Four Generations of Family - A Voyage to Little Italy Cleveland

Background

A few weeks back, I flew from Charleston to Cleveland for an event-filled weekend with family. Anna and Chris were hosting their yearly clam bake (and pig roast for those with shell fish allergies) on Sunday. But this was Friday, just after the final Thursday family drink fest/dinner of the year. Goodbyes are difficult and we needed just a little more time together. So, we set course for Little Italy, an ethnic hotspot settled in1885 by immigrants within the area of Murray Hill and Mayfield Roads, east of downtown Cleveland and close to Case Western Reserve University. Caution: Not too far east or you might get shot, capice?.

In 1911, it was estimated that 96% of the population were Italian born and another 2% were the children of Italian parents. Today, you'll see a few more Irish, Germans, and Jews roaming the area, but you'd never know it by the restaurant selection (Angelo’s Nido Italia, Mama Santa’s, La Dolce Vita, Mia Bella, Guarino’s, Trattoria Roman Gardens, etc.). You get the point, the Italian influence is still robust. This is no more evident than every year in August during the "Feast" (of the Assumption). Little Italy hosts this celebratory street festival, starting with mass at Holy Rosary Church and finishing with food, drinks, music, and more food over the course of the four day festival. They estimate about 50,000 people come through the 1/8 mile focal spot each day during the Feast.

Travel

With our plan established and destination set to Trattoria Roman Gardens in the heart of Little Italy, we now turn our focus to the perilous journey ahead. We took two vehicles with the plan to converge at Trattoria Roman Gardens just after opening at 12. The first vehicle was manned by Nancy, who was tasked with picking up Mema in Parma, a formidable challenge due to Dad, knuckles white and asscheeks clenched, driving from the backseat. Fortunately, Nancy's experience is vast and the mission was accomplished like clockwork.

We loaded up the other vehicle with me, Katie, Mack, and Anna at the helm. Anna called on her inner Steven Seagal and chose to interpret traffic rules as voluntary. Pedestrians using crosswalks came inches from a violent death and one-way roads pulled a Bruce Jenner and transitioned into two-ways. Katie showed sisterly solidarity and supported Anna with a ride or die mentality, while Mack, of sound mind and childlike innocence, gave me a look that said "Is it too early in my life for a woman driver joke"?

Dinner

By the grace of all the Gods, we arrived according to plan and ready to feast. We quickly turned to battle against a common foe, pasta. Mema set the tone with the Frutti di Mare, a combination of shrimp, scallops, calamari, and mussels tossed with fettuccine in bruschetta sauce. It happened to be the most expense item on the menu and Mema felt slight hesitation that quickly subsided when I mentioned that Dad and Nancy were paying the tab. She did, however, show restraint and chose to forego the $10 margarita out of spite for the price. But really, when you are 93 years old and still the sharpest patron at the table, you kind of the make the rules.

The rest of the table was covered with eggplant & chicken parm, shrimp gnocchi and veal. The portions were substantial, as I'm pretty sure the chicken in my parm was on PEDs. The red sauce tasted like the tomatoes finished growing three minutes before arriving at the table and the cavatelli was the definition of al dente. Frank Sinatra serenaded the room over the loudspeaker and Sophia Loren made it easy on the eyes while using the urinal. The ambience was classic, the people were friendly, and food was fresh and authentic.

Overall, I appreciated this lunch on several fronts. Authentic, old-school Italian food is sparse where I live (SC), but more importantly moments together as family is something to appreciate because time is fleeting. The ancient rule of Roman Stoic philosophy is the concept of focusing your time & energy on things within your control. I think our group took heed this afternoon when we left our troubles behind and enjoyed four generations of family time together. I think Seneca would be proud.