Blood of the Mediterranean: Things I Have in Common with an Orange

A teacher that I work with here looked at me one day and said in an exasperated tone, "There is just no way that you have no Mediterranean blood." When I told her that a large chunk of my heritage is rooted in Italy, she responded by saying, "Ah HA! That explains it!" What it explains, exactly, remains unknown. Perhaps my love of cheese and tomatoes or my affinity for speaking with wild gyrations of hand movements. But when she asked what region of Italy my family originated in, and I answered, "Sicily," her response was then, "Oh, so you're Greek." This conversation took place before I had ever visited Sicily, but having now taken a trip to the homeland, I can say that I now understand what she meant by that.

There can be no doubt that Greece and Italy share many customs and cultures just by sheer virtue of geography. The southern islands and regions of Italy have more in common with Greece than I really understood at first. The Sicilian dialect even contains a slew of ancient Greek vocabulary, and the traditions and mores are often almost identical. Some of these cultural similarities include but are not limited to erratic drivers, gregarious conversation and expression, and the total incomprehension of the concept of being full after a meal. You didn't finish it means you didn't like it. I have offended and endless string of kind old ladies of the Mediterranean by simply being unable to finish the plate in front of me due to excess. So, to all of you kind old ladies out there who have ever cooked for me, I assure you, it was delicious and I meant no harm.

My mother, being the link to Italy in my family, is locally famous for carrying this trait. My friend, Kelli, once described her as "aggressively hospitable," and I think that phrase alone can embody all of the Mediterranean mamas and grandmamas. I have lost count of how many meals in my life have involved the struggle of, "Mom, really, I don't want anymore," and ending with a new heap of food somehow appearing on my plate accompanied by a, "Here, just take a little bit more." But as Justin Timberlake and the Hindus have taught us, what goes around comes around.

My parents came to visit me recently over here in Greece, and it was simply wonderful. We had a really fantastic time, and it's really excellent to know that my parents now have an idea of what a day-in-the-life is like for me as of late. While they were here, we took a long weekend and went to Sicily. This was a really special trip for our family as we got to explore first hand the places that my mother had been hearing about her whole life. We took an inexpressively beautiful trip to Regalbuto, my grandmother's and ancestors' home village. While we were there, we discovered that almost all of our family members have streets named after them in the village. To say that this made me sense a connection to my family and its history would be a gross understatement, but I hardly know what else to say.

We made our way to the village by way of hired car, driven by one Salvo, who became our tour guide and best friend. He was infinitely helpful in getting us around the country and helping us figure out where to go or where to look for clues to further our knowledge of our family's history. By the end of that memorable day in Regalbuto, we were not yet ready to say good bye to Salvo, so we asked of him one more favor: to show us to an authentic and delicious Sicilian restaurant.

Authentic, indeed. Salvo performed the ordering exclusively and provided our table with antipasti of various fishes and octopi. These fruits of the sea appeared rather undead to me, so when I asked cautiously if the fish was cooked, Salvo simply replied, "It's kind of cooked." Ah, well, when in Rome... er... Catania... Really, we were good sports. We tried everything and tried to eat as much as possible to prove that it was tasty, which, in all honesty, it was. That didn't mean we desired quite the volume of it that was present, but a nibble or two was definitely a fine activity. Well, Salvo brought it all home for us, though, my refilling my mother's plate with tentacles of octopus whenever her plate showed a sliver of vacancy. Though Mom protested, Salvo simply would shovel away with that serving spoon and say, "No, no, you need a little bit more!" Dad and I couldn't help but yell, "KARMA!"

The idea behind this aggressive hospitality is quite simple. The host or hostess simply wants to make you feel welcome, loved, and like you are the most important person who has ever sat down to dinner with them. In truth, it is a desire to keep people healthy and happy and simply AT the dinner table-- any Italian or Greek family knows that it is around the dinner table that all the fun really takes place. So, mangia, everybody! Alla famiglia!