Two Worlds

Last night, episode two of MTV’s reality series Jersey Shore aired. While everyone is tuning into see what Snooki and the Situation will do next, I’m thinking about my Jersey people, specifically the girls. Most of my Jersey girls are in the photo above, and they will never grow into a JWow. Yes, they are strong and they can fist pump on the dance floor with the best of them. But they are respectable ladies, who already speak more eloquently than anyone on the Jersey Shore. They will use their words before their fists (except occassionally with their own siblings, which they are working on) to resolve conflicts.

They are Italian Americans with a great sense of pride, and they probably don’t even know the meaning of the term guido. But they do know how good Nonna’s pasta sauce is on Sunday and how to say, “Buona notte,” to their elders. When they go down the shore, they play on the beach, build a sand castle, visit the acquarium, and go on the Boardwalk rides. My Jersey girls, even if all of them are 12 and under, already have brains that are bigger than Snooki’s hair poof. And I’m certain they are going to do more with their lives than become a reality star. That is truly Jersey of them.

I’m excited to be celebrating America’s birthday in the United States for the first time in four years. I hope you and yours are stuffing yourselves with hot dogs and hamburgers, taking in the sun, and getting ready to view some fireworks. We just finished off a plate of grilled corn on the cob, onions, sliders, dogs, and ribs. The cupcakes with strawberries and blueberries on top are now calling my name. If you’d like to join me and my parents at our table or at the George Washington Bride, where the flag is flying high, you can visit the “Fourth of July 2010” photo album.

Many, many of you have heard the hilarious tale of the turkey next door. In 2008, I was in my kitchen in northern N.J., just outside of Manhattan, and I noticed a Thanksgiving turkey in the yard next door. I banged on the window, but it just stared at me. At a certain point, it turned and showed me a full display of its feathers and butt, which my sister, a zookeeper and bird expert, explained meant he wanted to mate with me. First, I called my aunt and she told me to get a broom, hit it over the head, she would come kill it, and we’d eat it. There was no way I’d be participating in that plan, so I called my sister, who told me to go outside wearing long pants just in case the turkey decided to spur me (read: claw at me continuously). After that, I wasn’t going anywhere. I stayed put until my parents returned to their home just next door and I told my father to get rid of it.

He chased the turkey for a half hour in a display that was as humorous as it was dramatic. In fact, townspeople gathered to watch the turkey and Papa run up and down the street and in and out of people’s yards. We don’t get turkeys in our neck of the woods, so it was quite a scene. It was like theater. “My daughters won’t letta me killa you, so go home-a turkey,” Papa shouted all the while in his Italian accent. Finally, the turkey finished playing with Papa and returned to the yard that he was calling home. I’m pretty sure the neighbor was planning on eating him because two days later we found some feathers nearby that looked suspiciously familiar.

Why am I telling you this now? Well, today, yet another winged friend showed up in our neighbor’s yard. This one was far more menacing. I believe this was a hawk, and he was eating another bird. All that’s left now are the feathers. It was gruesome, but I watched this theater, too. I even picked up a camera this time. See above and below. The turkey was cuter — and so was my Papa.

Two little angels visited my parents and me on New Year’s Day. Their names? William and Phillip, of course. Their energy levels are much higher than mine. My 31-year-old body simply can’t keep up, but still I tried. I chased after them to get pictures, but most of the photos came out of focus. That’s what happens if you shoot photos with your digital camera while running. Still, you can make out their faces in a few of them and get an idea of the fun day we had. Some of the photos are downright good. (To view the pictures, visit the “New Year’s Day 2010” photo album.) I considered New Year’s Day a practice run for whenever Antonio and I get around to having kids. I better start drinking protein shakes or something.

We are three days into the new year, and I already like 2010 better than 2009. On the eve of 2009, my cousins Anna, Nino, Damiano, and my Zia Concettina and Zio Raffaele and my parents came to my place to usher in the new year, and I vomited twice within the first hour of our dinner. I drove everyone away real fast with that move. Everyone left and I spent the rest of the night hugging the toilet. I had a terrible stomach flu that lasted two days. I wanted a do over this year, and the family gave it to me. Everyone returned to my house this year — and we made it to midnight this time. Cousin Raffaele joined us, too, which made it extra special. (For pictures, visit “New Year’s Eve 2010” photo album.)

The weekend after 2010 began, I was quite productive. You can check out the blog I wrote for the About.com Newlywed’s site, which includes my most popular stories for the year that had gone by. Now, I’m looking forward to a 2010 full of success and blogs and dialogue with all you readers — and my wonderful family.

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.

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!

I’ve been traveling to Ischia, a small island off the coast of Naples in Italy, which is the home of my ancestors on both sides of the family and birthplace of my father Pasquale, since I was two years old. But I never dreamed I would end up marrying an Ischia native and spending half my time living on an island. That’s exactly what has happened.

Although Ischia is beautiful — known as l’Isola Verde for its lush vegetation, has gorgeous beaches everywhere you turn, and some of the best food you will ever eat — it’s still an island, which means there are limitations and inconveniences. While Americans see me as a Italian, as I live in Italy, I still experience culture shock because the truth is that I was born and raised in the United States. As a result, I’m an American first. And I’m a Jersey girl at heart, so it’s hard to be away from fair Fort Lee, N.J., my hometown, for long periods of time.

Still, having family in both places has always had me feeling torn. When you’re in one place, you miss the other because of the people you have to leave behind. The emotional roller coaster of living in two places makes for great stories.

On these pages, I hope to share with you a bit about how I live and work as a journalist with my feet in both of these distinct worlds — Italy and the United States. It’s never easy, but it’s always interesting. There’s lots to learn about both of my homes, and I hope you will join me on the journey by entering this site frequently. Like a good Italian American girl, I always leave the door open and offer guests a bit of refreshment. Benvenuto!