Irish vs. Italian

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Irish vs. Italian

BY RICCARDO TARABELSI

Iremember getting picked on in second grade by Joe Flaherty, Jimmy Fitzpatrick, and Breen Mahoney, no lie. Luckily, I had kids like Frankie Valentino and Tony Scarfo on my side. It was all about pride: you see there’s always been this feud, this rivalry between the Irish and the Italians in Boston that dates back to ever since I can remember. If you’ve never been to Boston, here’s a quick geographic tip: If you want good wine, go north; if you want good beer, head south.

The North End of Boston is lined with cobblestone streets, narrow alleys, and Italian family-owned businesses like restaurants, cafés, barbershops, and bakeries.

South Boston, or “Southie” (refer to the movie Good Will Hunting for a better picture of this neighborhood) is heaven for pub-seekers and bar-hoppers. Again, most are owned by Irish families because these families in Boston have been around forever, and the rivalry is pervasive. So, what do you do when you’re an Italian on St. Patrick’s Day?

St. Patrick’s Day always reminds me of this old guy I used to work with in Boston — his name was Gino Porzio, no lie. Gino was rough around the edges and grew up in the old neighborhood: tough as nails, proud to be an Italian, and very outspoken. Without fail, every year on St. Patrick’s Day, he would never wear anything that even remotely resembled the color green. And again, without fail, an unsuspecting victim wearing a “Kiss me, I’m Irish” button on her

When it’s St. Patrick’s Day, do as the Irish do.

green sweater would innocently ask, “Gino, why aren’t you wearing green today?” Gino would smile a little smile, tilt his head sweetly, and then unleash his rant about the Irish getting a holiday while the Italians never get any recognition for all of their accomplishments. And I’ll never forget this: he would always end it with, “I’ll wear green on St. Patrick’s Day, the day everybody wears green, white, and red on Columbus Day!” Luckily, everyone would laugh at these tirades because of how ridiculous he sounded, but he did teach me one thing: we should all be proud of where we come from.

There’s this story about a proud Texan who was traveling through Italy and made a stop in Rome. He hired a private tour guide to drive him around Rome and point out some of the landmarks. Driving by the Vatican, the proud tour guide told the Texan, “The Sistine Chapel took 10 years to build.” The Texan responded, “That’s really nice, but it only took us 3 years to build the Astrodome.” The guide, slightly annoyed, kept driving to the next famous destination, the Trevi Fountain. “La Fontana di Trevi: It took almost 30 years to build this masterpiece.” The Texan retorted, “That’s really big, but it only took us 4 years to erect a 71-story skyscraper.” At this point, the Italian tour guide was getting aggravated with the Texan’s lack of respect for Rome’s historic sites. But as the Italian drove by the Coliseum, the Texan piped up, “Look at that! That’s one of the most awesome structures I’ve ever seen! How long did it take y’all to build that?” The Italian casually replied, “What? That? It wasn’t there yesterday.”

There is no one prouder than the Irish, on March 17th, who include the whole world in their celebration. This March, I will celebrate the pride I have of my Roman lineage through my maternal grandfather, Umberto. Some of the greatest architecture, art, history, and, of course, wine and cuisine live on in Italy’s capital, Rome, which also is the capital of the region of Latium, south of Tuscany. Memorable meals in the region of Latium include spaghetti alla carbonara, a dish whose sauce is made with egg yolks and cream, and is topped with pancetta, a fancy word for “Italian bacon.” Another favorite is Penne All’arrabbiata: pasta tubes with a hot sauce of tomatoes, garlic, and chili pepper. Arrabbiata literally means “angry”, and they say that when the Italian farmers go home for dinner, the hotter the Arrabbiata sauce, the angrier the wives are with their husbands. Pecorino Romano prevails among cheeses, made from the milk of sheep or goats, and is known for its bite, similar to that of Parmigiano Reggiano. Rome is also noted for gelato, Italian ice cream, and cream-filled pastries called bignè, of which I could easily eat a couple dozen in one sitting. Meals often end with a glass of sweet sambuca liqueur, sipped with three coffee beans to munch on.

White wines dominate Latium’s production, whose 23 D.O.C.’s are led by the versatile Frascati and Marino from the Castelli Romani and the mythical Est! Est!! Est!!! from Montefiascone to the north. The Est! Est!! Est!!! di Montefiascone is one of the few wines of ancient origin whose date of creation is known: the year 1000. Up until that time, the wine produced from grapes grown on the slopes rising from the shores of Lake Bolsena to the town of Montefiascone was appreciated only locally and praised by travelers. However, in the year 1000, the Holy Roman Emperor Henry V marched on Rome at the head of a powerful army to settle some controversy with Pope Pascal II. Bishop Johan Defuk was one of the followers of the expedition, but he apparently was more interested in the sightseeing of the excursion than the politics. He instructed his cupbearer, Martin, to go ahead of him on the route, keeping always one day in advance, and to select the inns where good wine was to be had by marking the word “Est!” (meaning: it is) next to the door. When he reached Montefiascone, Martin found that the usual “Est!” chalked next to the door of this one particular inn would not do it justice because the wine in this town was truly excellent. Since he had not arranged any other signal with his master, he decided to communicate his appreciation of the wine by writing Est! Est!! Est!!! on the door. The reputation of the wine was made on the day Bishop Defuk tasted the Est! Est!! Est!!! di Montefiascone. Captivated by the wine’s smoothness, the Bishop stayed in the town for three days. After completing his imperial mission, he returned to Montefiascone and remained there until his death. Buried in the town’s church of San Flaviano, the Bishop has been honored for centuries by the pouring of a barrel of wine over his tombstone every year.

The saying, “When in Rome, do as the Romans do,” is one that applies to St. Patrick’s Day as well. “When it’s St. Patrick’s Day, do as the Irish do” and celebrate with green beer, not green wine. Have fun and be proud. Just don’t let your pride get you in trouble like it did for my Italian buddies and me in the second grade. But I guess my pride hasn’t learned its lesson yet; just the other day, a patron casually remarked, “When are you adding a pizza oven to your restaurant?” With a sly smile, my response was simple and subtle, “Rome wasn’t built in a day.” Carpe Vino!

Riccardo, and his pride, can be seen at R Wine Bar & Kitchen where he, his wife Marybeth, and their three sons, Dante, Berent, and Jaxon, own and operate the wine bar and restaurant. They love creating a warm and inviting atmosphere with their staff, excellent menu, amazing wine selection, and live music three nights a week. Contact Riccardo at riccardo@rwinebar.com.