Panettone Wars

It's been the 12 days of Panettone in the Lombardo-Todisco household. Panettone is like the Italian version of fruitcake only Italians seem to really like it. It tastes like paper to me and my mom. My dad eats it and doesn't complain, but that doesn't say much. Ciccio insists that we keep trying it though...practically shoving it down our throats.

Look at those loafs, they are huge. We are on our fourth Panettone. I'm so sick of it and yet my hubby keeps bringing home more.

The first loaf Ciccio bought at World Market to get him in the holiday spirit. I didn't want to deprive Ciccio of his culture, so I said, "great, that's fine".

Ciccio found another one at CVS that had chocolate chips in it, so he couldn't pass that one up either.

Then Carlo, his B.F.F., bought him one that Carlo insists is "the best one ever".  He buys at least 12 each holiday season.  I hope he doesn't force feed his wife too.

The problem is that all of the Italian boys don't agree on which brand of Panettone is the best, so now we have a Panettone from Giuseppe as well.

At this point, I'm becoming a Panettone connoisseur and I don't even like it. I actually do prefer one brand over the other, but I'm afraid of what the consequences could be if I announced my favorite. It could devastate friendships or even my own marriage. To make matters worst, Christmas in Italian culture lasts until January 6, so I fear this is just the beginning.

Stinky Subway Love

Lately Italian Boy and I have gone through some heartbreaking hardships. We've had to experience the "for better and for worse.. in sickness and in health" parts of our vows early on in our marriage. Through it all Ciccio has reminded me why I said yes to marriage after dating for only two months.

My family and friends thought I was crazy for jumping into this life long commitment with a foreigner. "Are you on Drugs?" "Is it for a green card?" These were just some of the "congrats" I received when sharing the engagement news with loved ones. I didn't blame them for questioning my intentions. It was crazy, but I just knew I couldn't let Ciccio go. 

One of the defining moments came when we were riding the subway from his place in Astoria, Queens to Manhattan. Ciccio rode along with me to my work even though he had no reason to go into the city. It was crowded and there was only one seat available. He insisted I take it and instead of standing and hanging onto the rail, Ciccio squatted down so he could be with me at eye level. 

Ciccio in front of our old subway stop

Me: "You don't have to do that Ciccio..it must be so uncomfortable"

Ciccio: "No, it's not. I want to talk and look at Monica Lombardo"

Two and half years later, I sit here sick, stinky and emotional. He has been waiting on me hand and foot and telling me he likes our "stinky love". I don't know what the future will hold. Our lives might get better and they might get worse, but as long as I have my Ciccione, I'll be just fine.

To Have and to Hold...A Man Purse

Ciccio's man purse

He lives in German Village, carries a purse, takes walks in the park with his guy friend, enjoys shopping with my mom, holds my hand while skipping through the street, but he's not gay, he's European and he's Ciccio.

Ciccio is not afraid at all of coming off feminine. In fact he's not even aware that certain gestures, acts or clothing are considered girly. When I first met Ciccio it kind of threw me off, like did I feel secure in my own femininity or would I feel secure in a relationship with a metro man?

After a trip Ciccio took to the Cayman Islands, I had to ask him a pointed and serious question...

No that's not the new cast of Glee, that's Ciccio and his Italian friends on holiday.

Me: "Are you gay?"

Ciccio: "No"

Me: "It's fine if you are. We can still be friends. I just don't want to marry someone who is gay"

Ciccio: (confused) "No, I'm not gay Monica"

It wasn't until I went to Italy and met many other men like Ciccio that I finally let those fears go. Now I wonder how American men came to be so macho? Is there a historical reason why most American guys steer clear of being portrayed as feminine?

Ciccio was tickled too to have a pink kitchen

What I do know is that I feel lucky to have Ciccio. We can trade purses, even some jeans, and I can still count on him to take out the trash:)

Ciccio's First S'more

Thanks to Bobby and Jen for making Ciccio 

his first gooey S'more!

Italian Boys' Night

Finally Ciccio gave me proof of Italian Boy's Night

For the last few months, my husband has been abandoning me every Tuesday for Italian Boys' Night. Yes, we found out Ciccio is not the only "real" Italian boy in Ohio. It all started when a customer approached Ciccio at work. He passed along a business card of one of the.. let's call it fraternity members. That frat guy approved of Ciccio and eventually introduced him to the pack. This night has been some what of a mystery to me though. Do Franco, Joe, Gaetano, Tony, Giuseppe, Livio and Carlo really exist? What happens at these boys nights? I'm thinking what do American boys do when they hang out: play X Box, watch sports center, play poker, fantasy football, strip clubs, etc...what do these Italian boys do? So every Tuesday night I poke and prod Ciccio when he returns.

Me: "What did you do tonight?"

Ciccio: "Nothing"

Me: "What do you mean nothing? You were gone for 4 hours?!"

Ciccio: "Well...we talked and ate"

Maybe I'm naive, but I think that is all they really do. EAT, TALK, EAT, TALK! Yes Italian Boys' Night doesn't seem much different than my mom's book club.. except there is not a set topic, they meet every week and there probably isn't any listening involved or required. I don't want to sound sexist, but "are they girls?". What can they possibly have to say to each other for four hours straight, every single week?

While I might not truly understand this weekly ritual, I am happy Ciccio found some of his own kind.

Franco's Stuffed Peppers

Fore!!

We've created a monster!

If you don't know my father or brother let me spell it out to you; they are sports-obsessed freaks!!! Seriously, I used to cover the Yankees people, I've been around sports geeks, but they top the cake. When I met Ciccio it was refreshing to find a man that didn't let a Browns game stop him from seizing the day. I love sports, but they don't define me or own me. Like many Ohioans, I'd prefer people schedule their weddings around the Buckeye games, if they must marry in the fall. Yet I'll still attend if not. My dad, not so much. So like I've mentioned before, I've always wanted Ciccio to appreciate sports, just not turn into my pops or bro. Unfortunately it seems this may be out of my control now.........

Do you see that smile on his face? Maybe some of you are thinking,"he'll get over it, it's just a phase." Well,  you are wrong. When Ciccio sets his mind on something, he goes for it with gusto!! Sunday was his first lesson at Foxfire Golf Course. He had never even picked up a club before, but now he has informed me that he is going to go every Sunday.

"If you or your Dad want to come with me, that's great, but if not, I'm going on my own!" Ciccio explained.

Monday night instead of watching the Real Housewives of New Jersey, Ciccio insisted on watching a golf instruction infomercial. He even called his friends in Trani, Italy to talk about opening a golf course there. What really set him over the edge though was my Grandpa making him clubs and hooking him up with this vintage leather bag. "I'm the happiest golfer in the world!"

He looks the part now, he just needs to "concentrate on finding the ball" and while he's working on that, I'll be mourning the loss of my once NOT sports-obsessed husband.

OH MAMMAmia!

Sometimes I forget Ciccio is Italian. I know this may sound stupid, but I don't notice his accent anymore, unless I'm in a group and I see people struggling to understand him. Yet, every once in a while, we will be at home and he'll say something that triggers my memory that he is in fact foreign.

Last night, we were watching Brothers & Sisters and he said, "Why did she call her mother?"

I said, "What do you mean why did she call her mother?"


"That is her mom. That is why she called her mother," I said confused.

"Oh..... mother means mom?" Ciccio asked.

"Yes"

I was taken back because I expect Ciccio to understand everything and yet many times we are lost in translation. This recent episode reminded me of one of our first communication mishaps involving a missing cook at Bar Italia.

It was Saturday, early afternoon and I was alone in Bar Italia working brunch. We starting getting customers at the door and I was freaking out because our cook wasn't there yet. I didn't know if I should give them a table and make them wait or if the cook would ever even arrive? I called Ciccio and our partner restaurant to try to get help and answers fast!

Finally Ciccio comes in and I'm frantic.

"What's up?" he says casually.

"WE HAVE NO COOK!!!!" I said to him and told him I didn't know what I should tell the customers.

"NO Problem," he said to me and "of course" give them a table. He proceeds to get the beverage gun out to make himself a drink. I was thinking this jerk, I'm freaking out and all he can think about is getting a soda? It's his business, not mine and he's not worried about losing these customers????

"There is Cook," he says.

"Where?!" I asked.

"Look Cook!" Ciccio says and points to his soda and I realize he has no idea what I'm talking about.

"NOT COKE YOU IDIOT. COOK! NO COOOOK! COOOOOOOK!" I screamed.

At times, it can be frustrating to be misunderstood, but mostly we laugh our way through the confusion.

The RIght to Bear Arms

Could there be anything scarier than unpredictable Ciccio with a gun?? Actually this is the one "sport" Ciccio is good at and enjoys. He was the only Todisco boy to join the Army, but his military experience wasn't all sweat and tears. Shortly after joining, one of Ciccio's officers discovered his pizza making skills and decided to set up a pizzeria on base. This eventually led to trade offs: Ciccio making pizza in exchange for rights such as skipping early morning drills, etc.

It had been a long time though since Ciccio shot a gun (that we know of) so he was delighted to be invited to a gun range in Ohio. When I was in Italy, the first thing boys would ask me about was guns. They don't have the right to bear arms, so a lot of Italians think we Americans are all wild west gunslingers.

junk mail

I don't know, I never saw anything like that before and to be honest, I think that is not about Italy but every other country in the world. American companies are crazy about bombarding the population whit junk mail, even their own costumer, maybe I should get in business, I get junk from my doctor, from my insurance company, from my EMPLOYER, that's crazy ! Supermarket, electronic store, credit cards, everybody, what's wrong whit you ? I'm going to give a hard time to the junk boy, I'm tired of cleaning all this stuff at all the time, can they just save that money since the economy is bad ? I'm going to shut him whit water or maybe gatorade like you guys do whit your coach ! We have some junk in Italy, not that much, so you can actually look at it, it's even fun sometimes, you can really found stuff that you need, you know what we miss ? this tricky letters that makes you think that there is something really important in there, I lightly cut my finger ones at work ... They kip sending me all kind of letters, they say:"Dear injured worker ...", lol, I say:"Get out of town ... leave me alone ... stop it ... go to work !"(Italians don't consider this kind of activity REAL JOBS)

The Ciccione Diet

I hear that Teresa, the table-flipping NJ housewife, is writing a book called Skinny Italian. I should have written it first! Before going to Italy, I thought I would gain at least 10 pounds after my four month stint in Puglia. To my surprise, the complete opposite happened. I enjoyed croissants and cappuccino, pasta almost every day and pizza at least once a week. By the end of summer, I could barely keep my pants up. How did this happen? 


1) FRESH INGREDIENTS! Our olive oil came from Ciccio's dad's olive farm. The eggs- we seriously took them right after the Chicken laid them. If you want fish (which in the South you def do) you don't go to the grocery, you wake up early to see what the fisherman caught at the port. Quality cheese, not the processed, imitation stuff we have here.. that's the only affordable option. 


2) HOLD the BUTTER and CREAM. Ciccio's mom didn't even have butter in her fridge and she only made one dish with cream the whole time I was there (risotto). Sorry Olive Garden, in Italy it's a big no no to mix cream or cheese with seafood. 


3) RELAX. This might be the greatest lesson to learn from South Italians. As I've mentioned before, in Trani, everything shuts down from 1-5, so you can go home, eat your lunch slowly, and take a nap in the sun if you please. The stress level is so low. I guarantee no cortisol was released in my stomach this summer.


Needless to say, I learned a lot from the Italian diet. Yet even though he knows better too, Ciccio has his OWN ideas of what a good diet means...

1) EAT FRIED food at least once a week to keep your kidneys working. Yes, he claims a doctor told his dad this.


2) A pot belly is a sign of "HEALTHINESS". 


3) Rice is not a carb in Ciccio's dictionary, so therefore it's okay to eat the whole package that is suppose to serve 4


4) Nutella and Pizza are part of his recommended food pyramid


So Teresa is right; an Italian diet can be Skinny, but if you are a Ciccione (fat boy) like my hubby, you don't care.

Guido??

I finally did it.....I watched the Jersey Shore on MTV. It was exactly the kind of mindlessness that I needed. Sorry Real Housewives of OC; you bore me. So my Thursday nights are free for fights and fist pumping.

Here is "The Situation", on one episode Snooki calls herself a Guidette. When Ciccio and I were first dating we had a play fight and I said, "You Guido". He shot me this serious face and I immediately felt bad for pushing the wrong button.

"I'm sorry I called you a Guido," I said.

"What's a Guido?" Ciccio responded.

I explained to him that it was a derogatory term for Italians. He had never heard of it and said it is definitely not a word "real" Italians use. I was relieved that Ciccio wasn't offended, but a little bummed I couldn't tease him with that term.

The moral of the story is.....If you DON'T know what a Guido is, you might be Italian. Jersey Shore cast, you are entertaining for sure, yet according to Ciccio you are not Italian.

-Monica

PS- I found this vintage pic of Ciccio looking a little Guidoish

The Great Chip Debate

It came down to this: Mike Sells vs Conn's. Ever since I can remember there has been tension in my family over which brand is better. My Pops and I are big Conn's lovers. My mother won't even touch them as she prefers Mike Sells. We needed someone to settle the debate once and for all. Insert Ciccio. With zero nostalgia to either brand, he seemed like the ideal unbiased judge. We put Conn's on plate A and Mike Sells on plate B. Sooo much was on the line. Sooo much trash talking over the years over which brand was elite.


The Result: Ciccio picked Mike Sells.


I was very disappointed in the results and believe there might have been some money exchanged. Therefore the debate continues.....


-Monica