Setting Back the Clock....and Moving Forward

For anyone who may not be aware, I am from Italian American decent. Both my parents arrived ont "The Boat" with thier parents as young children, making my siblings and I, 1st generation Italian -Americans. I was the youngest of six and my sister Annette recently sent me the following discertation which I relate to perfectly:

> The Italian Clan ~ > > I am sure for most second generation Italian American children who > grew up in the 40's, 50's & 60's there was a definite distinction > between us and them. We were Italians, everybody else, the Irish, the > Germans, the Polish, they were Americans. > > I was well into adulthood before I realized I was an > American. I had been born American and lived here all > my life, but Americans were people who ate peanut butter and jelly > sandwiches on mushy white bread. I had no animosity towards them, it's > just I thought ours was the better way with our bread man, egg man, > vegetable man, the chicken > man, to name a few of the peddlers who came to our > neighborhoods. We knew them, they knew us. > > Americans went to the A&P. It amazed me that some > friends and classmates on Thanksgiving and Christmas ate > only turkey with stuffing, potatoes, and cranberry sauce. We had > turkey, but only after antipasti, soup, lasagna, meatballs and salad! > > In case someone came in who didn't like turkey, we also > had a roast of beef. Soon after we were eating fruits, nuts, pastries > and homemade cookies sprinkled with little colored things. This is > where you learned to eat a seven course meal between noon and four > PM, how to handle hot chest nuts and put peaches in wine. Italians > live a romance with food. Sundays we would wake up to the smell of > garlic and onions frying in olive oil. We always had macaroni and > sauce (gravy). > > Sunday would not be Sunday without going to Church. We knew when we got home we'd find meatballs frying, and > nothing tasted better than newly cooked meatballs with crisp bread > dipped into a pot of hot gravy (not sauce). > > > > Another difference between > them and us was we had gardens. Not just with flowers, but tomatoes, > peppers, basil, lettuce and 'cucuzza'. Everybody had a grapevine and > fig tree. In the fall we drank homemade wine arguing over who made the > best. Those gardens thrived because we had something our American > friends didn't seem to have. We had Grandparents. > > It's not that they didn't have grandparents. > It's just they didn't live in the same house > or street. We ate with our grandparents, and God forbid we didn't > visit them 3 times a week. I can still remember my grandfather telling > us how he came to America when he was young, on the 'boat.' > > I'll never forget the holidays when the relatives would gather at my > grandparents' house, the women in the kitchen, the men in the living > room, the kids everywhere. I must have fifty cousins. My grandfather > sat in the middle of it all drinking his wine he was so > proud of his family and how well they had done. > > When my grandparents died, things began to change. Family gatherings > were fewer and something seemed to be missing. Although we did get > together usually at my mother's house, I always had the feeling > grandma and grandpa were there. > > Its understandable things change. We all have families of > our own and grandchildren of our own. Today we visit once in a while > or meet at wakes or weddings. Other things have also changed. The old > house my grandparents bought is now covered with aluminum siding. A > green lawn covers the soil that grew the tomatoes. There was no one to > cover the fig tree, so it died. > > The holidays have changed. We still make family > 'rounds' but somehow things have become more formal. > The great quantities of food we consumed, without any ill effects, are > not good for us anymore. Too much starch, too much cholesterol, too > many calories in the pastries. The difference between 'us' and 'them' > isn't so easily defined anymore, and I guess that's good. > > My grandparents were Italian-Italians; my parents were > Italian-Americans. I'm an American and proud of it, just as my > grandparents would want me to be. We are all Americans now...the > Irish, Germans, Polish, all U.S. citizens. > > But somehow I still feel a little bit Italian. Call it culture...call > it roots...I'm not sure what it is. All I do know is that my children, > grandchildren, nieces, and nephews, have been cheated out of a > wonderful piece of our heritage. >

Now, here I am in Belize, and the clock has been set back. Abundant tomatoes grow in my own garden. A second story balcony in a more protected area grows my herbs such as basil, dill oregeno and mint.
Two times a week the pineapple and lime guy comes. He's the grower. Another truck arrives with Francesco, another vegetable salesman. He's not the grower, but he travels around and buys from local farmers and brings a variety of fresh produce. I talk with the farmers and let them know what I'll buy. Now there are a few more lettuce growers and instead of going for the giant zuchini for weight, I can get smaller more delicate ones. The very fisherman I buy my fish from now know how I like my filets and actually what type of filets I like and we are on a first name basis. The Country Foods truck brings local eggs, of which all are fresh brown eggs (white eggs are illegal to sell here) and dried beans and flour produced in Spanish Lookout by the Mennonites.

The Dairy truck comes once a week as well, with cream, milk and yogurt. To me it is as close to the food as a chef can be without being the farmer himself, (which wouldn't give one enough time to be a chef). A local farm not 5 miles away now has a meat processing plant and I can go to the butcher himself and again give him my specifications on various cuts of Beef and Pork.

Another farm on the Hopkins road is now raising quality ducks, quail, lamb and Guinea Fowl and one only has to pick up the phone and order for a next day pick-up.

When a few of the fisherman go out to Glovers Reef, they know to bring me my Tuna and Wahoo whole, as I like to cut the filets myself and the palagics keep better that way after proper bleeding, perfect for a rare seared Albacore Tuna over spicy Bok Choi with ginger lime reduction sauce.

All in all, maybe its not the days of yesteryear for most people in the States, but here , the clock has been set back to a more direct interaction between chef and suppliers, and as a first generation Italian American- Belizean, I can only sit back in the evenings when the cool tradewinds blow and reflect on anther Culinary day of buying and cooking and sharing and enjoying and think that this is the way it should always be....close to the things that sustain us.........Belize it or not, its a step back in time, and in my opinion, a step in the right direction!

The puppy

When we first came down to Belize 3 years ago, we brought our dog of , then, 11 years, Sugar. She was a beautiful German Short hair Pointer that we owned in Alaska since she was 8 weeks old. The Alaskan winters were harder on her than us and her joints were always stiff and she was dangerously lethargic in winters now, barely going off our generous porch to do her business at 40 below zero. She had a wonderful life, never knowing confinement and having a the clear cool waters of the Upper Chena River in her front yard. The move down to Belize proved to be a great one as she was rejuvenated and often swam in the water for hours at a time and plenty of birds, crabs and other crawlies to chase. I think most of all, she loved the fact that I never left her for 12 hours at a time as was the case with our busy restaurant in Alaska,. and she was free to follow me around all day until I had to go to the kitchen to work at about 3 pm every day at which time she would dutifully go upstairs where we reside and take up her place on the love seat. Not a bad life. Indeed she became quite the schmoozer of the beach as wandering tourists ogled over her, missing their own pets. Our guestbook makes just as much reference to Sugar as to the hospitality and food that has become our trademark. Alas, last summer, she had a seizure and we put her to sleep where she can swim in the fluffy clouds for eternity.

Fast forward to February 2009 when Angela and I knew we would stay down here for the season I began thinking about getting another dog. I had had German Shorthair Pointers my whole life, hunting them some, but mostly as family pets and I wanted another. I really didn't want to spend the nearly $1000 US to purchase one from the States, but had my mind set on a GSP. I went online to some of the more Northern Breeders (remember, it is February there) and basically offered a 5 night stay with a fishing trip to any breeder willing to trade me a puppy. Low and Behold a breeder from Minnesota (that's where the February thing fits in.said he had a 3 week old male that he would do the trade and would wait until next March to come down and do his trip and he would send the puppy when he was 12 weeks old. We are expecting shipping on the puppy this May 18th and are very excited as for the first time in my life, I will have the time to work with a dog.

The owner is also a trainer of hunting dogs so he started him and asked if we had a name for him as they were just calling him Belize. After exchanging a few pictures and seeing him as a little pistol, we opted for the name Ruger and he is a cutie.

I have no doubt that Ruger will equally "own" the visitors on the beach and will soon learn the ways of "Schmoozing" That Sugar was so good at.

MEANWHILE, BACK AT THE FARM

.For such a small patch of salty seafront property, my micro climates around the roadside part of the property continue to amaze me as, at the time of this post my Mango tree is laden with fruit, a few pineapples are coming on, my basil is going at full bore, my tangerine tree is beginning to fruit (and it is full !)and the papayas are still producing small papayas. My pride and joy, however, has been the Tuscan Cantaloupes, of which we harvested the first ones earlier this week and they are positively the best cantaloupes I have ever had with their sweet, soft syrupy texture.

That's all for now, I see a boat pulling up to the dock and I know that the morning fisherman is returning....You'd better Belize it!