I was not expecting, at the start of this essay, to be near tears by the end of it.
And I had no idea that moschino could mean little fly! Italian is so funny! Every word sounds like it's gonna be poetry but then I guess when you translate, it's a language like any other, with beauty and silliness and all the rest.
You are divine. I always love reading about your dad. I need to think, or maybe even write, more about the food/past/emotion connection, but in lieu of my own memories, i will tell you that whenever our Sicilian neighbor makes her Sicilian olives for my Sicilian partner, he slow-pokes his way to picking an olive then savors it with his eyes closed and tells me they're just like his grandmother's olives.
I lived in Rome for many years starting from university, it's my second home. Rome welcomes you and envelops you, cuddles you, makes you marvel at its places, sometimes even makes you angry because of the chaos, but then it immediately finds a way to make up for it. Just a carbonara in Garbatella was enough to put me in a good mood again ☺️
Loved how you integrated your love of Rome, your love of food, and your love of your father to create such a great post.
First, I'm definitely having pasta tonight!
Second, the dover sole at the Four Seasons restaurant in NYC (now closed) was a dish that my mother and I would always have. No sauce, just lemon and olive oil. So, in my memory it's that dover sole I associate with my mother who passed away about four years ago.
What beautiful memories your father gave you. I am sorry to have missed you in Rome, but I love reading about what a good time you had.
I can attest to the legion of unhappy US Embassy people. I once had someone snap at me "I hate it here' when I introduced myself. Thinking she had come from some dreamy post like Fiji or an organized place like Singapore, I asked where she had been posted before. Iraq, she responded adding it was so much better and easier there. (This was before the embassy was finished and people were living and working in trailers and wearing helmets and bullet proof vests)
Yikes. It’s happened again: wrote a reply and it disappeared. I’ll try again…
Dig that photo of S Pietro.
I really liked the way you wove in your memories of your father with your experiences in Rome. I think that’s a really helpful way to remember and continue to find ways of loving people who have died: absorbing memories of them into your present as it evolves as a sort of affirmation or celebration of all that you had when they were alive.
I really liked the way you wove in memories of your father with your Roman experiences. I think that’s a healthy way to remember and continue to find a way of loving those who have gone: absorbing their memories, and your past, in the enjoyment and appreciation of your present. It really keeps people alive for us and that is so important.
So beautiful. In tears by the end. Remembering my late Fathers ( August 2023) daily relationship with ice cream. One of his joys. Thankyou Samantha . Grief is a messy thing but today you helped me smile and giggle remembering Dad.
The list of food I associate with people is so damn long. Come to think of it, I associate every person close to me with a meal or several. Coq au vin with my father, empanadas with my mother, spicy nachos with my friend Cam, French wines with my friend Keaton, all-you-can-eat curry buffets with my friend Usman, hazy IPAs with an ex (probably why I don't like them much anymore), and the smells of an Argentian asado with everyone I love, but most of all, my grandfather.
Thank you for this article! You have beautiful memories from your father and thank you for sharing them! I'm happy that you enjoyed Italy and Italian food! I miss gelato, and when I'm back home, I love to go to the same gelateria where I was going when I was a kid, and recently I brought there also my girlfriend.
I wrote a micro essay on my most intense food memory that begins like this :
“Not as thrilling as an arrabbiata, not as erotic as bitter chocolate, not as invigorating as a lemon sorbet on a summer afternoon, but known like your husband’s eyes and rich like gold is the taste of the marzipan fruits made by the dolceria of the Santa Caterina monastery in Palermo, Sicily…”
This is the loveliest thing I’ve read on here for a while. I’ve only been to Italy once, with my dad, just me and him, when I was a teenager. It was a trip that has stayed with me, every detail. My dad and I haven’t always had the easiest relationship since, and he’s not well at the moment, so this piece really got me. On a lighter note, I too learned today what moschino means!
I was not expecting, at the start of this essay, to be near tears by the end of it.
And I had no idea that moschino could mean little fly! Italian is so funny! Every word sounds like it's gonna be poetry but then I guess when you translate, it's a language like any other, with beauty and silliness and all the rest.
You are divine. I always love reading about your dad. I need to think, or maybe even write, more about the food/past/emotion connection, but in lieu of my own memories, i will tell you that whenever our Sicilian neighbor makes her Sicilian olives for my Sicilian partner, he slow-pokes his way to picking an olive then savors it with his eyes closed and tells me they're just like his grandmother's olives.
I lived in Rome for many years starting from university, it's my second home. Rome welcomes you and envelops you, cuddles you, makes you marvel at its places, sometimes even makes you angry because of the chaos, but then it immediately finds a way to make up for it. Just a carbonara in Garbatella was enough to put me in a good mood again ☺️
Loved how you integrated your love of Rome, your love of food, and your love of your father to create such a great post.
First, I'm definitely having pasta tonight!
Second, the dover sole at the Four Seasons restaurant in NYC (now closed) was a dish that my mother and I would always have. No sauce, just lemon and olive oil. So, in my memory it's that dover sole I associate with my mother who passed away about four years ago.
What beautiful memories your father gave you. I am sorry to have missed you in Rome, but I love reading about what a good time you had.
I can attest to the legion of unhappy US Embassy people. I once had someone snap at me "I hate it here' when I introduced myself. Thinking she had come from some dreamy post like Fiji or an organized place like Singapore, I asked where she had been posted before. Iraq, she responded adding it was so much better and easier there. (This was before the embassy was finished and people were living and working in trailers and wearing helmets and bullet proof vests)
Just stopping by to say I like this: "laughing expensively".
Gone back to continue reading...
Yikes. It’s happened again: wrote a reply and it disappeared. I’ll try again…
Dig that photo of S Pietro.
I really liked the way you wove in your memories of your father with your experiences in Rome. I think that’s a really helpful way to remember and continue to find ways of loving people who have died: absorbing memories of them into your present as it evolves as a sort of affirmation or celebration of all that you had when they were alive.
That isn’t quite how I put it first time round…
Dig that photo of S Pietro.
I really liked the way you wove in memories of your father with your Roman experiences. I think that’s a healthy way to remember and continue to find a way of loving those who have gone: absorbing their memories, and your past, in the enjoyment and appreciation of your present. It really keeps people alive for us and that is so important.
So beautiful. In tears by the end. Remembering my late Fathers ( August 2023) daily relationship with ice cream. One of his joys. Thankyou Samantha . Grief is a messy thing but today you helped me smile and giggle remembering Dad.
Nice one
Aw I would have loved to meet up! Napoli is just an hour (and a world) away 😊 glad you enjoyed your Roman lifestyle.
Here in Napoli the complaints list is also huge. 😂
The list of food I associate with people is so damn long. Come to think of it, I associate every person close to me with a meal or several. Coq au vin with my father, empanadas with my mother, spicy nachos with my friend Cam, French wines with my friend Keaton, all-you-can-eat curry buffets with my friend Usman, hazy IPAs with an ex (probably why I don't like them much anymore), and the smells of an Argentian asado with everyone I love, but most of all, my grandfather.
Thank you for this article! You have beautiful memories from your father and thank you for sharing them! I'm happy that you enjoyed Italy and Italian food! I miss gelato, and when I'm back home, I love to go to the same gelateria where I was going when I was a kid, and recently I brought there also my girlfriend.
This is absolutely beautiful, so fun, and deeply poignant. A rollicking ride! Thank you!
I wrote a micro essay on my most intense food memory that begins like this :
“Not as thrilling as an arrabbiata, not as erotic as bitter chocolate, not as invigorating as a lemon sorbet on a summer afternoon, but known like your husband’s eyes and rich like gold is the taste of the marzipan fruits made by the dolceria of the Santa Caterina monastery in Palermo, Sicily…”
To read the rest; http://matterpress.com/journal/2023/03/20/cnf-marzipan/
This is the loveliest thing I’ve read on here for a while. I’ve only been to Italy once, with my dad, just me and him, when I was a teenager. It was a trip that has stayed with me, every detail. My dad and I haven’t always had the easiest relationship since, and he’s not well at the moment, so this piece really got me. On a lighter note, I too learned today what moschino means!