Note: I was planning on writing about my recent Boston food tour, but this is what came out. Food tour pictures coming soon 🙂
Sometimes life takes a sudden twist and you find yourself somewhere completely unexpected. Last week, that unexpected place was home-- my parents' home I suppose I should say by now, despite the fact that it will always feel like my home too.
My mother wrote me a message the day before Easter, telling me that my grandfather had passed away. While it wasn't a complete shock, it was a surprise, and despite a person's age and illness it is never truly easy to accept that they're really gone. I spent Easter Sunday remembering my grandfather, and making plans to be with my family for the week to come.
As I arrived in New York City I smiled, remembering how he would shudder every time me or my siblings would talk about visiting Manhattan. "Animal country" he called it, and despite living across the bridge in Brooklyn for half of his life and working in Manhattan for the majority of his career, he couldn't wait to escape to the greener pastures of New Jersey.
My grandfather lived the true American dream; he was an Italian immigrant raised in a humble city apartment, who worked his way up to life in the suburbs with a small yard and good schools. It was here in his small New Jersey garden where he planted his famous tomatoes every Spring, providing his family and friends with the freshest and most delicious fruits throughout the summer. My cousin and I would eat them plain, biting into them like a plum, with a sprinkle of salt over the juicy flesh.
Despite not being an avid traveler, he'd been farther than most Americans when he fought in World War II, liberating countless people on D-Day. He'd also been back to visit his native land, Italy, on a tour with my grandmother, breaking out in rusty Italian dialect, but being understood all the same.
As we spent time together during this sad visit, my grandmother told me something that I'd never known about my grandfather. It seems that when he retired he wanted to stay busy, so he decided to help out in a nearby Italian deli chopping sopressata and surely sampling along the way. I smiled, as it's something I could imagine myself doing one day.
I wouldn't say my grandfather was a foodie-- he probably wouldn't even know what that means (actually, I barely know what that means...) but he did like to eat well. I have him (and the rest of my Italian family) to thank for my appreciation for homemade mozzarella cheese, warm ricotta filled manicotti, spicy sopressata, golden olive oil, and a good table wine. Despite his constant urging, I never did get used to eating bread with my meal-- something also considered strange here in Spain.
My aunt and cousin gave these tomato seeds out at the wake, and it was a lovely way to remember such an important person in our lives. I'm going to give them a go, though with my track record for plant care I don't expect much. I'll keep you posted...
Nicole
I'm really sorry for your loss, Lauren. Your tribute to him is both respectful and loving - you've really put into words what a great grandfather he is.
Best wishes for you and your family...
Lauren Aloise
Thank you for the kind words Nicole.
Jessica of HolaYessica
Sorry to hear about your granddad, but what a lovely way to remember him. It's funny how parts of our grandparents show up in ourselves, like Cat said.
Lauren Aloise
Thanks Jessica.
MeghannG@HolaMatrimony
So sorry for your loss, but what happy memories! Even though he passed away many years ago, the smell of green tomatoes on the vine still remind me of my Pop-Pop's garden.
Lauren Aloise
Thanks Meghan, mmm the smell of tomatoes is so wonderful.
Cat of Sunshine and Siestas
Isn't it amazing to think about how of ourselves come from our grandparents? I'm sorry to hear about your abuelo, but glad to can find solace in his memory.
Lauren Aloise
Thanks you for the comment Cat.