Is Reggiano Parmigiano Dangerous?

It’s freezing this morning. Well, actually it’s 48 degrees. But to a Californian, that’s “freezing.” I have lived in Southern California with my husband Jeff for 3 ½ years. We were both born and raised in Providence, Rhode Island. In fact, we recently flew back from there, and on the 6 hr. flight home, I got the idea for this blog.

Growing up Italian in Rhode Island, much of my life has been about food. Even this trip home was about eating. Jeff and I had not been home for Christmas Eve in years. If you’re Italian, then this is a big deal. Such a big deal that we actually had two Christmas Eves—one with Jeff’s family, one with mine. The hilarious stories and fantastic recipes from those two nights alone could fill weeks of this blog.

Even the flight back to California was about food. I am compulsive about a lot of things, as you will learn. Traveling is one of them. Jeff and I managed to fit a week’s worth of clothing in just two carry-on bags. The problem is when you’re Italian, your parents won’t let you leave empty-handed. In our case, this meant a third suitcase full of food also made the flight back.

As we wound our way through Providence’s airport security, in our socks, the TSA guy scanning my luggage, bellowed, “Bag check!” I thought to myself, this can’t be; my ears grew red and hot. Anthony, a big “chooch” (my mother’s word for a not too bright guy—think Baccala from The Sopranos) grabbed my perfectly packed bag, threw it down, and proceeded to ransack it. With beefy hands squeezed into diminutive vinyl gloves, he pulled out what appeared to be a 10 pound aluminum brick. Jeff looked at me and said, “This isn’t good.” Anthony tossed the aluminum object from hand to hand, sniffed it, looked at us, and without missing a beat, said, “Reggiano Parmigiano?” “From my father,” I replied. “Nice,” he said. “Merry Christmas. Hava’ nice trip.” And we were on our way.

This blog will be about my family in RI, my life with my husband in Southern California, and my cooking and recipes. I hope you will love reading it as much as I will love writing it.

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