Two Worlds

French cousins Jean Franck and Anne (front l. to r.) pose with Pasquale, Grandma, and Regina (back l. to r.). © Photo by Francesca Di Meglio

My family is like its own United Nations. We have relatives in the United States, Italy, Canada, Australia, France, and Argentina. I have friends who barely know their cousins who live a few towns over, meanwhile I can say that I know a lot of the relatives in these other countries — and I know many of them pretty well. We’ve visited each other’s countries, met up in Italy (the ancestral home base), and stay connected with letters, phone, e-mail, Facebook, and Skype. It’s pretty special if you ask me.

In the last week, some of our cousins from France made a stop in the States on their way to a Quebec vacation. Since I work from home during the week, they were kind enough to travel from Long Island to New Jersey to see me. They brought my grandmother — and a GPS — to boot. They made their way here despite the inevitable traffic and without getting lost. I was able to have lunch and catch up with them despite the work week. For this, I’m grateful.

Having relatives from all over the world is a lesson in culture. I’m always having to keep track of how to kiss the relative in question. The Americans want one kiss on the cheek, and men never kiss each other; they give each other handshakes. The Italians demand two kisses, one on each cheek, and the men kiss each other, too. The French expect three kisses, alternating cheeks as you go. Men kiss each other in France, too. I’m always fumbling and giving the Italians three kisses or pulling away after one. I guess they just all think I’m a kissing fool.

The Statue of Liberty even behind these branches brings life to New York. © Photo by Francesca Di Meglio

My husband Antonio just left to return to Italy, so he can spend the holidays with his mother and sisters. As I sit alone in our bed, I am reflecting on the beautiful moments we shared in the last month. One of the best was our day at the Statue of Liberty (See “Statue of Liberty” photo album). Just seeing her chiseled face has me feeling proud to be an American. My visits to the Statue and nearby Ellis Island always have me in awe of my ancestors, who came to the United States to give me a better life. My paternal grandparents were in their fifties when they brough my father, who was 13 at the time, and some of the others to the United States. Can you imagine uprooting your life and moving to a whole other country at 50? I can’t. I’m forever grateful for the sacrifices they made — and the Statue says it all for me.

Antonio carves turkey for the first time. © Photo by Francesca Di Meglio

Last week, my husband Antonio and I prepared a Thanksgiving meal for the ages. It was the first time ever that we hosted a holiday — and it was the Super Bowl of American holidays. Still, I think we pulled it off successfully. It helped that two of our guests were Italians, and Thanksgiving isn’t their holiday. If you don’t know what Thanksgiving is supposed to be, you can’t really gripe about it, right?

Seriously, we had a blast, and I wrote all about the prep in the About.com Newlyweds blog. You can also join us at our Thanksgiving table by visiting the “Our First Thanksgiving” photo album. I hope your holiday was as wonderful as ours.

An all-American meal at Bobby's Burger Palace welcomed me home after five months in Italy. © Photo by Francesca Di Meglio

On Saturday, my first day back in the United States, I immediately headed to Bobby’s Burger Palace or BBP, Bobby Flay’s new chain of burger joints, for an all-American beef burger with cheese, fries, and a milkshake. (I went to the one in the Bergen Town Center in Paramus, formerly known as the Bergen Mall or the dirt mall, which has recently received a major face lift.) Welcome home, welcome home, welcome home! Anyone who’s eaten a hamburger in Italy knows what I’m talking about. Pasta and sausage and chicken and rabbit — that’s what Italy should stick to.

The beef there is simply missing something. For starters, their cows are skinny little things. Sometimes, you can even see their rib cages. Then, when you eat beef — especially burgers — there’s this awful after taste. For a minute after I take a bite of an Italian burger, I’m always convinced that I’ve just eaten a hoof. They don’t know the joys of French fries and a shake either. Their fries are good but rarely paired with burgers and their gelato is delicious (in fact, I’m a recovering gelato addict), but it’s soft and therefore doesn’t hold up well when you try to make a frothy American milkshake.

But Bobby’s burgers are mouth watering bits of heaven, especially for someone who had not eaten a hamburger in five months. I ordered the classic with American cheese, lettuce, tomato, onion and a pickle on the side. For my side, I chose the sweet potato fries, another item I had not eaten in months, and a strawberry shake. My mom ordered beer battered onion rings. (Okay, so I mostly ate those, too, but in my defense I was hungry and my stomach has grown significantly since I left for Italy in May.) In any event, the food tasted as good as it looked. And I literally did a little dance in my barstool as I feasted on it.

Anyone who thinks Bobby Flay is too highfalutin to run a burger joint should think again. “Chefs have funny dreams,” says Flay, according to Newsday. “They may have a couple of four-star restaurants, but they fantasize about opening up a hotdog stand. A lot of them think that it’s too late, that they’re beyond that, but for me, it’s the opposite: Now that I’ve gotten to this point, I can do the thing I crave the most – which is a cheeseburger, fries and a shake.” Mr. Flay, you certainly quenched my craving for that very same menu. Kudos and thanks!