Thursday, January 11

Is Reggiano Parmigiano Dangerous?

It’s freezing this morning. Well, actually it’s 48 degrees. But to a Californian, that’s “freezing.” I have lived in Southern California with my husband Jeff for 3 ½ years. We were both born and raised in Providence, Rhode Island. In fact, we recently flew back from there, and on the 6 hr. flight home, I got the idea for this blog.

Growing up Italian in Rhode Island, much of my life has been about food. Even this trip home was about eating. Jeff and I had not been home for Christmas Eve in years. If you’re Italian, then this is a big deal. Such a big deal that we actually had two Christmas Eves—one with Jeff’s family, one with mine. The hilarious stories and fantastic recipes from those two nights alone could fill weeks of this blog.

Even the flight back to California was about food. I am compulsive about a lot of things, as you will learn. Traveling is one of them. Jeff and I managed to fit a week’s worth of clothing in just two carry-on bags. The problem is when you’re Italian, your parents won’t let you leave empty-handed. In our case, this meant a third suitcase full of food also made the flight back.

As we wound our way through Providence’s airport security, in our socks, the TSA guy scanning my luggage, bellowed, “Bag check!” I thought to myself, this can’t be; my ears grew red and hot. Anthony, a big “chooch” (my mother’s word for a not too bright guy—think Baccala from The Sopranos) grabbed my perfectly packed bag, threw it down, and proceeded to ransack it. With beefy hands squeezed into diminutive vinyl gloves, he pulled out what appeared to be a 10 pound aluminum brick. Jeff looked at me and said, “This isn’t good.” Anthony tossed the aluminum object from hand to hand, sniffed it, looked at us, and without missing a beat, said, “Reggiano Parmigiano?” “From my father,” I replied. “Nice,” he said. “Merry Christmas. Hava’ nice trip.” And we were on our way.

This blog will be about my family in RI, my life with my husband in Southern California, and my cooking and recipes. I hope you will love reading it as much as I will love writing it.


Anonymous said...

Interesting concept. As a fellow East Coaster now living away from home, I can totally relate.

I wish you all the best.

Rachael Narins said...

Welcome to blogging!


Susan from Food Blogga said...

Thank you Rachael. I am already having fun. PS - I love your blog.

Rachael said...

Lovely blog : ) I look forward to reading it!

Anonymous said...

Hi Susan,

I finally had time to sit down and read through the rest of your posts. You're off to such a great start and I'm looking forward to reading more!

Ciao bella!

Susan from Food Blogga said...

I'm so pleased you enjoy it. Thank you!

Susan from Food Blogga said...

This blog is inspired by people like you. Thank you so much.

JB said...

As New Englander who married an Italian from Rhode Island, who is also an only child, this post made me crack up so much. It's so similar to my experiences with his family.

I used to die laughing everytime he would say Happy Thanksgivin-a, but now I find that's how I pronounce.

It's funny that I came across your blog today, becuase I just posted about a recent trip to Venda Ravioli in my blog this morning.

Anonymous said...


Anonymous said...

The recipes sound great. Especially the escarole and beans. I am going to try that this weekend since it is going to be so cold in RI. Betty, N.Scituate

Susan from Food Blogga said...

I was so happy to see your name that I called my mom to tell her. You are officially the first nonblogger and first person from North Scituate to leave a comment.

How are you and Uncle Peter? Say Hi to Peter John and Jen.


Anonymous said...

Susan, It was great hearing from you. Uncle Peter and I are doing fine, and trying to keep warm. Peter and Jen are great. They had to put down one of their dogs around the end of the year, and that upset them. You know what Uncle Peter says, "if you believe in coming back, after death, he wants to be one of Peter's dogs. " They are so well taken care of. Tell Jeff we said hello. Love, Betty

bazu said...

Susan, I just had to comment even though this is an older post, because your writing reminded me of a similar airport memory. I don't know whether to call it a happy or sad memory- tragicomic is more like it! On one trip to California from the East Coast, my mom had given me a gallon-sized jug of homemade pickled vegetables. It was bad enough that I had to lug the thing... but when I got to the security checkpoint, the guy pointed to my bag and said, "uh m'am, I think your pickle is leaking." Sure enough, pungent herb vinegar everywhere... so mortifying! I guess security guys see these types of family parting gifts all the time, though! Thanks for sharing your story =)

Le Flâneur Novice said...

I have no idea why I hadn't read the very first post before. Such a lovely start!