The automatic door slides open. I step from the hot summer pavement of 95th Street into the cool air of the Italian Centre Shop. The sweet, familiar scent of the deli greets me as I grab a shopping basket and set off to reconnect with my heritage.
Twenty-five per cent of the blood flowing through my veins is Italian, but you’d never know. I’m soft-spoken; I don’t wave my hands about when I talk; when subjected to sunlight, my skin burns immediately; I can’t speak a lick of the language; and I’m not much of a cook. None of the stereotypes seem to have stuck, but there is proof in my family tree. My grandfather, on my mother’s side, was a Properzi. He was a little man with an impressive nose and a penchant for arm wrestling. Americo Properzi, Meric for short, was the real Italian deal.
I imagine him now, leading me up the pasta aisle, the boxes of rigatoni, macaroni and gnocchi balancing precariously on either side of us. I reach for the basic spaghetti and set it in my basket. Grandpa Meric nods approvingly.
The only meal I can remember my grandfather making for me was spaghetti with red sauce. That would have been over 20 years ago, before he was moved into a home where his meals were prepared for him. So, my memory is rusty and I can’t recall the exact ingredients. I’m making it up, hoping to recreate his masterpiece.
When my number is called at the deli, I ask for parmesan. In the produce section, I go for the staples – garlic, onion, peppers and fresh basil. I choose a can of tomatoes from an overwhelming array and head to the till.
When I step back out onto the sidewalk, I see a table of old men, drinking coffee and sunning themselves. If my grandfather were really here, he would stop to talk. He loved to visit. So I leave him there at the table on the corner, gossiping over a cup of coffee and I head home to prepare the feast. My spaghetti and red sauce won’t be nearly as good as my grandfather’s, but I will channel all 25 per cent of my Italian ancestry and do my best. “Buon appetito,” as my grandfather would say.