Oh To Be Italian In The Summer Time
Death by Party | Mouth-Full-Of-Sardines Blogspot
I don’t know if it’s the Italiano in me or the raw onion I just ate on my stoop but I can’t stop sweating under my arms once the temperature steps above 70 degrees. Granted, I’m half-Mexican but I’m pretty sure my sweat glands are Italian. On hot beach days my lotion of choice is olive oil. Olive oil is very good for the skin. It’s also a great lubricant. I buy my olive oil by the gallon and if they fueled oil tankers with olive oil I’m sure you’d see one stopping by my house bi-weekly during the summer months.
My family comes from Southern Italy. I was bred of a hard-working bunch. My great grandfather came to Ellis Island with the clothes he was wearing on his back and he turned an opportunity in this country into a passion for red wine and sharp provolone. They say his belly grew so big that he would do a stunt called the cement-mixer to wow guests at the parties he threw in his basement on Sundays. And I’m sure, like myself, he kept his wine where most old school Italian men keep it, in a growler under the sink.
Us Italians love horses, particularly racehorses, especially ones that win us a lot of money. But here’s a little tidbit for all you non-Old School Italians, you ain’t a true horse watcher unless you have a custom derby or a suit to wear to the tracks. What’s not to love about exploiting animals for personal gain? The Triple Crown is for amateur horse-lovers, the real action is at the little no-name parks that nobody’s heard of. The kind of places I’m sure my great-grandfather frequented with a loaf of seeded bread to nibble-on under the hot summer sun.
When we’re young it’s soccer, as we get older it’s bocce. You ever been to a Bocce Club, it’s a great place to go play cards. We’ll pump up some Pavorotti and share gravy recipes till it’s time to head home and make our old ladies cook us some sausage. That is if we have one. If we’re single it’s time to take the convertible for a spin and pick up one of the lucky young Italian damsels that like to stand on street corners, gossip, smoke cigarettes, talk badly about girls they don’t know, and wait to be picked-up. And if we’re really lucky, she’ll win our hearts with a love for cooking and a passion for doing our laundry.
There’s not much you can find online that collects the best of the finest things. It’s something you learn by simply going out and doing it. But if you want to connect to your Italian roots, or win over an Italian friend, I suggest hitting up the mouth full of sardines blogspot. Italians hold sardines sacred in their culture. And everybody knows an Italian that likes to throw Sunday parties. Next time you get invited to one, I suggest hitting up this website and reading about their suggestions. I guarantee you’ll be the hit of the afternoon. And if you’re freaked out by sardines or feel uncomfortable about them this site will educate and ease your doubts. That’s why people love kissing Italians, there’s nothing more attractive than olive-oiled sardine-breath.
By Lou Cervantes
oh, and be sure to check out the site.
Photos courtesy of http://mouth-full-of-sardines.blogspot.com