of the smell that fills the house, the sound of it boiling up, the look of the thick black steaming liquid, and the taste. There’s nothing like it. I drink it that way because I like it. I drink it that way because it reminds me. It reminds me of loving days, of Great-Grandma, of family.

Getting the family back

I recently read a blog written by another Sicilian. The theme was “missing what was years ago”. What are missed are the large family dinners, all the get-togethers, just the family being close.

Years ago, for most Italian-Americans, being together for Sunday dinners, big Holidays, weddings, funerals, and just during the week was normal.

I get it, people move up and out. We did. New families are started; jobs take people in other directions. But honestly, I got selfish and lazy. But the main reason I think is that family isn’t valued the way it was years ago. Family was everything. Family IS everything; some people just don’t get that though.

There is so much to miss; the sounds; Great-Grandpa always had wrestling on the television. I remember him watching Andre the Giant. There was always so much talking. The food would just keep coming out of the kitchen; wine poured freely, espresso, and lots of love.

I feel it, and I hear it time and again. Most of us miss it. This particular writer did as well. You could sense the emptiness in the writing.

One of the main reasons I started this blog was to get it back. If we want it, why can’t we have it? Cliché as it is, everything takes effort. But really when you think of it, how much effort? Get up, fly or drive, cook and enjoy!

If something pulls me this much, and pulls so many of you as well, why don’t we just do it? My mission is to re-create all the best of these memories. Cooking, drinking nice wine, being together, laughter, love. I’ll keep you updated!

My obsession for Sicilian wine

My family came from Sicily and landed in New York. My Uncle Mikey tells me that when he was little my Great-Grandfather used to make wine in the apartment basement. He told me that he and my Uncle Johnny had to help.  This was part of a story that he tells regarding an apartment they had on 1^st Ave in New York City. He says it was a nice place on the Lower East Side. Further along down the story he tells of them moving to another apartment a few blocks away, but also on 1^st AVE.  Knowing that he said the first place was nice, I asked him why they moved. His answer was that the basement was bigger for Great-Grandpa’s winemaking.

 

As a child in the 1970s, we used to visit my Great-Grandparents in their Brooklyn apartment off of 13^th AVE. I can still see it in detail in my mind. Huge family table with Great-Grandpa of course at the head. He always had a giant jug of wine on the floor next to him. When somebody needed a refill their glass was passed down the table to Great-Grandpa and he would pour the wine. The glass was then passed back down to whichever relative it belonged to. That jug never left his side. In speaking with my mom’s younger brothers now, we all have the same memory. I had my own glass of wine poured by Great-Grandpa. It was only a very very small amount, but I had mine!

 

Let’s fast forward to the last few years in my life. I feel the reason for my obsession is possibly because I lost my dad, possibly because we are slowly losing the elders of our family, and I’m sure some other life factors. Whatever the reason, I’ve had a strong pull to grab onto my roots and hold tight. I’ve been doing this in a few different ways which I will share in future posts. One way though is through Sicilian wine. That memory of my Great-Grandfather has always stayed with me for a reason. I’m sure of this. So I have been on a quest for Sicilian wines. Unfortunately, over the years it wasn’t as easy to locate or learn about them. For me, the Italian wines from other regions we always had and knew about. Don’t get me wrong, I love wines from all over Italy as well.  There are so many fabulous ones and I don’t mean to discount them. I continue to drink and enjoy Italian wines from all regions.  Obviously, I have a connection to Sicilian wine though. So, I jumped on the internet and read a couple of books on the subject. I won’t bore you with all the details and frustrations I faced.  I’ll just get to the point. I happily found a nice selection that I have been excited about, and I’m still trying new ones. This really doesn’t explain the obsession part yet. So here goes.

 

I was and am in search of the oldest vines and the vines that are closest to my family town. Also, I look for the vineyards that stayed as close to the old way of winemaking as possible. The thought of drinking wine that grew grapes in the same dirt that my family drank wine or ate food from set me on a mission. I’m not sure where this thought came from but it’s something I’m pulled to do.

 

I have found some great wines, but I’m having a hard time determining which vineyards actually have vines in what town.  Often times the business is in one town but there are a few vineyards in different locations that they grow their grapes on. It’s a task, but I’m up for it.

 

The possibility of consuming from the same exact earth in the same location my family did so many years ago overwhelms me. To be able to hold up a glass of wine and say, “This wine came from the same land my family ate and drank from.” brings me closer to them.

Welcome to my blog

I have started this blog for my love of family. I am on a mission to revive and nourish my Sicilian roots.  I hope that anyone who reads it, and has the same desire, can find some useful information.