Lack of basic news monitoring skills landed Michael and I in Philly’s Italian Market today; I suppose if we’d glanced at a weather forecast yesterday we might have skipped our road trip. But winter storms be fudged (so much tastier than another phrase); freezing rain couldn’t stop our unknowning, hungry souls.
What is it that sparks the desires of many to return to their roots? Perhaps all those Simon & Garfunkel recordings of ‘Homeward Bound’ that filled my teenage ears contribute to my desire. More likely, the distance in time from my mother’s death has lenghthened, rendering connections to some of my past more obscure. Her largely Italian heritage remains vague in my comprehension of family history, and now her parents have passed on as well.
But all feelings of lost stories came to an aromatic halt today in Claudio Specialty Foods; standing in line behind three Italian women who barely reached my chest height, I was included by way of head and shoulder gesturing in a commentary on the store’s provolone. A piece was passed my way, and just as its somewhat salty, and truly sharp bite had begun to take hold, the eldest of them nodded her head in moderate appreciation. This time we would not be duped. It was sharp enough.
I imagined my grandmother going to such markets in New Jersey, where she raised my mother and siblings. I imagined her getting the not-as-good end of a massive provolone log on occasion. Maybe a salami that was just too tough. And I imagined the discourse that would ensue with any shopkeeper responsible. Well, I tried to imagine. I’ll need to pick up some Italian words to do these imagined memories some justice.
Unable to communicated even the most basic appreciative word, I bobbed my head and felt the size of my Italian nose do some of the talking I couldn’t. Then it was on to D’Angelo Bros., a meat market. Now there are many such shops along the market street, but D’Angelo’s intrigued us with its game meat list posted outside, as well as a recommendation from the coffee shop girl next door. Oh the felicitousness of the curious!
We were greeted by a decidedly furry decore theme – pelts for sale from hunting excursions (as I learned later) of the late father of owner Sonny D’Angelo. Anxious to commandeer someone capable of making sausage, Michael inquired about Sonny’s ability to make sausage from venison. A question which led us to acquire a sausage sampler (couple of links of 5 varieties), then step back with mouths agape as their ingredients were highlighted: Pheasant with cognac and nuts, rabbit with brandy mustard, and so many more.
As if to encourage a day of easy spending, the fates sent in a customer searching for Christmas dinner fare. We had only to hear him recount his purchase of a pate for last year’s meal, and its phenomenal reception, before we too were slipping a slab of duck goodness into our bags. In and around several other orders, I noticed a book for sale; Sonny has a passion for cooking in addition to his historic professional skills. Intrigued by the history of the store’s 99-year location in the Philly Italian Market, as well as Sonny’s clearly historic inspiration for meat concoctions, I grabbed some copies.
Just as Michael and I were about to bemoan our relocation away from Idaho elk, I believe we’ve found someone capable of energizing our interest in Pennsylvania’s local game species. I greatly look forward to reading Sonny’s books and making more frequent trips in to the market.
I balanced a two-pound piece of Prima Donna and a dry sausage link on my lap as we drove south out of town. Carefully carving delicious bites for our lunch, it occurred to me that the way my cheese discoveries are going, I may not live to see another trip into this fabulous market. As a friend has commented, who buys two pounds of cheese? Me!
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