it's all about family (and the apple pie)

This was my second Thanksgiving in Tuscany. The first time was a small cozy traditional meal with my 22 classmates from Smith during my study abroad year. This year I went to a Tuscan villa tucked behind the hills of Florence, and although we were only 20 minutes from the citta', we were in such a secluded place there wasn't even cellphone coverage. It was a formal evening filled with Americans, Italiani and Italo-Americano's, 58 of them to be exact, and all the branches of a family tree: sisters, brothers, bambini, grandkids, nipoti, nonni e nonne. Everyone spoke in fluid sentences of Italish. The evening was a lot fancier than my traditional family meal at home.

The ambiente was not only formal but italianizzata (the women wearing all black with pearls and heels, the men in jackets and ties, the kids in matching plaid jumpers etc.) The splendid and spacious villa was buzzing with white-glove-wearing servers passing trays of an aperitivo of tempura-fried salvia leaves and asciughe and fried mozzarella. The dinner tables were long and triple-decked with white porcelain plates with silverware. Literally silver. They even had a first course of Tortellini soup...but who needs a first course when Thanksgiving is the equivalent of about six!?

I was not expecting such a flashy evening, especially when Thanksgiving is a tradition based on a simple meeting between simple peoples giving thanks to Mother Earth and to each other. The Florentine upper-class however is not what I would call a simple people. They love an excuse to flaunt fashion and manners and formality.

I gave thanks to the tradition of family and good food, which was not forgotten! After the big turkey and the stuffing, peas, mashed potatoes, and the caramelized onions, there was my favorite of all the traditions included too: the big apple pie for dessert ..... among the Tiramisu and chocolate truffles of course. I had fasted all day to manage several helpings of everything and even save room for dessert.

After the servers had cleared the tables, the older couples had started dancing and the kids had melted like the chocolate truffles davanti al TV, I thought of my family across the same sea that the Pilgrims had crossed to arrive at Plymouth.

And although six hours behind with the time difference, my family in Boston sat down to exactly the same meal.
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