The occasion to host such scandalous barbecue is for the mother of all bbq's; my grandfather's 85th birthday! It's amazing because he is as fit and active as he was when I was born. Instead of jogging, he power walks and instead of tennis he plays golf. He's truly incredible and no one makes me laugh quite like him, so preparing a special dinner for him was important to me. But in my family, nothing comes easy and dinner is never dinner.
While setting up for dinner, I pulled out the vintage lace tablecloth that we normally use for my grandparent's table when my mother suddenly snatched it out of my hand forbidding me to lay it down. "What are you doing!?" I asked her. "We can't use that!" she said rolling up the table cloth and padding off to stuff it back in the linen closet. "Why not?!" I asked, almost annoyed because we had a thousand other things to do before the guests were due to arrive. "Because." she said with an exhale, "It looks like 'the veil'" she explained while putting emphasis on the the veil. Upon closer inspection, it did look like the veil and as sensitive as my family is, it's best not to send out 'subliminal messages'. We're Italian, everything means something.
The table sans lace table cloth.The guests arrived a.k.a, my family and we had an offering of braciole, sweet and sour sausages, brocoli di rabe, marinated olives, roasted red peppers, soppresata, antipasti, caprese salad and every other 'wop' Italian delicacy imaginable. Not to mention a stocked bar with enough booze to keep Bukowski's thirst quenched for a month.
"This family is not normal!" my cousin Vincent's girlfriend said while holding a log of pignoli nut encrusted goat cheese, "I mean, really. Who has this at a barbecue?!" She's right, we're not a normal anything. My grandfather walked by in slow motion, shaking his cocktail glass and saw her enthusiastically holding the 'Italianized' goat cheese and encouraged her to "Enjoya! Enjoya! Mangiate!".
My cousin Angelo and his fiancée Josephine arrived and there was silence as everyone looked at me thinking that I was going to accost her over the veil fiasco of 2011. I didn't do that, I'm a classy broad. Sometimes. They cooly said hello to me as I offered them a cocktail. I made them two strong vodkas on the rocks to loosen them up. You guys are getting married in a week, I should be the least of anyone's concern.
After our awkward dinner where everyone assumed that I was going to slice Josephine with the braciole knife and my brother stormed out in a rage because cousin Marco didn't pour him wine making him feel outside of the 'social circle', my mother ignored everyone's emotional temperature and brought out a Zuppa Inglese with sparklers to kick off the Happy Birthday sing along. This excitement prompted my grandfather to chant "festa, festa, festa!" while punching the air. Festa indeed.
After my grandfather's speech on how he hopes he will make it another year to see the rest of us 'settled down', Josephine storms out. Seriously? What more does she want? She got the veil, all of the attention for the next six months and an engagement ring the size of a jawbreaker. Ca suffit! As it turns out, she had received a text message from one of the guest's - Angelo's ex-girlfriend - to inform her that she will be dressing 'slutty' at the wedding and advised her to watch out. Oh snap. Suddenly the drama of the veil isn't looking so bad.
Today is about loving your family no matter how ridiculous they are and getting your ass back to France and civilization as soon as possible!
