My grandfather had a baby brother named Nunzio. I could post a photo of him in his 90s, dazed expression, full head of cropped white hair, but I don't have permission to use it. "Nunzio" sounds sexy, no? nOON-zee-oh, not mechanical, like TAHJH-e-oh, although Rufus -- his Canadian name has a "woof" -- made his "Grey Gardens" sung Tadzio warm and confectionary, a wistful vanilla-cream. I can see my mouth opening to say "Nunzio" for the first time. Did I do it right? Nunzio Ciraldo was born in the same Sicilian village, Bronte, as his … [Read more...]
Finding My Chowder — Part 2
Corn season on the East Coast is ending, sweetness flying off cobs to hole up for the winter and be retrieved -- if we are lucky -- for our next warm time. Still, there's an autumn corn-ucopia to be had. The few farm stands that remain open are stocking swollen cauliflowers and glossy leeks, hard parsnips, more and still more carrots. But the late corn in their coolers, tassels limp, allow us a final chowder. Brooklyn kids from the '50s rarely saw corn on a cob. Canned corn, even dairy-free "creamed style," was considered lazy roughage, so … [Read more...]
Finding My Chowder — Part 1
I don't know where she was born, and I don't know her real last name. When I say this to friends or even to party strangers, they quite rightly raise eyebrows. My late mother lived to almost 90. What kind of adult son would have been so profoundly uncurious? As of now, I've found no record of her before her marriage to my dad -- no marriage certificate, either. Her maiden name is "Browne" on the photostat of my birth certificate, but she told me later that that was not the case and offered another one -- also, as it happens, … [Read more...]