Chapter 11
Chapter 11
A Family Feast
T he sun was setting over the sea with shades of blue turning to shades of lavender and pink, while the clouds reflected bright colors of red and orange, creating an effect of cotton candy.
The children dragged themselves inside, having spent the afternoon running through the gardens and playing tag on the lawn. Marco promised he would teach them how to play bocce the next day. It was the first time the cousins had met in person, but one would think they had been pals since birth.
Anita and Rafaella marched the children to the laundry room and helped them wash up for dinner. Anita suggested they change their clothes, as well. Their grandmothers would not appreciate the dust and pieces of brush in the dining room. Rafaella had anticipated lots of rollicking and brought an extra set of clothes for Gerardo, age four, Eugenio, age six, and Celeste, age seven. Once Sophia and Lorenzo finished washing up, they ran to their room with Anita racing right behind them. She had painstakingly packed their suitcases and did not want to clean up a clothing explosion. As tired as they were, they seemed to have gotten a second wind from simply washing their hands and faces. But it was good to see the children enjoying every minute of their visit. It was the first time they were away from home, and Anita had wondered how they would react. She was happy that although it was somewhat chaotic, it was in a good way.
Marco arrived with bags of groceries and set them on the kitchen table. Giovanni immediately enlisted his help with the tabletop. When he was sure everyone was out of earshot, he told Marco that their mother had already made the panettone.
“Now what do we do?” Marco scratched his head.
“I have an idea.” He halted his sentence as Rosevita entered, carrying linens for the table.
“An idea? For what?” she asked casually.
“What to cook for New Year’s Eve. Marco and I are going to make dinner for everyone.” He eyed Marco, hoping he would get the hint.
Rosevita turned to Marco. “ Sì ? You boys do that every day. You came here for vacation.”
“Mama, you have been working very hard. We want to do something nice for you. We’ll make the roast.”
“But Mr. Parisi is having the New Year’s party at his house this year.”
“That’s right.” Marco replied.
“And we have plans for New Year’s Day,” Giovanni added.
“So, we’ll make a nice dinner for you before we leave.” Marco gave his mother a hug, and Giovanni gave him a thumbs-up.
Frankie was in the kitchen, helping Lucia put away the groceries. Lucia directed Frankie to place most of them in the pantry, which was the size of a small bedroom. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling. It was truly a cook’s pantry. There were baskets of onions, potatoes, and garlic. Canned tomatoes, canned tomato sauce, jars of roasted peppers from mild to molten lava. A row of pasta in every shape imaginable was on one side, and store-bought canned goods on the other, in case of an emergency. She spotted a half-dozen panettone breads wrapped in the same paper as Mr. Parisi’s. She wasn’t a fan of fruitcake, but Mrs. Lombardi made it a little different, and it was a secret she hadn’t shared. Rosevita’s was moist and spongy with raisins and only the slightest amount of candied fruit. It made wonderful French toast, or just regular toast to dunk in your morning coffee.
“Is there anything you need?” she called out to Lucia.
“Two packages of fettuccine. We’ll make fresh pasta for Christmas Eve dinner. And a jar of the tomatoes. Not the sauce. Just tomatoes,” Lucia replied.
Frankie returned to the kitchen with the pasta and freshly canned garden tomatoes. “What else can I do?”
Lucia pointed to the patio with her knife. “Parsley, oregano, and basil.”
Lucia didn’t specify how much of each, but Frankie had a pretty good idea—that is, if they cooked the same way Giovanni and Marco cooked. She spotted a small pair of shears near the window. “Shall I use these?”
“ Sì ,” Lucia said over her shoulder. “You know how much to cut?”
“I think so.” Frankie hoped so. She didn’t want to remind Lucia that she was involved with a restaurateur, and she was the publisher of several best-selling cookbooks. That would be showing off. She returned with the appropriate amount of each of the herbs.
Lucia gave a nod of approval.
“What time your parents arrive tomorrow?” she asked.
“Their flight gets in around eleven in the morning.”
“Who is going to pick them up? I need Giovanni and Marco.” Lucia sounded a bit terse. “Dominic has something at the school.”
“Giovanni already made arrangements for them to be picked up and brought here,” Frankie called from the patio. She thought Lucia might be feeling overwhelmed. There were four additional adults, and two children underfoot. Plus, all the comings and goings including the two big Bergamasco shepherds. The dogs were known to be calm and patient, which was a plus with all the chaos. She walked over to Lucia, who was putting a big pot of water on the stove.
“I know the holidays can be stressful, and we will do anything you need to make it easier for you and Rosevita.”
“Grazie.” Lucia let out a huff.
It occurred to Frankie that the visiting clan was on Rosevita’s side of the family, and perhaps Lucia may have resented the imposition.
Rafaella entered the kitchen with three freshly dressed children who were on the verge of exhaustion. Sophia and Lorenzo were in a similar state: clean, but tired. Over-tired. She could understand if Lucia felt put-out, but everyone was there to lend a hand. Although at the moment, the volume and energy was at a very high pitch. Frankie thought Lucia would be used to children running around, but later found out that wasn’t necessarily the case. Rafaella was also a professor at Baronissi, which took up a lot of her time. She was rarely at the house with the kids.
For Frankie, Lucia was a puzzle. Was she a happy person? she wondered.
Marco and Giovanni got the dining room table sorted while Frankie set the kitchen table for dinner. Dominic arrived just in time for the simple meal of sausage, pasta, and salad, and of course, Mr. Parisi’s wine.
Rafaella called the children to come up from the lower level, where they were watching a movie. There were only five of them, but at that age and with their enthusiasm, it sounded like a dozen. She seated them at a small table in the corner, also known as the “kiddie table.” On Christmas Eve, they would stand next to their parents as they said grace, and then be relegated to the kitchen, where they could make as much noise as they wanted. So could the adults in the dining room.
Everyone scrambled to the table while Rosevita and Lucia filled the large pasta bowl that would be shared family-style. Giovanni tossed the salad, while Marco poured wine for the grown-ups and water for the children. Milk was not considered a beverage in Italy. You put a little in your coffee. But that was all. Serving it with food was considered a crime against Italian cuisine.
Dinner was usually served around eight-thirty. By the time they were on the salad portion, each person was trying valiantly to keep their eyes open.
Rafaella told the children to go downstairs to finish their movie, while Giovanni, Marco, and Dominic made haste at clearing the table, washing the dishes, and cleaning the kitchen. By the time they were finished, Rosevita and Lucia had already excused themselves. The children were fast asleep while Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer played on the television. Rafaella carried each of her kids up the stairs one by one and put them in the car seats with the help of Anita and Frankie. It was after ten o’clock, and it was time for everyone to tuck themselves in.
Giovanni kissed Frankie goodnight at her bedroom door and padded to the lower level, where Rudolph was still hanging around. He tossed his jeans, socks, underwear, and blue pin-striped shirt in the washer. He was going to have to clean his outfit daily while he waited to hear from the airline. Meanwhile, he borrowed a pair of pajamas from his brother. It had been many years since they slept under the same roof, let alone in each other’s clothes. There was something reassuring about it. What, exactly? Perhaps nostalgia.
The following morning, Frankie’s parents sent a text that they were changing planes in Rome, the same route Frankie and Giovanni took. The kids were playing outside, and Rosevita handed Giovanni a list, and another one went to Marco. Frankie wondered what she was going to do with herself for the next few hours. Then she got an idea. “Rosevita, can you tell me what the menu is for tomorrow?”
“As usual. Seven fishes,” Rosevita replied.
“Yes, but can you tell me in what order?”
“Ah. Sì .” Rosevita began to tick off the items on the menu:
Steamed mussels Clams oreganato Scungilli salad Calamari marinara over linguini Scallops oreganato Baked stuffed cod Shrimp scampi
“Then for dessert, we have cannoli, sfogliatella, and baba au rhum. Giovanni will pick up. Come. I’ll show you.” Rosevita walked into the dining room and showed her the sideboard, where two large serving dishes had struffoli and chiacchiere. Frankie knew what it took to make those desserts: lots of time and patience. The struffoli are small balls of dough, the size of an olive, deep fried and covered in honey and sprinkles, formed into the shape of a wreath or a dome. The chiacchiere was also fried dough, made in one-inch by four-inch ribbons and covered with powdered sugar.
“Wow. You’ve done so much, Rosevita. How can we ever thank you?” Frankie’s eyes welled up. The hospitality was tremendous.
“You make my son happy.” Rosevita took both of Frankie’s hands into hers. Frankie couldn’t resist flinging her arms around the woman and giving her a bear hug. That’s when she noticed Rosevita also had tears in her eyes.
“He makes me very happy, too.” Frankie gave her another squeeze.
When they broke their embrace, Rosevita stepped back and said, “We will have a nice lunch for your mama and papa. Just like yesterday.”
“Oh, you don’t have to go to the trouble.” Then Frankie remembered to be gracious. “What I mean is, I appreciate you making my parents feel at home.” She looked around at the extended table. “Let me set the table for dinner tomorrow. That is, if you don’t mind.”
“That would be very nice. Thank you.”
Rosevita turned to tend to the activity on the kitchen stove. “I have a couple of things to take care of. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Frankie trotted down the hallway. She unpacked her laptop, even though she promised herself she wouldn’t, but this wasn’t work-related. She pulled up a template for a menu and began to type:
She included one of her favorite phrases at the bottom of the menu: Eat Well, Laugh Often, Love Much . She added a border of garland as a final touch. Then she Googled for a printing shop in Salerno and began to call the first number on the list. Her first question was: “Do you speak English?” When she got an affirmative answer, she asked if they could do an overnight print job. “I would like to have twenty menus printed.”
She listened carefully. “Bravo. Wonderful. I will email the artwork now. I know I’m pressing my luck, but is there any chance you can deliver them?”
She listened again. “Yes, I can pay for a messenger service. Do you also have a whiteboard? Markers?” She explained as best she could and she got an affirmative response. She gave them her contact information, a credit card, and the address.
“Mille grazie. Buon Natale!”
That would be her small, humble contribution. She could ask everyone to sign their names on the back of each one, and then they would have a memento of the evening. They didn’t call her Bossy Pants for nothing!
Frankie returned to the kitchen, where the activity continued. Giovanni and Marco were back from their second round of errands. Both had their hands filled with pastry boxes and loaves of bread. Then the two brothers were out the door again.
The morning moved quickly. The sound of a car on the gravel driveway perked up the dogs’ ears. Nunzio and Rocco were at the ready, slamming their tails against Rosevita’s legs. Frankie sprinted to the door and followed the dogs to the approaching vehicle. Rosevita said something in Italian, and the dogs sat at attention.
The car stopped, and the driver got out, as did Frankie’s parents. The driver retrieved their luggage from the trunk. Frankie’s father tried to tip him, but he refused to take the money, saying that he appreciated it, but Mr. Lombardi had taken care of everything.
Frankie hugged her parents and linked arms with her mother. “Rosevita! So nice to see you!” Bianca beamed.
“Nice to see you again, too,” Rosevita replied. “How was your trip?”
“Long, but good.” They kissed each other on both cheeks.
“Guillermo! Come stai ?” Rosevita asked Frankie’s father.
“ Molto bene !” He took his turn pecking cheeks, including Frankie’s.
“My, aren’t we very European!” Frankie laughed.
“And while I am here, I am pleased to be called Guillermo.”
Both Frankie and Amy’s fathers were named William, so when they wanted to refer to Frankie’s father, they called him Guillermo. Partly as a tease, but mostly to differentiate the two.
Giovanni pulled into the driveway with a large Christmas tree tied to the roof. He got out and greeted the Cappellas. “I’ll be right with you.”
He returned to the car and cut the rope, freeing the tree. He rolled it off the top and leaned it against the car. “When Marco comes, we’ll bring it inside.”
Guillermo offered to help, but Giovanni politely refused.
Rosevita showed the Cappellas into the house, through the kitchen, and out to the patio, the same path Frankie had taken when she first arrived. Bianca was stunned by the view, and Guillermo was amazed at the food set before him. He should have realized he was walking into the home of a family who fed people for a living. To the Lombardis, it was an art form.
“Please. Sit. What would you like to drink?” Rosevita asked.
“Oh, you must try Mr. Parisi’s wine!” Frankie suggested. “Unless I polished all of it off last night.” She pretended to shudder.
Rosevita smiled. “Mr. Parisi brings four, five bottles all the time.”
“How much does he make?” Frankie was interested in this local vintner.
“Sometimes fifty cases per year,” Rosevita said casually.
“Fifty? Holy moly! That’s a lot of vino!”
“We drink a lot of vino!” Rosevita laughed. Then she explained that Mr. Parisi had a little over two acres of land.
“Exactly how many grapes does it take to make fifty cases?”
“I think maybe nine hundred kilos,” Rosevita replied. “If there’s time, I am sure he would like to show you his vineyard. It’s petite, but he is very proud of it.”
“So, he can make fifty cases from a ton of grapes?” Guillermo asked as he scanned the liquid in his goblet.
“He says so.” Rosevita lifted her glass and made a toast: “Cin cin!”
It was pushing past three o’clock. After two hours of conversation and specialty meats, cheese, olives, and roasted artichokes, it was time to take the Cappella family to their Airbnb.
“I’m going to need a nap.” Frankie’s father grunted.
“I did the same thing yesterday,” Frankie said, laughing.
“Come.” Giovanni got up and gallantly helped Bianca from her seat. He walked them to the door, then turned to his mother. “When Marco comes back, do not let him leave. We must bring the tree inside.”
This time, Giovanni accepted Guillermo’s help moving the tree to the front porch.
“This is a beauty,” Mr. Cappella remarked.
“I reserved from a farm a few kilometers away. They do a nice job,” Giovanni said proudly. “Before you leave, you must go to see the Luci d’Artista Light Show. It’s through the entire town. Walk along the main shopping street, Corso Vittorio Emanuele, and then to the Piazza Portanova. It is where you will find a fantastic tree.”
As they walked to the car, Giovanni continued, “Anita and Rafaella are bringing the children to see Santa Claus in the late afternoon. They must take two cars so you can go with them.”
“That sounds like fun. Will we see the lights during the day?”
“You will be there until sunset, while dinner is being prepared, so yes, you will see the beautiful lights.”
The three settled into the car when Bianca spoke. “Giovanni, I cannot express my gratitude for everything you’ve done for us.”
“It’s a pleasure. I am happy everyone can be together.”
Giovanni drove the half mile to the Airbnb. “If you wanna, you can walk back to the house tomorrow morning for breakfast. I cannot promise you peace and quiet,” he said, chuckling.
“This is wonderful,” Bianca replied. She noted that it was truly only a handful blocks from the Lombardi home.
“You wanna come back for dinner later?” Giovanni asked. “We eat around eight.”
“Oh, I think I’ve surpassed my caloric intake for today, but I appreciate the offer,” Bianca said.
“If you get bored, you can call me. I’ll come get you.”
“Maybe we’ll take a stroll later, but right now, I really do need a nap.” Bianca chuckled. “My body clock is very confused.”
Giovanni laughed. “I understand!”
He helped them with their suitcases and got the key from the owner. The Airbnb was a small guest house at the rear of another large, old villa.
“You come and go as you please. If you wanna breakfast, you go to the main house.” He nodded toward the other building. “But we would like you to come to our house.”
“Of course! We want to spend as much time as we can visiting,” Bianca exclaimed.
“If not dinner later, and you are not too tired, you come for coffee? Dessert?”
“I’ll give you a ring once we get settled and rest a bit,” she said.
“Molto bene!” Giovanni got back into the car and waved.