My father told me a story the other day. It was one about my grandfather that I never heard before.
My grandfather worked in the fields in southern Lazio in Italy just before WWII. For lunch, a woman would make a giant pot of maccheroni to feed everyone. It was first come, first serve, and there were a lot of workers. My grandfather wasn’t fast enough to lunch one day. He knew he was a split second from missing his only meal of the day. He also didn’t have a plate. So what did he do?
He took his boot, reached over, scooped up pasta, and ran.
Now, that may sound - you can say it - gross. But, for me, this short story sent me into deep thought about my family and what fare la scarpetta means (quite literally.) You know - the whole wiping your pasta plate or bowl clean with a hunk of bread. In my grandfather’s case, his shoe was his bowl.
The funny thing is that my family comes from an area named after shoes - Ciociaria. It’s the present-day province of Frosinone, just south of Rome that hugs the border of Campania. Ciocie (also known as zampitto) were these ancient slipper-like mountain shoes people historically wore in the area.
Ciociaria may sound familiar if you’re a Sophia Loren fan. She won an Academy Award for her performance in La Ciociara or ‘Two Women’ by Vittoria De Sica. Based on Alberto Moravia’s novel, this neorealist film is thematically heavy but strikingly moving. It’s a firm reminder of how gravely WWII affected Basso Lazio. More specifically, after the Battle of Monte Cassino (which my grandparents endured). It yielded the most fatalities of any WWII battle in continental Europe. After, thousands of ciociara women were assaulted and even killed by Gourmier soldiers.
My grandma rarely spoke about those times; I heard more about the happy times with her brother selling wine or her goats. I know that during the war, she and her sisters resorted to making shoes out of tires.
Back to shoes and bread: we think fare la scarpetta, it seems cute (how can you resist ‘do the little shoe’? It’s adorable.) But, the significance of la scarpetta - more particularly the Italian south - is something so much greater. It's a sign of survival.
I reflect on these moments today on my Dad’s birthday. His bedtime stories were anecdotes of growing up in a house with five siblings and two crazy Italian parents adapting to their new home in Newark, New Jersey.
I - ironically an only child - would always poke fun at my Dad at dinner for dipping his bread in wine or eating so fast. Who's going to steal your food? I'd ask. He'd laugh and reply something along the lines of: you don't know what it's like to have three brothers and two sisters ready to steal your food. So, shut up and eat.
Or, eating things in the fridge past their prime...only to learn that 'use-by' or 'best-by' dates are just ‘suggestions’, and your senses are the real indicators of safety. And, if he was wrong, there was Brioschi on the shelf just in case.
All these memories… these precious moments come from my grandparents, Italy, and the need for survival, just like the many Italian dishes the world obsesses over, whether it be cacio e pepe or any kind of meatball.
Italian foods we love are rooted in a lot of hardship. It wasn’t always bountiful. Spaghetti didn’t grow on trees (as the Brits jokingly advertised in 1957.)
To now live in Italy and experience this place in a vastly different way than my grandparents is invariably trippy. This country has changed since the 1950s. Yet, we still feel the remnants of a remarkably recent and heavy history in Italy's architecture, culture, and cuisine.
With all the glamourizing and romanticizing of Italian food, the world falls into this trap of believing that Italian food is such a purist thing. Sure, defending tradition is important. But, at the end of the day - most Italian food at its foundation comes down to things that were going to get you through to the next day, like bread and shoes.
The irony is my dad is a celiac (something he found out only 5 years ago.) Of course, that doesn’t keep him from doing la scarpetta. There is plenty of gluten-free bread to go around these days, even in Italy. You’d be surprised to learn how many gluten-free things there are in Italy, and how considerate Italians are for those with gluten allergies.
My newsletter dances with indulgence, and I'm grateful for that. I am even more grateful to have such an incredible family history. Doing the little shoe or fare la scarpetta is now something I revel in, a thank you to my grandparents and my father who worked diligently to make sure that I could appreciate our story. I love you all dearly.
Happy Birthday, Dad. Miss you, Grandma and Grandpa. I'll be dipping my bread in my wine for all of you today.
Con amore,
Victoria
P.S. Here’s a playlist for my Dad, a first-generation Italian American guy growing up in Newark with a love of rock & funk, Frankie Valli, and ravioli.
What a great post! Totally relate. We kept the Brioschi in the fridge though. :-)
Love this story, thanks for sharing!