Moving to Italy: Birthday Celebration

In a town near us across the hills, Montaldo, lived George’s friend Renzo. (When George spent a year in Italy during his teens, he and Renzo had attended high school together and had shared other “good times” along with an older teen, Pierangelo, who had become the owner of the local furniture store.)  Besides owning and operating a vineyard, Renzo and his wife ran a restaurant that was open only on weekends. 

Just a week after his arrival, George’s father, Marino, arranged for us to eat at Renzo’s restaurant to celebrate Paul’s 5^th birthday, as well as to celebrate the beginning of our new life in Italy. We all squeezed into Marino's car and drove across the hillside for a midday meal. I don’t remember much about the restaurant except that it was in a very large upstairs room of their house, and that Renzo’s wife, Mariuccia, cooked for us a wonderful multi-course meal. George explained that she cooked traditional dishes with only the best local ingredients, most grown on their property, and she used traditional techniques. Later, she became one of the early adopters of the “slow-food” movement that began in Italy.

We started our meal with warm salami cotto, sliced at the table and served with handmade cheese. Naturally, the wine flowed during and between courses, but I had learned to sip it slowly while serving the chattering children. Margaret Ann and Matthew knelt on the chairs provided, and they were pretty proficient at feeding themselves, but I made sure they had a variety of food on their plates, and that they didn't spill too much. Paul and James served themselves while I watched what they ate. After a suitable interval we were served homemade ravioli rich with pork, veal, and spinach. The children loved it! Again we talked and waited for the food to settle before the next course. At least the others talked, as Renzo came often to our table to get reacquainted with George and my in-laws. I listened while monitoring the children.

The main course consisted of a variety of meats including beef cutlets, lamb chops, and frito misto (a local specialty), served alongside chard with garlic, roasted potatoes, and broccoli soufflé. Later, the mixed green salad was a nice end to a rich meal. Fully satisfied, I was ready to go home. But then came the desserts. They brought out pears filled with gorgonzola and cream cheese, homemade fruit torte, and strawberry cheesecake. I was so full I could not even attempt a taste of the sweets. 

My memory of that day is a table of delicious food that never seemed to run out. I smiled, thanked, and congratulated Mariuccia and Renzo, but still only three weeks in the country, I could not converse with them any more than that. Unfortunately, Paul’s fifth birthday was the only time we ate there. As our money dwindled, we didn’t dare spend it at restaurants.   

In California we had always celebrated the children’s birthdays with lots of relatives and, of course, birthday cakes. My in-laws told me that in Italy at that time, the name day was celebrated more than the birthday. In order to provide some kind of stability for the children, indeed for all of us, I felt it was important to try to maintain our traditions as much as we could. We couldn’t find a regular American-style birthday cake, but we did find a sponge cake with filling and some candles. 

After our return from the birthday dinner and the afternoon nap, we sang “Happy Birthday” to Paul, and he blew out the candles, and opened his presents, just as he would have in California. 

Our thoughtful relatives had send cards from England and California that Paul opened excitedly along with a few gifts that had also been sent. Always generous, George's parents had bought him a red, two-wheeled bike with training wheels, and while they shopped, they had bought another one for James, and two plastic, 3-wheeled tractors for Margaret Ann and Matthew. Everyone got gifts on Paul’s birthday, so everyone was happy.

Paul w/cake, his grandmother Rina, Matthew and Margaret Ann. Upstairs in our living room.

Margaret Ann on her tractor with Matthew. On the living room balcony. Zio Remo's portico behind. She wears a hat brought back by Marino from Somalia.