Ciccio for Congress

Seven years ago Ciccio took his first flight ever to NYC. He didn't know a drop of English, but he was anxious to see what was out there. Today with his daughter cheering him on, he stood up in the courtroom and said, "My name is Francesco Todisco. I was born in Italy and I'm proud to be an American."

Most of us can't imagine what it's like to start over in another country, learning the language, culture and leaving family and friends behind. It was a moving service watching Ciccio and  other new citizens take their oath from Somalia, Mexico, China, South America, Iran and more. I've actually never been so proud of America when I witnessed that diversity and the hopes on all their faces.

It was a long, expensive and stressful journey for Ciccio and the others to get to that moment. We must never forget that we are a country of immigrants who have come together for peace and prosperity. I don't know what the future will hold for our little family, but I'm glad he has opened my eyes to the real America and made my dreams come true!

Manchi Microphone Mamma

I hate to perpetuate the stereotype, but Ciccio and his mom are loud Italians! On one occasion I was downstairs trying to get my daughter to fall asleep and I could hear Angela screaming on Skype upstairs. I thought, 'oh I will just go up there and shut the door to muffle the sound'. When I walked up the stairs, I was stunned to find the door was already shut. What surprised me even more was that my baby girl didn't seem mind. In fact, she is already rolling her r's and making sure her voice is heard too! I don't know how many times I tried to ssssh Ciccio and Angela this summer. Yet, this week she returned to Italy after four months and the silence is sad. No more Angela singing Giro Giro Tondo, no more pots banging while preparing pesto lasagna, and no more heart-to-heart conversations via google translate. Looking back it was a loud, chaotic summer with my mamma-in-law,and new baby, but one I will always cherish.

TVB & mi manchi Angela!

Cooking Crockpot Crap

We've been blessed to welcome a bambina this summer, hence the reason why there's been a lack of posting. One of the many joys these past few months was having my mother-in-law, Angela, stay with us:her first visit to the United States. Prior to her arrival, I fantasied and scoured Pinterest for recipes I would impress her with....insert a baby and all that went to the wayside.

Angela TRIED to show me how to cook traditional Italian meals. I have shown her how American women throw a whole bunch of crap in a thing called a crockpot and call it dinner.

Tonight's meal was no exception. I tried a new sweet potato, black bean chili recipe. Love both these ingredients, but it was bland. No buono!

Part of the problem is I always try new recipes and half the time they bomb. Italians don't experiment as much and as a result know how to cook the basics perfectly.

Last night Angela made a frittata with just tomatoes, onion, eggs, milk, salt and oil. It was perfectly seasoned and cooked. Something so simple shouldn't be so good, but that is Italian cooking.

On the other side, Angela said she is shocked how much variety we have in our diet. "You even change your bread!" she observed after seeing one week we buy rye, the next whole wheat. She would have never thought to put corn and peaches together in a salad, but was a fan. My quick peanut butter cookies also received some "mmm's" so I've not been a complete failure.

If my crockpot experiments haven't horrified her, the manner in which we shovel food in has. In the south of Italy everyone gets at least a couple hours off for lunch. You sit down, have several courses. chat, chat, chat, espresso, and more chat. This summer while I've been working from home, Angela has seen me come into the kitchen, throw a slice of cheese on bread and eat it over the sink as fast as possible without choking. Voila, lunch. She always wants to set the table and I'm like no it takes too much time! Chop, Chop!

I'm just glad I've already married Ciccio and given her a granddaughter so hopefully that trumps my sometimes less than glamourous kitchen skills.

Style Up in Flames

Last Friday my friend Jessica came over for the first time to see our new home. Everything was going well. She really liked what we had done and I was proud until I took her out to my formerly cute patio and found this.......

A HUGE GREEN MONSTER! 

I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs at my husband, but instead I quickly ushered Jessica inside in hopes that she wouldn't question my taste. 

Ciccio and I had been discussing a grill all summer. We had pretty much decided to get one of those retro Weber circle grills that wouldn't take up too much space and had a little style. Well, Ciccio behind my back bought my brother's grill because it was a "good deal and more practical than charcoal".

That was the first strike and my patio already was looking a little less European cute. It didn't take long for Ciccio to start talking about our "need" for a grill accessories. I told him to wait and it wasn't necessary to have all the bells and whistles. My husband doesn't wait for anything he wants though. This is the man that proposed after two months of dating. A day after the chill out on the grill conversation,  Ciccio purchased the cover and the accessories, but I didn't know until the moment I saw it with my friend.

the grill accessories we "needed"

The problem is not that Ciccio blatantly went behind my back, or that he spent money without consulting me. The issue is much bigger than that.... my husband is becoming American! He is losing his good eye! He's choosing practicality over looks! It's not just the grill. He lives in cargo shorts now and begs for treats from Dairy Queen. 

It's been too long since we've been to Italy and I think we need to go back so his mom can slap the style back into him.

Before my patio was destroyed by the grill

Circle SI or NO

Ciccio received a package last week and was extremely excited. When he opened it there were four brightly colored cards.

I thought, "Oh no he has ordered some stupid Italian card game or something"





"What it is Ciccio?"

"It's to vote," He explained.

Seriously look at these "ballots" above and to the right.

"Is it for a kindergarden election?" I asked.

"No. Why you take joke?" Ciccio wondered.

He explained that in Italy they put different issues on colored people so that older people can identify them. They print the SI or NO extremely big for the same reason. I guess the content of the issue is not important for them to see, just the yes or no part.

Will Ciccio's vote count: SI or NO?

Tuesdays With Ciccio

This week we have a guest blogger: my mother, Julia. 

As Ciccio's mama-in-law (as he calls me), I get the pleasure of spending Tuesdays shopping with Ciccio. I need a good night's sleep in order to survive my day with my Italian energizer bunny. But, I do not talk to him until after he has had 2 cups of coffee and has read his email. He only grunts and stares until the caffeine kicks in. But, when Ciccio's day begins, the world better look out. 

He begins his day-off duties like a shot out of a cannon. Calling repair people, ordering things, checking on the status of his payments and bills. These seem like mundane tasks, but Ciccio doesn't do anything halfway, slow or in a boring manner. if you are on the receiving end of his calls, you better be prepared. If, God forbid, you put him through a run-around, he will immediately take it to higher authorities. 

"How can people run a business like that?!" is a frequent comment on the way many businesses handle customer queries. 

Does it bother him that he has to repeat his name and address because some people can't understand his Italian accent? I asked him and he said he thinks it is funny, and he can pretend ignorance if he doesn't like what they say. Usually, the accent and the charm win whatever he was trying to accomplish.

Going to Lowe's and Target are two typical Tuesday activities and it is so much more fun with Ciccio. He now knows many of the clerks and they look a little sheepish when he asks them very precise questions. Ciccio struts through the aisles like he is the owner, picking up things, reading the labels and making commentary on them as we go. Occasionally I have to walk away out of embarrassment when he tries to haggle to get a better price. 

When the kids were little I had to bribe them to go shopping with me. Now, I just have to make sure Ciccio gets his coffee and is home in time for Italian boys' night and he will go to any store with me. I never imagined my son-in-law would become one of my favorite shopping partners, but having a Ciccio in my life has made Tuesdays my favorite day of the week.

-Mama Julia

Everyone Loves an Italian Boy

I hate to admit it, but the cliche is still true. In NYC, I met a lot of women from around the world who were equal opportunity daters. All agree, there's just something about Italian men.

This picture says it all. I was introducing Ciccio to my friends and wanted them to understand why I was planning to marry him: his pizza skills. Before the dinner, I prepped Ciccio by reminding him the names of my friends and gave him some etiquette pointers. Somehow Ciccio took that to mean a nutella face smearing would be appropriate.  Luckily my friend Kirsten (pictured in the center) was a good sport. Look at my face though. I'm smiling, but you can see in my eyes I'm wondering "Why do I put up with this?"

Only an Italian boy could get away with such a faux pas. Actually this is what makes them irresistible. They just go for it, disregarding social norms and fears in all they do.

Ciccio eats too fast, talks too loud, and makes bold statements without thinking. It drives me nuts. On the other hand, he'll call me "pumpkin pie" in Home Depot with no reservations and tell me his deepest thoughts regarding religion.

Italian boys put it all on the table and most women will take it especially if they can have pizza too.

Another Italian Boy in America

Mothers and Fathers hide your daughters, there is another Todisco boy on the loose.  

Meet Simone or Pisello (lil pea) as we like to call him. This handsome young man is my brother-in-law. He entered the USA a couple months ago to be a Cultural Representative for Walt Disney World in Florida.  I like to think Simone was inspired by his brother's success in America and wanted his own piece of the American pie. In other words, I like to think Simone wants his own bossy blonde wife.

Life in America isn't easy though for a 20-year-old Italian import. Skydiving, 2 a.m. paintball games, girls begging to take your picture, and trips to Miami are just a few of Simone's new obligations.

It's hard when your main responsibility is to "make people's dreams come true" as Simone explained to us. With his babyface and charm, we are sure he will find a way to make this possible.

Taming the Beast

If you see Ciccio at work, he looks like a civilized gentleman. He certainly knows more than most when it comes to fine dining, watches, and cars, but don't let appearances fool you....he is wild!

Yes, Ciccio is like a caged animal. Most of the time, he is not a threat to society, yet you never know what is going to set him off. Just the other day my mom was talking to a business professional and Ciccio was not in favor of what the guy was saying. He started charging for the phone to tell the guy exactly what he was thinking and I had to jump on his back to slow him down. I wonder how many wives have to tackle their husbands to prevent them from embarrassment?

On a daily basis, my house shakes when Ciccio calls his family from Italy on Skype. His arms thrash around like he's swatting birds and he screams as if he is at war. At first, I would rush to his side.


"Honey, Honey what's wrong?!!!" I said.

"What are you talking about?" Ciccio responded.

"You were screaming, what's going on?!" I would plead.

"Nothing," Ciccio said as if I were the crazy one.

One time I was sure someone shot one of his family members by the way he was screaming and it really was about the proper lasagna cooking techniques.

This animalistic side to Ciccio is what makes people love him or hate him. Ciccio is not for the faint of heart. However, if you give him a chance and he feels you are genuine (like a dog he'll sniff you out), Ciccio will be the best and most entertaining friend you've ever had.

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