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BY EILEEN BRADY THE NEWS JOURNAL OF WILMINGTON, OHIO I was still in my 20s, still willing to jump chest-deep into a newspaper assignment without asking a lot of questions.
Besides, the Marines called me. My country needed me. How could I refuse? And that’s how I found myself “embedded” 15 years ago — long before there was such a silly journalistic term — with six Camp Lejeune Marines and a Marine’s wife, hiking the Appalachian Trail. When I agreed to go, I had thought I was in decent-enough shape to do a little hiking in the woods. I figured we’d trek up a steep hill, then enjoy the scenery at the top. “La, la, la — look at the lovely wildflowers,” I might remark. I’d carry my backpack and have my hands free to jot down notes as we meandered along the mountain summits. I could not have been more wrong. I barely made it up the first ascent before my lungs were screaming for oxygen, my legs wobbling beneath me. I carried my own backpack for maybe 20 minutes, tops. I was scared, I was overflowing with regret, I was embarrassed, and I was plotting my escape the entire first night in the forest.
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BY EILEEN BRADY THE NEWS JOURNAL OF WILMINGTON, OHIO My great-grandparents, who had immigrated to the United States from southern Italy, were people who made Sunday “gravy” of meat and tomato sauce, poured over pasta. So I am no stranger to comfort food with plenty of carbohydrates. Or “starches,” as they were referred to in our house.
But my Italian family did not mix their starches. If my mother made an “American meal,” it would likely include a meat, a vegetable, and maybe a starch. I personally would’ve preferred a plate of three starches, but that wasn’t in my cards. There’s a scene in the 1996 movie “Big Night,” which is about two brothers from Italy who run a restaurant on the Jersey shore, that makes me laugh each time I recall it. The brothers become frustrated by the Americans’ expectations for Italian food — customers seem to always want a side of spaghetti and meatballs with their starch-filled dishes. Brother Primo, the chef, makes a beautiful risotto (a creamy Italian rice dish) for a woman who insists it should come with something else: spaghetti. Primo is told by his brother that the customer wants a side of spaghetti, and he is incensed. “How can she want it?! They both are starch!” Primo then says, sarcastically, “Maybe I can make mashed potatoes for the other side …” His brother pleads with him to just do as the customer wishes. “No! She’s a criminal!” Primo says. I can certainly understand the criminal mindset when it comes to extra starch. |
Eileen Brady:Observant and curious. Good listener. Archives
March 2014
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