(Reprinted with permission from Fran Tunno)
When I walk into my favorite Italian store, I can’t wipe the smile off my face. It’s like coming home. There’s a smell Italian stores have; a combination of peppers and oregano with a little hint of salami and tomato sauce in there for good measure. I love it.
I just bought a little jar of Italian seasoning from a website called Ciao Pittsburgh just to try it out. I sprinkled it on some zucchini with onions I was sauteing and, not only did it taste great, but my whole kitchen smelled like the Italian store! I’m thinking about just sprinkling it on my kitchen counters so my apartment smells more authentic. Actually, I’m putting some in my bra right now, it could be the ultimate aphrodisiac.
I got my love of Italian stores from my mom, of course. When we’d walk into Italian stores back home in western Pennsylvania, her face lit up with possibility while my dad’s face registered terror because he knew what it would cost and saying no to my mother was pointless.
Walking up and down the aisles with our small cart on weathered wood floors I’d hear, “Robert, lettsa getta somma dis,” as she filled her cart. Twenty somma dis and somma dat’s later, we’d leave with sharp cheeses and salami, proscuitto — if we were lucky, lupini beans, jars of antipasto, those oil-cured dry black olives that my mom loved, pasta, mortadella for my dad and a bag of pastel colored candied almonds or chocolates for me. It was heaven for a food lover like me, so I enjoy revisiting that feeling as often as possible.