Concettina Died and Other Stories of the East Side

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Dinner for the Goldbergs My mother was a wonderful cook, not a trained chef of course, but rather in the way she prepared all our food with love and care. She could take even the most basic ingredients, such as beans, and turn them into delicious meals, like beans and greens, served up with her delicious homemade bread and followed by her canned peaches, pears, or plums for dessert. My father was a great eater, who bragged to one and all about his wife’s cooking. On the spur of the moment, he would ask for some special dish that Mama prepared , and she somehow always was able to come through with it. Papa was always inviting friends or business associates to dinner with little or no advance notice to Mama. As much as this infuriated her, she never failed to prepare terrific dinners for these guests. One of Papa’s ventures in business was to import wine grapes from California to where we lived, Youngstown, Ohio. Car loads of wine grapes arrived every fall and were parked at the rail line sidings on Front Street. My father and several other competitors sold Zinfandel, Muscat, Grenache, and other wine grapes to the many Italian, Polish and other ethnic citizens in our town. The agent in California for shipping these grapes was a former Youngstown friend of Papa’s, Isadore Goldberg, nicknamed Izzy, whom Papa in his broken English called Itsy. The rest of the Goldberg family remained in Youngstown. When Izzy returned to Ohio for a visit, Papa invited Izzy and his wife, and Izzy’s brother Jack and his wife Elaine, for one of those impromptu dinners. I recall the hustle around our house as Mama prepared a very Italian feast. First course was wedding soup, followed by pasta with Mama’s wonderful tomato sauce with meatballs, braccioli, and sausage, then roasted chicken. Later there would be salad, cheese and fruit. All of this delicious food was accompanied by Papa’s wine, made from grapes sent by Izzy. Last night, my friend Tony Piana, from Little River, South Carolina, called me from a restaurant where he and his family were dining. He

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Concettina Died and Other Stories of the East Side by davidmzaza - Issuu