It’s Not About Them

I love it when I hear those so called independents opine on about how they want to hear the candidates say something specific so as to change their minds one way or another. They ramble on as if they are some sort of intellectuals waiting for words that will sway them toward one or another candidate. These people must live under a rock or something if they think that what the candidates say this week is important enough to sway them.

The reality is this—the candidates are backed by certain interest groups that want something in return for their backing. That is what you are voting for, not some bullshit that they say in the debates or what they really stand for. They stand for what the people that back them want.

Having said that, let’s look at the people backing the candidates. Obama has my vote because he is backed by progressives that think somewhat like I do. I say somewhat because I am way to the left of him, however, he is the closest to my thinking. Mr. Romney on the other hand has advanced to where he is because of the backing of tea party conservative types that have an agenda that is regressive and not progressive. Whether Mr. Romney is for abortion or against it, for condoms or against them, for marriage equality or against it, for wars all over the planet or against it is irrelevant. It’s what the people that back him want, believe me. They felt that they were screwed over by Bush and they will not let it happen again.

It is clear Mr. and Ms. Independents, you are voting for the party behind the man and not the man. Have you read the Republican platform? Try it out for size. See whether you want to live in their world, a world that only exists in their minds or maybe in Kansas.

HE HAS NO RIGHTS

Here’s the thing. The minute that I and millions of other people selected Barrack Obama to be our candidate for president, he lost all his rights. The only right that he has now is to get himself elected and help enact the priorities that I and the millions of others deem important. He does not have the right to dislike debates, I don’t give a shit what he likes or dislikes, its part of the job. He doesn’t have the right to act “presidential” when his opponent is throwing punches, I don’t give a shit how he wants to act, winning is part of his job and his commitment to me and others. He doesn’t have the right to be unprepared for a debate, I don’t give a shit what all else he has on his plate, because if he is not there after November 6^th,  it is all for naught. His commitment is to win, then he can be unprepared for a debate. If his comportment during the debate was because he was “advised” to do so and I do not know this to be the case, then I feel his advisors can be called crooks and thieves, because they stole from me and others a hope for the future. He either was advised to act the way he did or he ignored something his advisors told him. Either way it is unconscionable.

I chose him to be a complete president and that means debates and fielding lies from his opponents. He doesn’t like to be confrontational?  Neither do I and that is why I chose him to run for president as my surrogate. I have the brains to be president (actually nowadays it doesn’t take that much), but I don’t have the temperament. I did not know that he did not have the temperament either. Actually, he lied to me, a lie of omission but never the less, a lie.

Throughout the year I have given lots of money to the democrats and their surrogates and they obviously squandered it. If they do not produce a bombshell between now and November 6^th , I want it back. Today I received this via email:

 “Robert — Since last night’s debate, Romney is collecting money from his millionaire donors hand over fist.
The scary part? This race could turn around on President Obama in the next 24 hours. Polls now show Romney is within one point in Florida (47-46) and two in Virginia (48-46)”

This was my response:

“How dare you ask me to back a prize fighter that refuses to fight when he gets into the ring. He screws up and Romney begins collecting from his big donors and I'm supposed to chip in my hard earned dollars to off set the screw up? Screw you!! He just threw away a generation. From now until my death I have to hear about abortion, gay marriage, condoms, etc. Tell the president thanks but no thanks. What is it they say? “If you can't stand the heat get out of the kitchen.” Where's Hillary?”

Can you imagine? This sounds like “Too Big to Fail”. We screwed up, now can you bail us out.

My wife says things can turn around in five weeks, but who cares. It is over for me. Not that I will vote for RICHIE the Liar RICH, but down ballot is a lot more interesting.

I'm Coming Back as a Cat

I’m Coming Back as a Cat

I’ve just about had it. No, I’m not kidding. We’ve got this freakin cat that has complete run of the house, he can do anything he wants and Linda unconditionally loves him. I mean, we walk into the house and the fat bastard is sitting in the same spot as he was when we left. Mice scurrying all over the house and he’s just sitting there staring into outer space. What does Linda do when she sees him? Picks him up, kisses him and says, “Isn’t he cute”. Now I work my butt off in and around the house and maybe I get a quick, “Hi hon”. If I sat on my butt and stared into space she’d have me admitted into the psych ward. Kitty does it and it’s cute. I’m coming back as a cat.

Every so often kitty pukes on the rug; never on our tile floor, always on the light colored rug. What does Linda say?  “Oh, he must be upset.” Yeah upset my fanny, I’d like to see what happens if I puked on the rug. I can imagine her holding me and asking why I was so upset. “You stupid idiot, why didn’t you puke in the toilet?” would be her response. I’m coming back as a cat.

The other thing is the kitty litter. It’s out where we can see it and when the kitty goes in and does his business Linda watches with pride, even sometimes happily cleaning up when he misses and leaves a stronzo on the floor. Now sometimes in the morning when I’m doing my business, I leave the bathroom door open, habit I guess. If she happens by I hear, “that’s disgusting—close the damm door.”  I can just imagine what would happen if I left a stronzo on the floor. It would be off to the old age home for me. I’m coming back as a cat.

As you know Linda works in Manhattan four days a week and when I call her and ask her if she’s excited about coming out for the weekend she always says, “Oh I can’t wait to see Kitty Boy”. I mean, what am I, chopped Liver? One time I said to Linda that she has to get rid of the cats (We had two at that time). “It’s either me or them”, I said. Do you know what she said? “I’ll see you Bob”. Listen I’m serious, I’m coming back as a cat.

The fact is that up until a month ago we had two cats, Gregory and Winston. Gregory was 21 years old when he passed. I came down in the morning and he was sprawled out on the living room floor dead. He used to sit on my lap every night so I guess I do miss him, but 21 years? Only Linda would have a cat that lasts 21 years. It must be her organic living or maybe the fact that she also spoiled him. At any rate, I’m still coming back as a cat, maybe I’ll get some respect.

Teenager Again, Life Without Hormones

“Yeah he’s doing well in school now, but wait until he discovers girls”. Or change the he to a she and it’s the same lament. Let me tell you, I experienced this first hand. From a smart young kid who wanted to be a doctor to a frustrated, low grade achieving teenager, who thought about nothing else save sex, specifically sex with girls. I say girls because teenager boys who are gay think about sex with boys, girls with boys or other girls, if they are so inclined. That is the way it is, “e’ un fatto”.

Of course this time in our lives is when our minds are the most creative, supple and absorbent. And what the hell was I doing, thinking about girls. Sitting in a classroom, riding a bus, in a movie, trying to do homework or, god forbid, a dance. Oh no!!!. An elderly Buddhist monk was asked what life was like after his sex drive had diminished. His answer; “like getting off a wild horse”. I rode that horse for many years. Abstinence only? That has to be the dumbest thing ever conceived by man. It’s like trying not to eat anymore, the only thing you think about is food. Try going on a diet.

Well I’m here to tell you that you can get a “do over”. The trick is you have to wait until you are retired and most of all you must keep yourself in good physical shape. Being retired and in bad health is as bad, or worse than a teenager with hormones.

It’s tough to retire, especially when your job defines who you are, but the liberation that can come with retirement is worth the anxiety of actually doing it. People say that they can’t wait to retire but when that day nears, panic can set in.

My wife likes to say that I’m not retired, (retired has a bad connotation) I’m just doing other things. Things I love doing, like playing my guitar and writing this piece. I’m a teenager again, but without those dreaded hormones.

IN SUPPORT OF WALL STREET OCCUPIERS

Here’s the way I figure it!!! Seventy years ago I was born to two Italian immigrants from so far in an Southern Italian mountainside town that you needed a sling shot to get them any mail. Whatever, my father and mother made it to America; Trenton, NJ to be exact. My father tried several things but eventually went to work in a factory, as did most of my friends’ fathers. For some reason and I don’t know why, I was always expected to go to college. A good student, I was not. In fact, I was a down right bad student. My father told me that he wasn’t going to waste his money on me, so if I went to college I would have to pay myself. Because of my horrendous high school grades, I had to beg my way into Trenton Junior College. “Junior College” was what they called community colleges in those days. Somehow I made it through, working at Cleary’s Drug Store during the school year and construction during the summer. I transferred to a four-year college, La Salle University in Philadelphia Pa. I paid for this also—including room and board. In fact, between my junior and senior years, I made $2,400. The tuition and living expenses were about $2,100, leaving me $300 to buy a car. At this point my father felt I was serious and chipped in with $1,000. That meant I didn’t have to work my senior year. Funny, that’s when I got my best grades.

As an important aside, my high school best friend Bernie Cywinski, who’s father was a milkman, (parents were first generation Polish) went to Columbia University. Although his grades were good, he was nowhere near the top of our class. Nevertheless, he followed his brother to Columbia. His brother was on an ROTC scholarship and later went on to be the top pilot for Pan Am. More on Bernie later, because his story is relevant.

After graduating college I got a job as an elementary school teacher in Hamilton Township, New Jersey. My first year’s salary was $4,500. With that I saved for graduate school and bought my first car, an Alfa Romeo, Guillietta Spider. After three years of saving, I moved to New York City to attend New York University Graduate School. At that time Bernie was attending architecture school at Columbia University so we became roommates on Central Park West and 84^th Street.

I got an MA from NYU in 1967 and in 1966 Bernie graduated from Columbia. Neither of us had any debt from this experience. I taught for two more years in New York City and then moved to Sao Paulo, Brazil to teach in an international school. After two years in Brazil I moved to Vienna, Austria, where I taught in another international school for 5 years. While in Brazil I met Mike Sesich, son of first generation Croatians and John Esperian, son of first generation Armenians. Mike’s father fixed typewriters and his mother was a cook in a cafeteria at Stanford University. Mike went to UC Santa Barbara and later got a Master’s Degree from Stanford. Yes, the mother had some influence at Stanford, but Mike was very smart and got terrific grades. John who was Assistant Headmaster of the International School in Vienna, attended Washington and Lee undergrad, Boston College and Columbia University for Master’s Degrees. His father sold insurance. Should I mention that my now deceased wife Sharyn, was a graduate of St John’s University with a Masters from Brooklyn College, all paid for by scholarships? Her father drove a hearse for a funeral parlor. Or should I mention that my present wife Linda received a BA from St John’s, paid for by her Sicilian mother who was a seamstress in the garment district.

Anyway, after I got back from Vienna I taught for 5 years in a Prep school in Brooklyn, while attending Pratt Institute for a second Masters. In 1982 I graduated from Pratt with and MS in City and Regional planning. My debt was minimal if anything. I think I borrowed $5,000, not because I needed it but the interest was so low it was like free money.

After leaving teaching I became the Executive Assistant to the Vice President for Trinity Church, one of the richest parishes in the US. They own hundreds of thousands of square feet of commercial real estate in Lower Manhattan. After Trinity, I went on to become the Director of Real Estate for the Carnegie Hall Corporation.

I remember at 50 years of age standing on the corner of 57^th and 7^th where Carnegie Hall stood and thinking, “I am the son of immigrants, I have two Masters Degrees, I speak several languages and I am the Director of Real Estate for the most important musical venue in the United States, maybe in the world”. The Italian equivalent is La Scala in Milan. If my parents had not come to the US could I have been the same director at La Scala? I think not. Let’s not forget Bernie, Mike, John, Sharyn and Linda. Bernie became a famous architect. His firm did the Bill Gates house, all of Steve Job’s Apple flagship stores and the Constitution Center in Philadelphia. Did I mention that his father was a Polish milkman? Mike returned to San Francisco to become a master teacher in Mountain View, CA, touching the lives of countless students along the way. Did I mention that his parents were first generation Croats and his father fixed typewriters and his mother was a cook? John became the Headmaster of the oldest girl’s school in the United States and is now a professor in Las Vegas. Did I mention that his father was first generation Armeian and sold insurance? How about my late wife? She became a Dean at that prep school in Brooklyn. Did I mention that her father drove a hearse? How about my present wife Linda? She is one of the most prestigious estheticians in Manhattan. Did I mention that her mother was a first generation Sicilian seamstress in the garment district?

Okay let me break it down for you:

Bob Fumo –BA La Salle, MA NYU, MS Pratt, Total Cost = $21,000*

Bernie Cywinski- BA Columbia, MS Architecture Columbia, Total Costs = Probably the same.*

Mike Sesich—BA UC Santa Barbara**, MA Stanford = $10,500

John Esperian---BA Washington and Lee, MA Boston College, MA Columbia, Total Costs = $30,000

Sharyn—BS St John’s, MS Brooklyn College**, Total Cost= $ 0

Linda--- BA St John’s Total Cost= $16,000*

Costs Today:

Bob Fumo Approximately $240,000 (I’m being very conservative)

Bernie Cywinski; Approximately $500,000

Mike Sesich; Approximately $150,000

John Esperian; Approximately $ 330,000

Sharyn Dolan; Approximately $200,000

Linda Gladkowsky; Approximately $140,000

Lets’ keep in mind that, at least in my case, I did not start out as a good student. Bernie, John and Linda were good students and Sharyn and Mike were excellent students. BUT, we all did equally well, because we could.

Why am I telling you this story? Because these stories COULD NOT happen today. Yes, maybe sons or daughters of immigrants, who are brilliant and at the top of their classes can do it. But not sons and daughters of immigrants who are not at the top of their classes, but could become something if given a chance. If you don’t think the American Dream is dead, you’re dreaming.

Of course the Occupy Wall Streeters are correct. There is an endemic problem in the US. It is that only the wealthy and the extremely gifted can enjoy all the wonderful fruits of this country. The rest of us are worker bees.

Now I’m not blaming the wealthy, but they (as they should have) took advantage of a capitalistic system that had very few rules and boundaries. It is kind of like a group of prize fighters. They like to fight and they are good at it, but if they were allowed to fight in the street, uncontrolled, there would be chaos and they would eventually take over the street. Instead we have a sport, whether you like it or not, that has rules and boundaries, so these aggressive souls can fight away all they want and, by the way, make money at it. I think the same should be true of capitalists; they should be allowed to fight, but with rules and boundaries. The problem is now they are allowed to fight freely in the streets and they have caused great chaos and taken over the street.

I think the Occupy Wall Streeters have struck a chord, but people like the blame game. The Right says it is Obama’s and the Left’s fault and the Left says it is the Righties’ fault. It is all our faults, we let it happen.

What I think we should do for starters is that all teachers and doctors should go to school for free and health care should be a single payer. The pay back will be multifold. I don’t know if it is that simple, but it would be a step in the right direction.

* These are good guesses

** State schools

My nephew and his beautiful girlfriend gave my wife and I this wonderful book called "Italy, The Country and Its Cuisine"and I love this section about coffee.

The Art Of Espresso

"Hot as hell, black as the devil, pure as an angel, and sweet as love--that's a perfect espresso. There are many details to attend to in the quest for the perfect caffe': precise proportions of coffee and water, pressure, water, temperature, brewing time and more. The water can not contain too much calcium, the coffee much be freshly ground every time, the espresso machine must be the correct temperature, the cups must be pre-warmed, and they have to have a rounded bottom and cannot be too thick or too thin.

The quality of the espresso is immediately apparent in the crema, or the light foam floating on its surface. If the golden brown crema has a consistency firm enough to support the sugar that is spooned onto it, and if this covering remains intact even after stirring, then there is nothing left to stand in the way of a cup of perfect pleasure"

I love the part about the cups because as a child I can remember the perfect cups and spoons that my mother brought forth to serve coffee to our guests. No styrofoam for me.

The book also lists a type of coffee in Naples that I had never heard of, "un sospeso"or "suspended" in English. I will paraphrase the book here. If someone has just completed a good deal or is having a good day, he or she orders a caffe' and a "sospeso" The suspended coffee is for some one less fortunate to drink. So someone can enter a coffee bar and ask, C'e un sospeso" or "is there and suspended coffee". The barista says yes and the person gets a coffee for free. I love this idea. I think that Starbucks ( not that I like their coffee) should start this. Go in after a good day and buy a coffee and a sospeso. Did I mention that I love the Italians. Their good things outweigh any of the bad things in their culture.

I wish you all a good day, and one in sospeso.

The Land Of The One Eyed Men

Yesterday I was watching the opening of the new Congress and I was reminded of a saying I heard many years ago; “In the land of the blind the one eyed man is king.” Not to say that this congress has any more one eyed men than the one’s that preceded it, but I do feel that with every election the one eyed men become more prevalent.

I have thought about this for some time now and I have come up with some personal conclusions. But first I would like to include something written by David Brooks of the New York Times that caught my eye, the one that I have. I’m not a big fan of Mr. Brooks, but I must say he does have two eyes. The problem is that his glasses sometimes distort his vision. Before I go on, I must confess that I am a very liberal democrat and very proud of it, but I am an equal opportunity hater and I feel that some of the most egregious one eyed men are democrats. Any way this is what Mr. Brooks wrote:

“Howard Gardner of Harvard once put together a composite picture of the extraordinarily creative person: She comes from a little place somewhat removed from the center of power and influence. As an adolescent, she feels herself outgrowing her own small circle. She moves to a metropolis and finds a group of people who share her passions and interests. She gets involved with a team to create something amazing.

Then, at some point, she finds her own problem, which is related to and yet different from the problems that concern others in her group. She breaks off and struggles and finally emerges with some new thing. She brings it back to her circle. It is tested, refined and improved.

The main point in this composite story is that creativity is not a solitary process. It happens within networks. It happens when talented people get together, when idea systems and mentalities merge.

Now imagine you are this creative person in the year 2010, 2025 or 2050. You are living in some small town in Ukraine or Kenya or some other place, foreign or domestic. You long to break out and go to a place where people are gathering to think about the things you are thinking about, creating the things you want to create.

If you are passionate about fashion, maybe you will go to Paris. If it’s engineering, maybe it’ll be Germany. But if you are passionate about many other spheres, I suspect you’ll want to be in America.

You’ll want to be in the U.S. because English has become the global language. You’ll want to come because American universities lead the world in research and draw many of the best minds from all corners of the earth.”

I have thought about this piece by Brooks and I have tried to adapt it to America itself. So let’s say you come from Tulsa, Oklahoma, not to disparage Oklahoma, but it is in the middle of the country. Let’s say you are very smart, creative, aggressive high school senior. You are the best and brightest, something I was not, maybe Brooks was. Having been a teacher for 20 years I am sure that your school, if not your parents encourage you to leave Tulsa and go to one of the elite schools in the US.

Now not all, but many of the elite schools are concentrated on the coasts. Yes I know there are elite schools throughout the country, but generally speaking the major urban centers are where someone like this ends up. As Brooks says they meet people like them and they exchange ideas. More times than not, and I am generalizing here, they don’t go back to Tulsa.

So what you have in Tulsa is not the best and brightest, they’re gone. What you do have is the blind and the one eyed men. I do not want any blind or one eyed person to take umbrage, I am using this metaphorically. Moreover, when it comes time for elections the blind scream out, “Let’s elect the one eyed man, at least he can see something”. They elect them and send them to Washington or to the State Capitals and what you have is not the blind leading the blind, but the one eyed man leading the blind and therefore he or she is KING.

Unfortunately, with the dumbing down of the American society we are doomed to be run by one eyed men, and actually, more and more by the blind themselves. This is not my opinion. We are losing educationally to the rest of the industrialized world more and more every year. Good luck friends

Upgrade Now!!!

Did you ever notice how many times one has to upgrade things with the new technology. You have to upgrade Facebook, Twitter, your apps, email. Everything that we now own has to be constantly upgraded. I mean if you have a three year old computer people laugh at you, like “what are you doing with that piece of crap?” Piece of crap it’s only three years old.

The truth is that this technological world is being run by a bunch of twenty and thirty somethings. They sit behind a screen and constantly think of doing things better, faster and smarter, not to mention another way to make people spend money. The truth is they run our lives and the people that don’t upgrade are left behind and laughed at. My great nieces are always laughing at me because I haven’t upgraded fast enough. I mean, how can I upgrade when I didn’t know there was an upgrade available?

After one such Uncle ridicule session, I started thinking about upgrades. I started thinking that people need upgrades every so often also. I look at middle aged and older people and I realized that most of them haven’t upgraded since they were 25. Let’s face it the world has changed exponentially in the last 30 or 40 years. I’ve tried to keep up and for the most part I’m doing pretty well. I’ve changed my hairdo, my clothes, my beard and certainly my attitude to fit the times, but I know many people my age and younger who are still mentally back in the 50’s, 60’s and 70’s.

Have you even checked out the people who run our government? I watch the news constantly and I often wonder who these people are. They are people who haven’t upgraded in years and they are running a country in which 68% of the people are under 44. No wonder young voters are turned off.

Let’s take my great friend Harry Reid, for example. I must add that I am a life long Democrat, so that does cloud my thinking on political issues, but Dear Harry was quoted as referring to Black Americans as “colored”. Now this may seem like a small issue and maybe he isn’t a racist, but when the hell has he last upgraded? Colored is a 1950’s term. He’s the head of the Senate? He’s making decisions that effect 68% of the population that are under 44. If he hasn’t upgraded on this, what the hell else hasn’t he upgraded on?

Check out the hair do’s on these people. They haven’t upgraded since the 50’s or 60’s. Forget about their shoes, I’m sure they are still wearing wing tips. I frequent many cigar parlors to enjoy an infrequent cigar and I am appalled at what I see and hear there. Most of the men are younger than me as I see them wearing Vietnam Veteran shirts. The talk is the same talk that I heard in the 50’s. The N word is thrown around as if we were still in slave times. The discussion about women is misogynist to say the least. These people vote and they have never upgraded. They vote in people just like them.

Now, I don’t think that age is the factor. If you upgrade your computer or car you can keep it going for a long time. So a person, no matter what age, is upgradeable. The will and the knowledge of the importance to do so is what is necessary. Get yourself a new pair of shoes and a new haircut for a start. At least check out Lady Gaga Gaga because believe me, whether you believe it or not, she is the new Sinatra. Get used to it. They, the young ones, set the agenda, no matter who is in power in
Washington.


UPGRADE NOW!!!

The Immigration Problem

It is impossible to have a rational discussion about anything when you are arguing with someone who has their facts all wrong. One perfect example of this is immigration. I have heard or seen written four talking points in this argument which are so far off the mark that they need a fact check. The four are as follows:

Premise 1. The new immigrants, or at least the Hispanic immigrants, don’t learn the language like the prior immigrants did.

My family immigrated from Italy in the 1920’s so I know a little about this subject. It is true that many of the new immigrants do not learn the language today, but to suggest that the groups before them did is disingenuous. My parents did learn English but believe me they were not the norm. My father thought he was a little more sophisticated than the Italians that came in the early 1900's so he moved into an “American” neighborhood where he and my mother were forced to learn English and take the abuse that ensued because they spoke it badly. Most Italians moved into Italian neighborhoods where they felt comfortable and could get by very well speaking their native tongue. My oldest brother entered school at five years old not knowing any English. Many, if not most of my relatives, spent 30 to 50 years here learning little or no English. Most were forced, by circumstances, to become citizens before the Second World War. They became citizens without learning English.

Ditto for the early Polish immigrants.

Go to any Chinatown today and tell me that the immigrants there speak English.

German immigrants? Go to Lancaster County today and see how many people still speak a form of German (Pennsylvania Dutch).

Irish Immigrants? Don’t they speak English in Ireland?

Russians? The Russians and Eastern Europeans that fled Communism and are still coming over are recipients of a sophisticated education system where they learned multiple languages, therefore learning English was somewhat easier for them.

ALL, including Hispanics, who were born here or came here early in life speak English. The major difference today is that there is bilingual education (much maligned) that is afforded all the newer immigrants. Because of this they are given the ability to move ahead in school while they are learning English. My brother and others like him spent years in a class not knowing what the teachers were talking about in subjects such as math and science, certainly putting him and the others in a hole that they had to dig their way out of. Many never did. Wouldn’t it have been better if they were bilingual?

Also, I have had the privilege to live for extended periods of time in Brazil and Austria among Americans expatriates, much better educated than recent immigrants in America, who never learned the language of the respective countries. Many lived there for multiple years and, just as in America, their children learned the languages. It is extremely difficult to learn a new language as an adult. Just ask anyone who has lived abroad.

Premise 2. New immigrants, especially Hispanics, bring crime!!!

Of course this is true, but to those that argue that previous immigrants didn’t, I have two words for them, “La Mafia”. Ever hear of the Italian Mafia, the Chinese Mafia, the Russian Mafia, the Irish Mafia? Most immigrants then and now are not criminals. There are always a small percentage within every group that are. Many natural born Americans are criminal.

Premise 3. Millions of Hispanics enter the country illegally.

This is also true, but to think that the Italians, Polish, Irish and other Eastern Europeans did not, is a pipe dream. I suggest that those that can see Arthur Millers, “A View From the Bridge”. This is a story about two Italian “submarines”, as they were called, coming into the country in the hull of a ship. If these previous immigrants came from a country that had a contiguous border with the Untied States, how many more would have flooded the country illegally? It is much easier to cross a two foot border than to cross an ocean of three thousand miles in the hull of a ship.

Premise 4. I am tired of pressing one to speak English.

Why? Is it difficult to press one? And, business people are not stupid. They know there are millions of prospective customers that speak Spanish, for example, and they want their business. I don’t blame them. Government also knows that they need to communicate with non English speakers to have them understand what it is that they want. Imagine the IRS, for example, that has someone who needs information about their taxes (Yes, most Spanish speakers pay taxes). Believe me, I have lived in countries that only use one language. It makes it more difficult if not impossible to get what you need.

So, let’s have a discussion about illegal immigration, but let’s make sure we have our facts straight. To do otherwise and use talking points will never get the problem solved. It would be a physical and logistical nightmare to deport the 11 or so millions back to where they came from. Do you think they would just go easily without a fight? If you want to see criminally, try it. Many of the illegals here today live in families that have legals living in them. Yeah, I can just see them allowing their mothers, fathers and in some cases children to be shipped out. Get real!!!

Pizza, Pasta and Prozut

Italian Food? This is something that has been bothering me for a long time. What exactly is Italian food? Ask different people and you get different answers. From my point of view Italian food can be broken down into two areas: Italian/Italian and Italian/American. Italian/Italian is mostly eaten in Italy and Italian/American is consumed in America. Did you notice that I used the words “eaten” for Italy and the word “consumed” for America?

Both cuisines can be very good, but I will say that the variation, between good and bad, is the more pronounced in America. Rarely does one find bad food in Italy and then again good Italian food in America can sometimes be hard to find.

Let’s look at Italian/American food first. When the first immigrants came to our shores the food tradition that they brought with them was for the most part Southern Italian peasant fare. To think that our ancestors ate haute Italian cuisine would be a grave mistake. They ate pasta, pizza and prozut (Prosciutto) or some variation thereof. The taste was wonderful and many of us remember well the smells and tastes of that cuisine. They were not eating or cooking the same way that the gentry were eating in the large cities of Italy, however their food was still very high quality, minimally processed and locally sourced.

Throughout the years this cuisine morphed into what we in America today call Italian food. Unfortunately, it morphed to satisfy the American palate, which in many cases is not well developed. ( Rent the movie “The Big Night” ) Quantity took precedence over quality descending into the abomination that we today call “The Olive Garden”. Some of the worse culprits of this descent are “spaghetti and meatballs”, “chicken parmigiana”, “veal parmigiana” and most things on the menu at “The Olive Garden”. La Pizza, which was invented in Naples, also has had its dumbing down spiral. You can get good pizza in America but it will not be found at Domino's or Papa John’s. There is actually a government entity in Naples that defines what a “real” pizza should be. There are a few places in America that qualify, but most are very far from the mark and so are their tastes.

Most cuisines around the world grow and improve with time. Look at Chinese food for example. After thousands of years they have a cuisine that is varied, delicious and still evolving. For the most part the Italian/American cuisine has devolved into something startlingly standard, bad tasting and getting worse. There are exceptions to every rule, although most are not found in Italian/American restaurants, but in the homes of some second and third generations of Italian/American cooks. Fortunately, I know some of these individuals and they make me happy when I dine with them. Marie and Louise where are you?


Now let’s look at Italian/ Italian cuisine. For those of you who have been fortunate enough to travel to Italy you will know what I mean. Rarely, and I mean rarely does one get a bad meal in Italy. In fact, there are “Howard Johnston” type restaurants that can be found along the large motorways in Italy, called “Autogrilles” that can compete with the best Italian restaurants in America. The one secret ingredient in Italian food is fresh local produce. Seldom are there items on the menus that are not in season. Also, there is a creative culture that exists in Italy that is a force that moves their cuisine to higher and higher levels. They certainly match the Asian cuisines in this respect.

Once you go to Italy you will realize that their food is very dissimilar to what we in America think of as Italian food and a gazillion times better. After a few weeks in Italy my wife and I always dread the thought of coming back to our food. “Where are we ever going to find food like that in America?”, we lament. The truth is, if you look you can find it.

Where can you find it? Probably in most large cities in America there is someone, or more, that knows how to cook Italian. Certainly in New York there are many Italian/Italian restaurants. They may be a little more expensive, but they are worth the price.

Also, and I am not a TV fan, but the Food Channels that show Mario and Lydia are wonderful. I think that they, especially Mario, have done more to change the American palate than anyone else. Mario is GOOD!!! He learned to cook in Italy and he knows the history behind everything he makes. He knows real Italian food. Don’t ask him for chicken parmigiana.

He and Lydia have teamed up with an Italian and opened up a place in New York City called “Eataly”. Google it. This place is 60,000 square feet of food that showcases food from everywhere in Italy. There are different sections, such as the Pizza section, the Pasta section, the Meat section, the Fish section etc. Each section has a restaurant attached to it. I have eaten only at the fish section and I can tell you it was Italy supreme. The original began in Turino, Italy with the second in Tokyo, Japan. The third and I think the largest is in New York. They are looking to open the next in Los Angeles. Look for one in your local area very soon, I hope.

What I urge you to do, if you have not already, is to expand your palate. Find a real Italian restaurant or prepare something that the Mario or Lydia types suggest. For god’s sake, or my sake, don’t go to The Olive Garden.

From Guappo To Guido

“You dirty Wop”. Them’s fighting words to any Italian/America. Calling an Italian/American a Wop is the equivalent of using the N word for an African/American. When this word is used I cringe, for example when President Nixon used it to describe Judge Sirica during the Watergate investigations. However, I also cringe when folks, both Italian/American and otherwise, tell me the derivation of the word Wop. I have heard many otherwise educated people tell me that it means, “Without Papers“, meaning that when the Italians came over they would pin the letters WOP on them to indicate that they were undocumented. This is pure folk etymology which is defined in Wikipedia as the following, “ Folk etymology in its basic sense, refers to popularly held (and often false) beliefs about the origins of specific words, especially where these originate in "common-sense" assumptions rather than serious research”. http://wikipedia

This “without papers” has three major flaws as I see it. First of all “papers” were not introduced until 1921 and the use of the word “Wop” certainly predates that. Secondly Italians were not the only ones that immigrated to America and so they probably were not the only ones after 1921 to come in illegally. Why would only Italians have the words WOP written on them? Thirdly, I have never seen a picture of anyone, let alone Italians, with the words WOP written on them. Wouldn’t someone have documented this if it were true?

What is more than likely true is that the word “Wop” derives from the Neapolitan word “Guappo” which was a term that was used in Naples and Campania to describe a boy, usually connected to the Camorra, a Neapolitan organized crime group. My father told me this 50 years ago and it still makes sense today. The Neapolitan dialect chops the end off of words so that “Guappo” became “guap” and the article in front would sound like “u” hence the word “u guap” morphed into “Wop“. English speakers mimic the “u guap” sound and referred to all Italians as “Wops”.

In Spanish “guapo” means a good-looking, flashy male. Spain ruled Southern Italy until 1860’s and its Capital was Naples. Because of this, I am sure that many Spanish words are in the Neapolitan dialect.

Wikipedia says the following about a “Guappo”:

“It is a historical figure in the Neapolitan area, distinguishable by his smart or overdressed dandy-like appearance, his unusual pose that serves to draw attention to him, and the particular care he lavishes on his body and face” Remember this definition, it is very important.

Since the late 1880’s and the early part of the 1900’s Italians and particularly Neapolitans came to this country in droves. They lived in what we could call Italian ghettos. These areas were full of “guaps”. In fact, they came to define the Italian/American culture. I came of age in the 1950’s and although I did not live in the Italian section of town I knew many people who did. It was full of this type of individual, both male and female. Every non Italian that I knew thought that this was “Italian”. Many times I was told that I was not like “them”. I remember my mother telling me very clearly, “I don’ta care who you marry, but no bringa homa one of thosa types” I knew just what she meant. They were “Wops”, I was Italian.

In the 70’s and 80’s a new name was given to this ever shrinking, but overtly visible group, “Guidos”. The above mentioned definition remained the same only the name was changed. Watch “Saturday Night Fever”, “My Cousin Vinny” or “True Love”, these were the quintessential Guidos. That is until “Jersey Shore” came along. This show gave Guidos a new dimension. These are Guidos on steroids, both figuratively and literally. Also, in egalitarian America the female version of Guidos were introduced, “Guidettes”.

What’s the big fuss? This group has been with us since the first Neapolitans landed on these shores. This is just the line from Guappo to Guido. Well the big fuss is that we Italian/Americans thought we had made it in this country, that we had arrived, and in many ways we have. Two on the Supreme Court, The Speaker of the House, plus many, many others in high places. This was supposed to be a Post Guap/Guido period in our history. But no, with the general dumbing down of America, television producers had to tap into the very lowest rung of our society, hence “Jersey Shore”. Just like the mafia image, they are a subpart of our culture and we will have to accept it, but not glorify it.

As in most things Italian/American there is a direct connection to Italy. Anyone who thinks that “Guidos” and “Guidettes” are an American phenomenon has never been to Naples. The only difference is the language, as the above definition is true for both groups.

How does one differentiate a Guido from a normal Italian/American? The first give away is the leather jacket, then the open collared shirt (even in winter), the chains around the neck, the jelled hair and of course the ever present Cadillac Escalade. If you ever run across one give them a fist pump for me.

La Mafia

Now, I’m going to write you a blog that you can’t refuse to read. There are many truths and myths about the above captioned organization, most of which are perpetuated by the media. Yes there is a Mafia, but very few Italians are actually involved. There are many different crime families throughout Italy and the US and the media, both in Italy and in the US, paint all crime organizations with the same brush. They are all referred to as La Mafia. The truth is La Mafia only exists in Sicily.

Let’s use another term when referring to these organizations, “Organized Crime”. La Mafia exists in Sicily and all members are blood Sicilian. La Mafia is a hierarchical society. That is, there is a organization with “ lesser capos” both on the bottom and the higher rungs of the organization. However, there is also a “Capo de Tutti Capi” and he is the supreme head of all. It is a pyramidal organization.

In Naples there is a completely different organization called “La Camorra”. La Camorra is a loosely knit group of gangs that do not necessarily work together all the time. They in some ways are more dangerous than La Mafia in Sicily. They are always fighting one another for control of whatever it is that they want to control--the docks, drugs, garbage, you name it. Actually, I would say that La Camorra controls much more of Italy than does La Mafia. If you have any interest in La Camorra, there is a book by Roberto Saviano called “Gomorrah”. There is also a subtitled movie of the same name that points out the brutality of this group. Roberto has been under protection of the Italian government for several years now because of the threats on his life. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Camorra


Further down the peninsula from Naples in Calabria there is another brutal group called the “Ndrangheta”. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/'Ndrangheta. I would say that this group is more like the Neapolitan Camorra than the Sicilian Mafia. All of these organizations are equally dangerous and grew out of the extreme poverty of the South.

Of course in the United States we are fortunate :) enough to have our own group, "La Cosa Nostra”. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/American_Mafia Again, as I previously mentioned , there are very few Italians that actually belong to these organizations, but there are a lot of “wantabes”, people that act as if they are Mafiosi but are what we call “”Guidos and Guidettes or Cugines”. To be sure not all Guidos, Guidettes and Cugines are Mafia wantabees. I’m going to leave this for another blog.

What we have is the following:

1. Mafia Sicilana
2. Camorra Napolitana
3. Ndgrangheta Calabrese
4. La Cosa Nostra Americana

I don’t know how many of you have come across anyone from the organized crime world, but as a teacher in a Prep School in Dyker Heights, Brooklyn in the late 70‘s and early 80‘s, I came across many relatives of such mobsters. I know this to be true because some of the parents of the students that I taught were convicted and sent to jail. In fact, I had a student who was a great nephew of the famous Paul “Big Paulie” Castellano http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paul_Castellano who was murdered by John Gotti. To be sure all of these kids were very intelligent and did not go into a life of crime.

I have a funny story concerning wantabes or actual mobsters, I don’t know which. But before we get into the story I want to give you some important terms and their definitions. First and foremost is the word “Cafone” or in dialect “cafon” or “gafone”. This is a very important word that in Italian means a bumpkin, as in country. We here in America have refined the meaning and it can be used in several ways. As a noun as in a lowlife uneducated person usually with money, which is a bad combination. As a verb as in “he gafoned his food down”. You can imagine what that means. Also, an adjective describing something, as in “a gafone house or a gafone car”, meaning something over the top, ostentatious.

The next word is a great one also, “Citrullo” or in dialect “gitrul”. This means dim wit in Italian and in dialect it is a cucumber or cetriolo. My father used to call me a gitrul all the time, but who cares.

Now we can continue with the story. For some years in the 80’ and 90’s I was the Director of Real Estate for Carnegie Hall. In that capacity I had many men and women that worked for me. Also around that time and actually for the last 110 years or so there was a famous Italian/American restaurant in Harlem called Raos. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Raos It was famous for not being able to get into. They once turned down Madonna and that made a big splash in the New York papers.

As I said before, in my capacity at Carnegie hall I had many people working for me. One of these was a doorman who happened to be very interested in food and restaurants and we would speak often about such things often. One day in November I walked in the building and he asked me if I had ever heard of Raos. Of course I said its famous but you can’t get in. He comes back with this statement, “Do you and your wife want to go sometime? I can set it up” Flabbergasted, I said of course. The next day when I came into the office he says that it’s all set up for February 20th. That was four months in advance but I said I would take it. I rushed home to tell my wife Sharyn the news and she, being a restaurant maven, pissed her pants in excitement. I think that was the longest 4 months in her life but the day finally came, we were going to Raos.

I was told by my doorman to go in, ask for Frankie and tell him that Joey sent me and that I was supposed to see Nickie the Vest. We went in and we were approached immediately by two cafones in suits looking menacingly at us, as if to say what the hell are you doing here. I meekly told them exactly what the doorman had told me and one of them yelled over to the bartender, “ Nicky, there’s someone here that said Joey sent em”. Nickie, thinks for what was the longest 30 seconds in my life, and then says, “Oh yeah they’re ok let em in”. Phew, we made it and from that moment on they treated us as if we were family. The deal in the restaurant is that every table is reserved forever and the only way you can get a seat is if the reservee is not coming that particular evening.

Frankie Junior, who is Frankie Senior’s* nephew, took charge of us and explained how they do it at Raos. The table is yours for the night so you can sit any time you want. Usually what people do is go to the bar, get a Manhattan and smoke a cigar. (This was when smoking was allowed) As I looked around I noticed that this place was full of CAFONES, cafoning their food down. I swear they filmed the Godfather there. There were no menus. Frankie tells you what they have for the night. Basic Italian/American food, which was no better or no worse than any good place in Brooklyn or Queens.

However, they do not take credit cards and I only had $200 in cash with me. I was sweating it out fantasizing that I wouldn’t have enough to pay and they would string me up on a rack in the back room . Fortunately the bill was $164.00 with tip. I was home free. Did I mention that you could park your car right in front of the restaurant and leave the keys in it. Keep in mind this was Harlem in the 1980’s. Were they gangsters or what? I don’t know.

We went back several times after that and I remember one of the times we brought a very attractive woman with us. She caused quite a stir with the cafones at the bar, each vying for her attention. She loved the flirting with them and asked one of them for his “Business Card” which he promptly gave to her. The problem was that it only contained his name, nothing else. She demurely asked what business he was in and he answered, “In Raos you never ask anyone their business”.

Some years later, splashed all over the New York Papers was the story of a murder at Raos. It seems that one of the cafones at the bar who was also a citrul, got into an altercation with another cafone and killed him. One of the regulars, I guess with one too many Manhattans in him, decided to serenade the patrons with opera. The person who was killed didn’t like the singing and let it be known in a loud manner. The killer took umbrage with this person’s remarks and when the guy went to leave he shot him in the back and killed him, much to the chagrin of all the workers and patrons. The killer calmly walked out of bar and told some policemen who were outside that there had been a killing inside. One of the workers alerted the police who this person was and the guy was arrested. He’s in jail now and Raos is even more famous.

Now this cafone who did the killing is the classic definition of a citrullo. He was 66 years old at the time and still stupid enough to pull off such a crime. I can truly assert that there are no cafones or citrullos in my family, at least I hope not.

Although the Italian culture is one of the greatest in the world, we do own, for better or worse these groups. Although a minority, they sometimes define us, which is unfortunate. But to deny that they exist is also unfortunate, it makes them harder to weed out. Ridding Italy of organized crime is a tremendous problem, as it is in the Unted States. They are entrenched in the culture. Read Saviano's book.

* Frank Pellegrino Sr. is also an actor and played one of the FBI lawyers in "The Sopranos"

La Bella Lingua, Why don't we speak it?

The fact is that only about 5% of Italian/Americans speak Italian. Then again you have to define Italian. I like to use the term "Standard Italian". For example, did my parents speak Standard Italian? Certainly not to each other. They spoke a form of Neapolitan, a language that was not understood out of that area. Now their friends the Roses, were Sicilian and that's what they spoke, a language barely understood by the Neapolitans and certainly not understood by the Northern Italians. With the Roses they spoke English.

So what were my parents and others like them to do? Should they have taught us their language, a language that was certainly useful in the house or with other folks from their region or should they have taught us Standard Italian, a language that they barely knew? They could have sent us to Italian language school, however any such school would teach only Standard Italian. That would have helped us with the wider educated Italian world, but not in our communications with them. In fact, I think it would have been an embarrassment to them, to have their children speak the language of the educated class while they spoke the local dialect indicating their lack of education.

To be sure, they did know some Standard Italian, after all they did have three years of compulsory education and they did know how to read and write in Standard Italian. Dialects are usually not written nor do they have rules, Standard Italian does.* I remember my father speaking to his cousin who was a professor of Italian at Princeton University on the phone. This cousin, Arturo Mancini, only spoke Standard Italian, so my father had to respond in kind. He spoke, but it was halting and clearly not his mother tongue.

This sort of explains why only 5% of Italian/Americans speak the Standard Italian language. In Italy today, according to the national statistics bureau, 55% of Italians still use dialect some or most of the time when they are with family or friends.** When my parents came to the United States the users of dialect must have been near 90%. Thank god for Italian television, as now almost everyone on TV speaks standard Italian. In fact, everyone that graduates from High School in Italy speaks Standard Italian. If a person in Italy does not speak Standard Italian you know he or she is uneducated.

So how did Italy get into this language conundrum? Think of the Italian peninsula 2500 years ago. There were a bunch of Italic tribes all speaking their own languages. For sure some of these were similar but the further apart the tribes were the less alike were their languages. Tribes in Sicily spoke very differently from tribes in northern Italy. However, around 300 or 200 BCA, one of these tribes became dominant over the others; the Romans who spoke Latin. As their influence evolved so did their language. They developed the Roman alphabet, the same one we use today.

Since they conquered and ruled the entire Italian peninsula and Sicily, the official language was Latin. That does not mean that the people on the street spoke Latin, but that all the official offices spoke in Latin and all official documents were in Latin. We know that the Catholic Masses were celebrated in Latin up until the early 1960‘s. Throughout the years the language of the people became infused with Latin words or the local languages became Latinized, however they differed according to the region of the country you lived in.

This sort of mishmash went on for many years after the Roman Empire ended. The populace spoke their dialect and the official documents were written in Latin or whatever language one of the many conquerors chose to use in whatever region they controlled.

In the 14th century there was a movement on the Italian peninsula and Sicily to standardize a language other than Latin that could be used as the “official” Italian language. During this period there were about 13 major dialects in Italy, two of the most dominant were the Tuscan and Sicilian.

It was during this period that Dante Alighieri, a Tuscan from Florence, began writing in his local dialect. What he did was to use the Roman alphabet sounds and write his Tuscan dialect according these sounds. This is why Standard Italian is a phonetic language. There is no such thing as spelling in Italian. Words are written exactly how they are sounded. For example, take my surname FUMO. Fu is pronounced as in Fu-Man -Chu--and Mo as in “Mo Money”.

This guy was a prolific writer. As we all know he wrote the “Divine Comedy”. All his writings, in his Tuscan dialect, formed the basis for the Standard Italian language of today. Also in the running as Standard Italian was the Sicilian dialect. During this period it was a well developed language with written poetry and stories. If, by chance of geography, Dante had been born in Sicily, Standard Italian could be Sicilian.

The Tuscan dialect is Standard Italian. If a person is speaking in the Sicilian dialect, he or she is not speaking “bad Italian”, they are speaking another language. If a person cannot speak Standard Italian it means that they are not formally educated. Mussolini, for whatever his faults were, made sure that all schools taught Standard Italian, the Tuscan dialect.

So if you have to learn Italian, make sure it is Standard Italian, that way you can converse with most of the populace on the peninsula and on the islands.

Caio Guaglioni (Napolitano)
Caio Ragazzi (Standard Italian)
Later Homies (Homeboy English)
Goodbye Boys and Girls (Standard English)



* Sicilian is certainly one of the exceptions
** “La Bella Lingua---Dianne Hales”

HE THINKS WHO HE IS

“He thinks who he is”—such a great New York City remark; which means that someone thinks they are better then anyone else or that they are a know it all. Well, I have to admit that people who actually live in New York City, all kind of “think who they are”, especially when it comes to restaurants and food. But when you live in New York City, one of the premier restaurant centers of the world, maybe you have a right to “think who you are”, then again, maybe you don’t. My wife Linda was born in New York City and I have lived there, with the exception of 7 years in Europe, since 1964. I guess that you could say we sometimes “think who we are”, without wanting to, especially when it come to restaurants.

When we first moved to our present country house in Bucks County, we would spend days exploring the back roads of our new neighborhood. To anyone who has not yet done so, I would recommend this very enthusiastically. Bucks County back roads are full of beauty and pleasant surprises. One day we were on the backest of the back roads, Old Bethlehem Pike, and we spotted, what we initially thought was one of those old ice cream parlors that dot the road sides in America. The sign outside said, “La Campagna, Ristorante Italiano”. Well, “thinking who we were”, we both started to laugh. “Can you imagine what that food is like? No way are we going there”.

Some weeks later, not thinking of it again, we went to visit friends that own the “Bella Vita” pottery place just outside of Doylestown, Pa. We were all talking about being Italian/Americans and how we all love good Italian food when one of our friends says to us, “Have you ever tried La Campagna on Old Bethlehem Pike? It’s great.” Linda and I looked at each other with that, “Is she crazy?” look. We know what these people from outside of New York City think good food is. Nevertheless, we said we would try it and we did. We went the very next evening.

When we pulled our car up to park at La Campagna, the first thing that we noticed thru the window was a wood burning oven that they use to make pizza, bread and other delicious things. Not a bad sign we thought, but what else was inside? When we entered we noticed Nonna making the dough for the pizza and the bread that they serve. A better sign, wood oven made pizza and bread kneaded lovingly by La Nonna? With a surprised look on our faces we met other members of the staff who were either from Italy or first generation Italian/American. The good signs were getting better and bigger every minute. To show off, because “I think who I am”; I asked Nonna in Italian if she was Sicilian. She answered sharply in Italian, “Ma che Sicilian, loro non sono manga italian’, io sono Napolitan’ ”. In jest, Neapolitans always say that Sicilians aren’t really Italian and clearly she was just jesting. The good signs here were not only getting better and bigger, they were becoming, metaphorically speaking, lighted. Linda and I looked at each other with that look of “maybe we hit on something here”.

With all the signs now metaphorically lighted, we sat down for the real test, the food. Our waitress, la bella Anna Marie, is the sister of the chef who is the grandson of Nonna, who was making the bread and pizza dough. Family affair you say, you have no idea. We checked out the menu and it looked excellent, not Italian/American but a combination of noveau Italian/American and Italian/Italian.

The real food test began when we ordered the fried calamari for an appetizer. Fried calamari sounds simple to make but this was a genuine test, because before I found La Campagna, I thought one could only get that crispy, light, not mushy, great tasting calamari in Italy. Well, when it came out, accompanied by the tomato sauce that Nonna cans herself and we tasted it, Linda and my “thinks who we are” attitude took a real slap in the face, a slap that we were happy to acknowledge. The signs were now not only metaphorically lighted they were in neon and blinking. Eureka, pay dirt, the mother lode. We found something good!!!

For the next course I had "Pollo al Matone" (Half of a chicken) marinated in special herbs, olive oil and infused with fresh squeezed lemons, grilled to perfection by incorporating hot bricks to produce uniform doneness garnished with lemon marmalade served with roasted red bliss rosemary potatoes and sautéed vegetables. This, of course, was cooked in the wood oven. Linda on the other hand had “Melanzana all Parmigiano”, which is an opulent eggplant lightly battered in a secret family combination of herbs, grated cheeses, flour and eggs, deep fried to golden brown topped with special tomato sauce, mozzarella and herbs and finished in wood fired brick oven. This was equally as good as the calamari. We didn’t partake of dessert that night, but on subsequent occasions we did. Two of my favorites are: “Granita”, which is a fresh pureed fruit with the right combination of sweetness and light cordials, quickly frozen and then served upon demand with fresh mint leaves. This dessert I dream of, especially on warm summer nights. Another great summer dessert is, Gelato Banana Frangelico with chocolate chips made on premise and always a hit when offered.


Over the last four years we have been regulars at La Campagna and we have come to realize that we are dealing with a level of food sophistication of the highest quality. And I mean high quality. The second time we went there, we knew by the complexity of the menu and the wonderful flavors of the meals that we were dealing with professionals. I asked Annamaria who the cook was because, meaning no disrespect to Nonna, I figured we were dealing with someone very well school in food preparation and presentation. Annamarie told us, matter of factly, that the chef was her brother who was a graduate of The Culinary Institute of America (CIA). Combine La Nonna and a graduate of CIA and you have a culinary delight.

As I had mentioned before, this is a family affair, La Famiglia Coletta The capo of this family, without a doubt, is Anna Coletta She is the mother of Annamarie, Steven the chef, Gianni the assistant chef, daughter of gli nonni Maria and Antonio, sister of Aunt Mary, another waitress, and wife of Antonio Coletta. She is the force behind the restaurant, the guiding hand behind all the children and the glue that keeps everything together. She also writes the monthly newsletter, which I mistakenly thought was written by Annamarie. When I ask Annamarie who wrote the newsletter she matter of factly said “my mother”. No hubris in this family. She should have been and maybe still will be a writer. I wait for the next edition of the newsletter just for her little stories of Italy, the season and any other tidbit that she chooses to expound upon.

Steven the chef, as Michelangelo and Leonardo Da Vinci before him, has mastered his craft at a very early age. He’s 28. But, as Nonna once told me, “ he wassa sempre appressa me when I cooka”. Loosely translated means he was always at my side when I was cooking. The family mustered up the money to send him to CIA and the world has never been the same since.

Once after Linda and I took a trip to Sicily and Italy and came back with food memories embedded in our brain, we feared we would find that the food in America just doesn’t taste right, without that freshness that you find in Italy. We were wrong. A trip to La Campagna dispelled any of those fears. Steven is a genius in the kitchen and he does it without any of the fanfare of Rocco and Emeril. He simply does it perfectly in an understated way. When you ask him about a particularly good meal you just had, he shrugs his shoulders and says,” I don’t know. I just put this and that together, it was easy”. He does not “think who he is”, but he, in fact, “is who he is”.

I remember when we first snickered at this restaurant and “thought who we were”. Well, every time I enter the restaurant now I enter an atmosphere of sophistication and food perfection. The clientele is composed of doctors, lawyers, judges, engineers, wives of unnamed politicians and generally people who know food. Everyone that goes to this restaurant loves not only the food but the family as well. Talk about “family values”, this is the quintessence of “family values”: love, friendliness, compassion and competence in their work. All the patrons wish for two things for the restaurant,1) That that it is a success, and 2) that it is not too much of a success. We jealously don’t want things to change.

The restaurant is 1 ¾ hours from New York City and less that and hour from Philadelphia. I have two words of advice for anyone who is reading this, “GO THERE”.

Oh, by the way, in case you where wondering, Linda and I still “think who we are”, but not because we come from New York City. It’s because we are patrons of La Campagna, Ristorante Italiano.






Cast of Characters
( In order of appearance)

Nonna Maria DiSandro
Nonno Antonio Di Sandro  
Pretty Young Waitress Annamaria Coletta
Capo di Famiglia Anna Coletta
Chef Steven Coletta
Chef’s Assistant Gianni Coletta
Aunt Mary Maria Grimaldi
Anna’s Husband Antonio Coletta
Friday Night Waitress Filomena Coletta
Chef’s Wife Heather Wallace Coletta
Chef’s son Steven Antonio Coletta
“Thinks who he is” writer Roberto Fumo
Beautiful wife of writer Linda Gladkowsky


 
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Menu Offerings
APPETIZERS
CALAMARI  seasoned & fried or grilled calamari    $9.00
MELANZANA  pan fried zucchini/eggplant layered w/fresh mozzarella & marinara sauce     $8.00
COZZE  steamed Prince Edward Island and New Zealand mussels, choice of red or white sauce  $12.00
  BRUSCHETTA CON MOZZARELLA    grilled country-style bread topped w/melted fresh mozzarella, extra-virgin olive oil, sun-dried tomatoes, garlic, olives, capers & herbs     $8.00
FRITTO MISTO (serves 2)     beer-battered fried calamari, scallops&shrimp   $16.00
ANTIPASTO  assortment of meats and cheeses w/ olives & roasted red peppers     $13.95
FRIED MOZZARELLA  batter dipped/fried mozzarella served in a lemon caper anchovy butter sauce       $9.00
 
 
**Please Note: In order to maintain the creativity of the Italian cuisine, our menu changes periodically. There may be additions or deletions to this brochure. Your order taker will be more than happy to assist you when ordering. Buon Appetito!

FIRST COURSE
Entree portions
Complimentary choice of soup or salad
 
RAVIOLI             three cheese & spinach ravioli in a rose cream sauce      $20.00
RISOTTO DI GIORNO    risotto of the day              $21.00
GNOCCHI   potato dumplings in varied sauces      $21.00
LASAGNETTE   baked lasagna - choice of meat or seasonal vegetables      $19.00
VONGOLE    spaghetti & clams served red or white      $21.00
Il SANTO  Hand -made taglatelli pasta served in a white veal fennel, spinach ragu         $21.00
Il STEFANO   wild mushroom herb polenta served in a Bolognese sauce        $19.00
PESCATORI   linguini w/shrimp & scallops in a tomato seafood sauce   $21.00
POLPETTI   classic spaghetti & meatball       $19.00
 

SECOND COURSE ENTREE
Complimentary choice of soup or salad
BISTECCA    grilled Rib-eye served w/ mushroom Risotto - choice of weight -  (16 oz, 24 oz, or 32oz) Market Price
SALMONE   grilled brushed w/ pesto served over white bean, spinach & shrimp $20.00 GRANACHIO    sauteed crab cakes w/pici pasta, broccoli rabe, oil & garlic sauce $22.00
CACIUCCO    clams, mussels, scallops, calamari &shrimp w/ linguine in tomato seafood sauce      $23.00
 SALTIMBOCCA veal scaloppini w/prosciutto & fontina cheese in a sherry sage sauce served over seasonal vegetables $21.00
SCALOPPINI     Choice of: grilled or sauteed veal or chicken in a   choice of : lemon caper or marsala sauce Served w/pesto risotto $19.00
PASTICCIATA            grilled chicken, sausage, peppers and onion casserole   $17.00
PARMIGIANO      chicken or veal parmesan w/spaghetti   $17.00
RIPIENO       breaded chicken breast stuffed w/roasted eggplant asiago cheese prosciutto over herb risotto $21.00
 
 
**We reserve the right to change prices, offerings and specials without prior notice**

OLD WORLD BRICK OVEN PIZZA    LARGE $9.50       SMALL $7.00
ADDITIONAL TOPPINGS
Pepperoni, Mushrooms, Onions,, Sausage, Olives, Anchovies ,Pepper      LARGE (Each) $1.75     SMALL (Each) $1.25
SPECIALTY TOPPINGS
Prosciutto, pineapple, broccoli, spinach, roasted red peppers, ricotta, carmelized onions
Large $3.25                         Small $ 2.00
SPECIALTY PIZZAS
Pizza Margherita $9.00 / $12.50
-fresh mozzarella, basil and tomato sauce-
Pizza Quattro Stagioni $10.50 / 13.95
-"four season" w/ prosciutto, artichokes, mushrooms and smoked salami-
Pizza Diablo $9.75 / $12.75
- "The devil’s Pizza"; spicy w/ sopressata
Pizza Napoletana $6.75 / $9.00
- tomato pie w/capers, anchovies & garlic -
Pizza Alle Melanzane $9.75 / $12.75
- pizza w/pan fried eggplant -
Pizza Al Tonno $10.50 / 13.95
- pizza w/carmelized onions and tuna -
Pizza Al Gorgonzola $9.50 / $12.50
- pizza w/ blue cheese and spinach -
Pizza Alla Campagna $10.50 / 13.95
- roasted red peppers, broccoli rabe & sausage-
 
Or Create your own Masterpiece!

What Have Done to Me?

I mean, well, like I was born in 1940 as a white straight male ( Actually I didn't know I was straight yet). I had one thing going against me, I was Italian. The good thing was that I didn't look Italian, I could pass for a WASP. Of course, the highest on the food chain at that time was a White Straight Wasp Male. I mean that was a 10 out of 10. Ok, I was a 9 out of 10. Not bad!!! Isn't White Wasp redundant?

Then they started doing all those "things"; you know what I mean. They integrated blacks into the Army--one down, then that Jackie Robinson guy came along. You know who I mean, the one that the "Progressive Christian" let play for the Dodgers. Now if I wanted to play baseball I had to compete against "THEM". You know that they have an extra bone in their leg that makes them run faster.

The WASP thing kind of went by the wayside when Kennedy was elected. The seventies came and wouldn't you know it "ladies" started wanting their due. So they put in Title 9, meaning that ladies got as much money in school for sports as did we men. AND, when I went to get a job I had to compete with ladies, blacks, Hispanics and all other kinds. I actually once had a black boss and a "Lady" boss. I had a Greek boss once, but I never let him walk behind me. Oh the horror of it all.

But I held on to one thing for dear life. I was straight and I could marry as many ladies as I wished and get all the attending privileges, . Of course, only one at a time. I basked in that privilege. I am a straight male and only I could get married to a lady. I still had that one advantage.

But as everyone else was agitating, the "other group" started to do the same. I mean I remember that if you "played on the other team", so to speak, you could get beaten up. I had friends that would spend many a delightful Saturday evening doing just that.

They (You must whisper when you speak of them--kind of like when you say Cancer or Jewish) kept agitating and agitating--they wanted to serve openly in the military and to be able to marry one another. We even voted against the marriage thing several times. I assume we would have voted against Blacks in the Army and Ladies getting Title 9 and all. We probably would have voted against ending slavery, if we could have.

The one advantage that I had left was that I was a Straight Male, and they want to take that away too. What are they doing to me? Well this week they finally did it.
( I like it when we refer to "they", some amorphous group that is always trying to do us harm.) A judge in California finally said that (whisper) gays can not be discriminated against. They must be allowed to get married and that the vote against them getting married deprives them of their constitutional rights. It's discriminatory. Well of course its discriminatory. Isn't that the idea. They've wiped out any and all advantages that I've ever had, privileges that I held dear.

I now have to compete with everyone on an equal basis. It’s just not fair. I want my America back!!!! What have they done to me? Wait a minute. I still have one advantage, I’m old . I mean reduced fares on buses and subways--senior fares at movies, etc etc. I have free health care too. They can’t take that away from me, or can they?

WHAT ARE YOU?

What Are You?

Many years ago I read a story that describes the eating habits of most people in the world. Unfortunately, I can't remember who wrote it, but it stuck in my mind as something very true.
The author's theory was that everyone fits in to one of the categories mentioned below:

1. A THIN/THIN (T/T)=Someone who doesn't really think about food much. Kind of eats when they are hungry and usually eats well. This type generally maintains a good weight throughout their lives.

2. A THIN/FAT (T/F)= Someone who thinks about food a lot, but controls themselves in order to maintain a healthy weight. Weight is a life long struggle for them.

3. A FAT/FAT (F/F)= This is someone who thinks about food all the time and eats whatever they want at any time they want. This group never maintains a healthy weight and doesn't seem to care.

4. A FAT/THIN (F/T)= Someone who really doesn't care that much for food, but eats all the wrong stuff and becomes fat in the process. There a lot of people in this category

In the article that I read, the writer explained that he was a THIN/FAT and described what it was like to work with a THIN/THIN. It seems that he was working on a very important project with a T/T and he had eaten a good breakfast and was moving along a a great speed until about 1:00 o'clock when he started to think about lunch. This thinking about lunch started to interfere with his work. He noticed that his colleague, the T/T, was working away with no thought about lunch at all. Sheepishly the T/F asked if they shouldn't break for lunch. The T/T said, "Yes, if you want". Well of course he wanted. That was all he could think about being a T/F. The colleague said that he had some menus in the office and that maybe they should order in. Great idea thought T/F. They both began looking at the menus, with the T/T not seeming to be interested at all, while the T/F looked at every item fantasizing how would enjoy each thing on the list. He finally decided on a modest, healthy sandwich, tuna fish with lettuce and tomato and mayo on whole wheat bread. However, the T/T didn't choose anything. He just said, "Get me anything, anything that you think is good".

After some minutes the food came. At this time it was about 2:00 o'clock and the T/F was famished, couldn't think of anything else but eating. The T/T was happily working, not really thinking about anything but the work at hand. "Devoured the sandwich", was what author described in the story, savoring every last bite. Satisfied at last, he was ready to begin work save for one problem. When he looked down he noticed that the T/T had only taken few bites out of his sandwich. Now for any self respecting T/F this is a real problem. After eating his sandwich, he couldn't think of any else but the half eaten sandwich of his partner staring him right in the face, ruining his afternoon of work.

I don't know about you but I am a T/F sometimes bordering on a F/F. I know exactly what the author was going through. I have been in that situation many times. In fact, I've decided that I hate T/Ts. Some of my best friends and relatives are T/Ts, but they drive me crazy.

What are you?

Pony Time

The way I look at relationships is simple---“If you want the Pony you have to shovel the merda“. As you know, ponies come in all sizes, shapes and genders. For example, I have a female pony, but on the other hand my wife has a male pony. They both have one thing in common, they leave a trail of manure wherever they go. Now these ponies can end up having little ponies--ponettes so to speak. With these ponettes comes a whole new load and the need for a bigger shovel.

I, for example, have kept my shovel small, but there are times when I have to shovel feverishly to kept the stable clean with the pony that I have. One of the more stressing possibilities in life is that your pony will come with a mare and a stallion. Mine came with just a mare. This requires a lot more shoveling, but it is worth it if it keeps the pony happy. After all, when the pony is happy you are happy.

Real happiness comes when you interact closely with the pony. Oh the sheer joy of it. Of course, some one who interacts closely with all the ponettes and the mare and stallions will generate so much manure that it could require a front end loader to clean up.

Speaking of front end loaders, there are times, even with the calmest pony, that you may need this. They are not inexpensive to rent. For example in New York City, where I live, there are a lot of front end loaders for rent. They generally run anywhere from $200 to $300 an hour. They are well worth it, especially if the pile gets too high and smelly .

There are many people today who do not want a pony and I can understand this. Having a pony when you don’t have a shovel can be very difficult or, as is the case with many people, they are just too busy cleaning up their own manure to be bothered with someone else’s. This is fine. It is their choice. Many people feel that they must have a pony with all the ponettes, even if they don’t have a good shovel. This is a mistake. Things are changing however and many many more people are ponyless these days. This is a good thing.


One of the saddest things though is when you lose your pony, either through death or due to the fact that your shovel is broken and the guy who rents front end loaders tells you there is too much manure, even for his equipment. Even though this happens, remember you can always buy a new bigger stronger shovel and find a new pony.

Happy shoveling Ragazzi!!!!

Size Matters

SIZE, (OR THE LACK OF IT) REALLY DOES MATTER


It seems as if the older one gets the more relative things become. What do I mean? Well lets look at my writing skills for example. When I was in school, in the 50’s I was considered a very bad writer. I mean I couldn’t spell, I couldn’t construct a sentence and my written papers always came back to me the same color as my hair--RED. As time progressed, through the 60’s, 70’s and 80’s, my writing seemed to get better. Or was it that everyone else’s got so much worse. I mean relative to the general population my writing isn’t so bad after all. As time moves on, I get better, relative to the general population. If I live to 100 I should be a great writer. Something to look forward to, I guess.

Now, let’s look at size. At age 4 ½ I entered Kindergarten, weighing in at about 60 pounds. The teacher told my mother I was the biggest kid they had ever weighed in. By the time I reached 12 years old I was 6’ tall and 200 pounds--biggest kid in the school. I remember clearly my first day in High School, the football coach saw me in the hallway and asked me how much I weighed. I naively said 220 pounds. His response was get to football practice after school and get a varsity uniform. Yep, 14 years old 6’2” 220 pounds. The term they used for me was “husky”. I hated that term. All my friends would go to the normal section of the store to buy clothes. I had to go to the “husky” section. My mother would grin ear to ear. “Yes, my Bobby’s a bigga boy”.

As I said about my writing, everything is relative. Six, two, 220 pounds at 14? That’s a girl nowadays. I mean have you ever been to the mall? Husky? Nobody’s called husky anymore. They are just plain FAT. Not fat like I was, grotesquely fat. Entire families of mammalian proportion. Stomachs that protrude so far that the only way they can see their genitals is by using a mirror. So fat, that you see them coming around a corner a minute before their full bodies come in view. So fat, that their ankles are the same size as their thighs. So fat, that they can only wear expandable clothes with draw string pants.

Sam, who is married to my niece, posits that the mirror business must be one of the worse American businesses to be in today. He figures that these people can’t have mirrors in their houses. Either that, or relative to the guy next door they are svelte. Picture one of these behemoths, getting up in the morning, looking into the mirror and exclaiming, “ Oh boy, let’s see now, what color sweat pants should I wear today?”. Somehow I don’t see it.

Funny? No it’s not funny, it is serious. We have an epidemic in this country and it is killing us slowly. Linda just had two hips replaced and I can not tell you how bad her co-recoverants were. Ninety percent of them were obese. The same amount were diabetics. What health care costs do we incur in this country because of this “post husky” epidemic? In the rehab center, where she currently goes 3 times a week, they have extra wide chairs so these leviathans can sit comfortably.


Politically correct? Every doctor should say to each of these grossly obese individuals, that they cannot treat them unless they lose 100 pounds, because, in fact, they cannot treat them unless they lose 100 pounds. Any thing else is a charade--taking good money that can be used in more curative ways.

I used to think that the reason for this extreme weight gain in the American population was because we eat more and do less. Although this is partly true, I now feel that it is the food itself. The fact that food is less nourishing now means that you have to eat more of it to be satisfied. I am not smart enough to know the answer, but I am observant enough to know the problem.

I figure that these families need bigger cars to propel them from Mac Donald’s to MacDonald‘s. Not only that, but the cars need extra fuel to move the 400, or so, extra pounds that they have to carry on each trip. Let’s say that every family lost 400 pounds. The savings in gas would be tremendous. I think it’s worth a try.

But getting back to the relativity question; I still am about 6’2’ 220 to 230, but relative to the general population, I’m about average. Using this same logic, does that mean that I will become good looking some day? Hope springs eternal.

Depressed Uncle

I used to think I was the master of my family--the reddest hair, the most traveled, the best teacher, the best Italian speaker, the best writer and, the one I thought I would never lose, the best public speaker. Slowly but surely all these things are being stripped from me. My nephews, nieces and great nephews, nieces travel the world over; and one of them speaks better Italian than me, etc., etc. However, the cruelest of all came yesterday. My nephew Alan, who served as the Master of Ceremonies for his deceased sister-in-law’s “Celebration of Life“, wrote and delivered a eulogy that bests anything I’ve ever done.

Life is certainly unkind. I guess the old man should just slink away in a corner somewhere and let the younger ones take over.

Pissed off Liberal

Somehow I couldn't bring myself to watch the State of the Union Last night. Instead I went to an Italian/American restaurant for dinner. Much to my dismay they turned on Fox News to show the address. Fortunately for me, I use hearing aids. I quickly removed them and changed seats with my wife, away from the TV.

I am so angry at what has happen to our country in the last 30 or so years. This past year has just brought it all to the fore. Transparency has show us all how inept and crooked our government is. I had hope in Obama, but that hope has turned to fury. The only solution as I see it is a complete revamping of the system. That is not going to happen, so I must learn to control my anger lest it controls me.

The news heads call what happens in Congress as Sausage making. My answer to that is that I want a government not a butcher.