Graphic by Raili Bourne
“This is my Nonna’s recipe,” Sarah Andiamo said, setting down a supersized dish of spaghetti and meatballs on the dinner table. “She’s an Italian immigrant.” Andiamo shoveled a meatball into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “Fourth generation.”
Italian Americans – or “Italians,” as they are known in their own community – are America’s most vocal ethnic minority. But what most Americans don’t know is that they are also the most marginalized.
“We get really tan in the summer,” Andiamo said. She chuckled ruefully. “And other people still say we’re white!”
Today, Andiamo is partaking in an Italian American Tradition that has been passed down for generations: a ceremony called the Big Italian Family Dinner. She is the Host.
But what makes the Big Italian Family Dinner so special, separating Italian Americans from the rest of society?
“When you’re with your Italian family, you have to eat a lot,” Andiamo explained. “You need three servings minimum. Other people don’t understand. For Italians, food is culture. Food is family. La famiglia e tutto.”
Every chair is full, and the table is covered in pizza and pasta. The centerpiece is a glistening hunk of fresh mozzarella (mut-zuh-relle) sitting in a bowl of marinara (mar-ee-nar), as is customary in the Italian American Tradition. Throughout the Big Italian Family Dinner, the Italian Americans must dip their fingers in the marinara bowl as a sign of respect for the Host.
“The bowl symbolizes us Italians,” Andiamo said. “We are the mutzuhrelle sitting in the mareenar, which is our life blood.”
At the end of the Big Italian Family Dinner, The Host must drink the sauce from the bowl. The cheese is then distributed among The Elders.
Andiamo guzzles the marinara, letting it dribble down the front of her shirt. The family chants “Mamma mia! Mamma mia!” as she does so. Their voices rise to an operatic crescendo, and their heads are thrown back to the sky.
Marinara is also a symbol of Italian American oppression.
“There’s this thing called the Marinara Trench,” Andiamo said. “It’s this feeling Italians get after being told so many times by the white majority that we’re not enough.” She sighed. “So we just feel, ehh, stuck. Like we’re drowning.”
The Marinara Trench is also a sauce pond in central New Jersey, which is where all Italian Americans get their marinara and ritually bathe.
“There’s another one just like it in the mother country,” Andiamo said. “On the Amalfi Coast…” Her voice trailed off. Her eyes, glazed over as if with olive oil, went off to Italia. “Mamma mia.”
