![]() ![]() ![]() We ate them, cooked them, and jarred them, Of course, we also grew peppers (hot and sweet), basil, parsly, lettuce and zucchini. Not just flower gardens, but huge gardens where we grew tomatoes, tomatoes and more tomatoes. There was another difference between US and THEM. But the good part was.we knew when we got home, we'd find hot meatballs frying, and nothing tastes better than newly fried meatballs and crisp Italian bread dipped into a pot of gravy. Of course, you couldn't eat before Mass, because you had to fast before receiving Communion. Sunday woud not be Sunday without going to Mass. The Medegones called it sauce.and pasta, they called it macaroni. As you lay in bed, you could hear the hiss as tomatoes were dropped into a pan. That was the day you'd wake up to the smell of garlic and onions frying in olive oil. Sunday was truly the big day of the week. I truly believe Italians live a romance with food. This is where you learned to eat a seven-course meal between noon and four in the afternoon how to handle hot chestnuts, and put peach wedges in homemade red wine. No holiday was complete without some home baking. The turkey was usually accompanied by a roast of some kind (just in case somebody walked in who didn't like turkey) and was followed by an assortment of fruits, nuts, pastries, cakes and, of course, homemade cookies and expresso with a bit of lemon or anisette. Now, we Italians.we also had turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce, but.ONLY after we had finished the antipasto, soup, lasagna, meatballs, salad, and whatever else Mama thought might be appropriateįor that particular holiday. that they ONLY ate turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce. When it came to food, it always amazed me that my American friends and classmates only ate turkey on Thanksgiving or Christmas. And instead of being able to climb up on the back of a peddler's truck a couple of times a week just to hitch a ride, most of the "MED-E-GONE" friend had to be satisfied going to the A&P. They never knew the pleasure of waking up every morning to find a hot crispy loaf of bread waiting behind the screen door. ![]() Americans went to the stores for most of their foods. ![]() We would wait for their call, their yell, their individual distinctive sound. They were the many peddlers who plied their wares in the Italian neighborhoods. There was no animosity involved in that distinction, no prejudice, no hard-feelings.just, well, we were sure ours was the better way, For instance, we had a bread-man, a coal-man, and ice-man, a fruit and vegetable man, a watermelon man, and a fish-man we even had a man who sharpened knives and scissors, who came to our homes or at least outside our homes. Everybody else.the Irish, German, Polish, Jews, they were the "MED-E-GONES". But I was ITALIAN.įor me, as I am sure for most second generation Italian-American children who grew up in the 40's or 50's, there was a definite distinction drawn between US and THEM. Americans are people who ate peanut butter and jelly on mushy white bread that came in plastic packages. Of course I had been born in America and had lived here all of my life, but somehow it never occurred to me that just being a citizen of the United States meant I was an American. I was well into adulthood before I realized I was an American. One of the words I changed frequently was MEDEGONES.to MEDICANS.to finally MERICONS. As I promised you yesterday, the following is the 1978 version (and along with the very similar 1980 version) it was widely distributed throughout the United States by me and my friends. ![]()
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