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• My Family Album
• My Family: The names I am researching
• Growing Up Italian- A touching rememberance of growing up as second generation Italians in America, and a reflection on what our children are missing.
• Recipes- These recipes have been handed down in my family for generations.
  • Gnocchi
  • Artichokes Calabrese
  • Anise Cookies
  • Pastie
  • Easter Bread
  • Noodle Cake
• A Selection of Recommended Books on Italian Cooking and Culture
• Italian Genealogy Information and Links
  • Beginning A Genealogy Search
  • Embassy of Italy, Washington, DC-General information about Italy, and also a bulletin board where you can request a genealogy packet or seek more specific direction for your search.
  • Italian Genealogy - Finding Italian Records-This site gives the addresses of where to write (Communa di...) for birth or death certificates, or the "certificato di stato di famiglia" which shows the composition of the family (names, relationships, birthdates, weddings,places,and more available from "Ufficio di Anagrafe" of the Comune di .... )
  • Infospace - Search the Italian White Pages
    
  • Geneology BooksA listing of Genealogy Books that might be helpful
    

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  "The Joy Of Growing Up Italian"

  
  Author Unknown
  I was well into adulthood before I realized that I was an American. Of course I had been born in America and had lived in Poughkeepsie all of my life, but somehow it never occurred to me that just being a citizen of the United States meant I was an American. Americans were people who ate peanut butter and jelly on mushy white bread that came out of plastic packages. Me? I ate pepper and egg sandwiches on an Italian roll. I was Italian.

  For me...as I am sure for most second generation Italian-American children who grew up in the 40’s and 50’s, there was a definite distinction drawn between “us” and “them”. We were Italian. Everybody else - the Irish, German, Polish, Jewish, they were the “Med-e-gones”. There was no animosity involved in that distinction, no prejudice, no hard feelings, just, well, we were sure ours was the better way. For instance, we had a breadman, a milkman, a coal and ice man, a fish man, a fruit and vegetable man, a watermelon man, an egg and cheese man, and we even had a man who sharpened our knives and scissors and came to our homes, or at least our neighborhoods. We would wait for their call, their yell, their individual sound. We knew them all, and they knew us. Americans went to the store for most of their food. What a waste!

  Truly, I pitied their loss. They never knew the pleasure of waking up every morning to find a hot crisp loaf of Italian bread waiting behind the screen door. And instead of being able to climb up on the back of the peddlers truck a couple of times a week just to hitch a ride, most of my “Med-e-gone” friends had to be satisfied going to the A&P. When it came to food, it always amazed me that my American friends or classmates only ate turkey on Thanksgiving or Christmas. Or, rather that they only ate turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce. Now, we Italians - we also had turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce, but - only after we had finished the antipasto, soup, lasagna, meatballs, salad and whatever else Mama thought might be appropriate for that particular holiday. The turkey was usually accompanied by a roast of some kind (just in case somebody walked in who didn’t like turkey), and was followed by an assortment of fruits, nuts, pastries, cakes and, of course, homemade cookies. No holiday was complete without some home baking, none of that store-bought stuff for us! This is where you learned to eat a seven course meal between noon and four PM, how to handle hot chestnuts and put tangerine wedges in red wine. I truly believe Italians live a romance with food.

  Speaking of food, Sunday was truly the big day of the week! That was the day you’d wake up to the smell of garlic and onions frying in olive oil. As you lay in bed, you could hear the hiss as tomatoes were dropped into a pan. Sunday we always had macaroni and sauce, the “Med-e-gones” called it “pasta” and “gravy”. Sunday would not be Sunday without going to mass. Of course, you couldn’t eat before mass because you had to fast before receiving communion. But the good part was we knew when we got home, we’d find hot meatballs frying, and nothing tastes better than newly fried meatballs and crisp bread dipped into a pot of sauce.

  There was another difference between “us” and “them”. We had gardens. Not just flower gardens, but huge gardens where we grew tomatoes, tomatoes, and more tomatoes. We ate them, cooked them, and jarred them. Of course, we also grew peppers, basil, lettuce and squash. Everybody had a grapevine and a fig tree, and in the fall, everybody made homemade wine, lots of it. Of course, those gardens thrived so because we also had something else it seemed our American friends didn’t seem to have. We had a grandfather! It’s not that they didn’t have grandfathers, it’s just that they didn’t live in the same house or on the same block. They visited their grandfathers. We ate with ours and God forbid we didn’t see him at least once a day. I can still remember my grandfather telling me about how he came to America as a “young man on a boat”. How the family lived in rented apartments and took in borders in order to help make ends meet, how he decided that he didn’t want his children, five sons and two daughters, to grow up in that environment. All of this, of course, in his own version of Italian-English, which I soon learned to understand quite well.

  So, when he saved enough (and I could never figure out how), he bought a house. That house served as the family headquarters for the next 40 years. Of course, he had to add his own touch of himself to that house by building a porch on, and then deciding to “add” another on to that, and another on to that one until he had added about four porches on to the original. Then of course he and my grandmother had to “paint” the kitchen and use enamel, high gloss paint. They painted everything in sight including all the fixtures, screws and all. If anything needed to be taken apart, it was next to impossible to “unscrew” it because of all the paint, and forget about trying to open the windows!!! I remember how he hated to leave that house, and would rather sit on the back porch and watch his garden grow, and when he did leave for some special occasion, he had to return as quickly as possible. After all, “nobody’s watching the house”.

  I also remember the holidays when all the relatives would gather at my grandparent’s house and there would be tables full of food and homemade wine and music. Women in the kitchen and men in the living room, and kids, kids everywhere. I must have half a million cousins, first and second and some who aren’t even related, but what did it matter. And my grandfather, with his gallon jug of wine beside his chair, sitting there smoking his pipe in the middle of it all, grinning his mischievous smile, his eyes twinkling, surveying his domain, proud of his family and how well his children had done. One was a barber, one had his father’s trade, one was a policeman and of course there was always the rogue. And the girls, they had all married well and had fine husbands and healthy children that everyone knew and respected. He had achieved his goal in coming to America and to Poughkeepsie and now his children and their children were achieving the same goals that were available to them in this great country, because they were Americans.

  When my grandfather died years ago, things began to change. Slowly at first, but then uncles and aunts eventually began to cut down on their visits. Family gatherings were fewer and something seemed to be missing, although when we did get together, usually at my mother’s house now, I always had the feeling that they were there. It was understandable, of course. Everyone had their own families now, and their own grandchildren. Today they visit once or twice a year. Today we meet at weddings and wakes.

  Lots of other things have changed too. The old house my grandfather bought is now covered with aluminum siding, and the garden is gone. The last of the homemade wine has long since been drunk and nobody covers the fig tree in the fall anymore. For a while we would make the rounds on the holidays visiting family. Now, we occasionally visit the cemetery. A lot of them are there, grandparents, aunts and uncles, a few cousins and even my own mother and father. The holidays have changed too. The quantity of food we once consumed without any ill effect is not good for us anymore. Too much starch, too many calories, too much cholesterol and nobody bothers to bake anymore...too busy and it is easier to buy now. Too much is no good for you. We meet at the same house now, at least my family does, but it’s not the same anymore.

  The differences between “us” and “them" aren’t so easily defined anymore and I guess that’s good. My grandparents were Italian-Italians, my parents were Italian-Americans, and I am American-Italian, and my children are American-Americans. Oh, and I’m an American all right, and proud of it, just as my grandfather would want me to be. We are all Americans now- Irish, Poles, Germans, and Jews. US citizens all - but somehow I still feel Italian. Call it culture, call it tradition, call it roots. I’m not sure what it is, all I do know is that my children have been cheated out of a wonderful piece of heritage. They never knew my grandparents.
  

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  Gnocchi
  1 lb. potatoes						salt and pepper
  3/4 c. flour						3 or 4 T. butter
  1 egg							2 c. Parmesan cheese, grated
  1 egg yolk
  
  Boil or steam potatoes and, while still hot, rub through a sieve; mix with other ingredients
  and roll into small balls the size of a walnut, then flatten out in the shape of small
  cylinders.  Boil in salted water for 10 minutes;  drain and serve with a little tomato sauce,
  sprinkled with Parmesan cheese.  Serves 4.
  
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  Artichokes Calabrese
  
  (Carciofi alla Calabrese)
  
  4 large artichokes					1 c. breadcrumbs
  1/2 c. Parmesan cheese, grated			        1 t. parsley, chopped
  1/4 c. olive oil					1/2 c. water
  salt and pepper
  
  Discard stems and outer leaves of artichokes, and trim tips of remaining leaves by cutting
  across the top of the artichoke.  Open leaves of artichoke by pounding it on top.  Make a
  filling of breadcrumbs, cheese, parsley, salt and pepper;  stuff between the leaves of
  artichokes, pressing mixture in with butt of the palm.  Place artichokes in a saucepan, add
  olive oil and a little water; cover and simmer 1 hour, adding more water if necessary. 
  Serves 4.
  
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  Basic Cookie Recipe
  
  (Ricetta Base per Biscotti)
  
  4 eggs							1/2 cup milk (approx.
  1 1/3 cups shortening					2 lbs. flour
  9 t. baking powder (or 3				1 1/3 cups sugar
  T. and 1 cup sugar)					1 oz. anise extract
  
  Mix flour, shortening, sugar and baking powder well; add eggs and half the milk, and mix
  well.  Add flavoring and knead dough until silky, adding remainder of mild as needed;  roll
  and cut into desired shaped.  Bake in a moderate oven (350 degrees) from 10 to 15
  minutes.  Let cool.  Frost  with Anise frosting (recipe below).
  
  Frosting
  
  1 lb. powdered sugar					1 T. anise extract
  
  Mix sugar and extract, adding enough water to spread easily.  Frost cookies when cool. 
  For variety, add a food coloring to the frosting, or sprinkle with colored sugar, chocolate
  jimmies, etc.
  
  
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  Pastie
  
  (Rice Pie)
  
  1 lb. rice, cooked					1/2 lb. fine egg noodles, cooked
  1 c. sugar, or to taste					1 stick margarine
  1 qt. milk					        6 eggs
  1 grated lemon rind					1 t. cinnamon
  1/2 t. salt						grated cheese, if desired
  
  Mix ingredients well in bowl and pour into rectangular dish (8 X 16) and bake at 350
  degrees for 40 -45 minutes or until slightly brown.  Cut into squares and serve.
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  Easter Bread
  
  
  
  5 lbs flour						2 c. sugar
  1 1/2 stick butter					1 1/2 t. salt
  4 grated lemon rinds					3 squares yeast
  8 eggs							2 cups warm water
  
  Dissolve yeast in two cups of warm water.  Mix ingredients to make dough.  Add
  additional flour as needed for texture.  Let rise 1 1/2 hours until dough is doubled.  Punch
  down and let rise again for 1/2 hour.  Work down and cut into 8 loaves.  Cut each loaf in
  half and twist together.  Bake about 25 minutes at 375 degrees.
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  Noodle Cake
  
  
  
  3 c. Ricotta cheese					6 eggs
  2 t. vanilla						1 1/2 c. sugar
  8 oz. fine egg noodles, crushed and cooked		1 t. butter
  
  Drain noodles;  add butter, mix and set aside.  Beat eggs thoroughly, add sugar and beat
  again.  Add ricotta, a little at a time, then add vanilla.  Add noodles and mix thoroughly. 
  Place in oblong pan and bake in a 350 degree oven 45 minutes 
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  Beginning A Genealogy Search
  The most powerful resource available for beginning genealogical research is our families! 
  Talk to the oldest family members, and tape record or write down everything they have to
  say.  Their memories might be the key you are looking for.  The single most important
  piece of information you can get from them is the name of the town or region that your
  family came from.  Even if they do not know the name of the town, they might have
  geographical information about the area which could make the area easier to identify on
  the map.  If you have information about the  municipality (Comune), it will enable you to
  get copies of family records. The Comune has records of birth, marriage and death.  It is
  also possible to obtain from the Comune records on the composition of each family (from
  1869 forward) known as a certificato di stato di famiglia.  This document contains
  names, birthdates, relationships, and birthplaces of all family members at the time
   the information was recorded.  
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