James Gallichio - Nonna’s Sauce

 

So, my Nonna used to make the best Bolognese sauce. Coming from an Italian family, food is the way that you show people that you love them. We used to have these big family lunches every Sunday. Everyone would be there, and everyone loved Nonna's sauce. We always used to tell Nonna, “Can you show us the recipe for your sauce?” I don't know if any of you know any Nonna’s, but they never tell you their recipes. [audience laughter] Because they think that if you can cook their food as good as they can, you'll stop coming to visit them. So, Nonna used to always say to us, “I can't tell you the recipe, but you can come over anytime you like and I'll cook it for you.” [audience laughter] 

 

As I got older, my family dynamic changed quite a bit. My parents got divorced and my mom developed quite a severe mental illness. Growing up for me was really hard. My mom could barely take care of herself, let alone raise me and I felt like I was taking care of her, as well as raising myself. I started to really resent my family. They stopped inviting her to the family lunches, because my parents were divorced. But I felt like they were abandoning her. I felt in a way they were abandoning me. They didn't know the true extent of what was happening for me at home. But I started to really hate them and I started arguing with them and being angry at them. Eventually, the weekly family lunches went to monthly family lunches, went to Easter and Christmas. Eventually, my Nonna died and she took a recipe for Bolognese with her. 

 

As I got older, when I was in my 20s, on the rare times that I did see my family, it dredged up so many awful memories from my childhood. I started getting such bad anxiety every time I would see them. I would spend most of our family lunches in the bathroom trying not to have a panic attack. I couldn't tell my family that they gave me anxiety. I couldn't tell them they were giving me panic attacks. So, I didn't tell them anything. They thought I was just an asshole. They thought that I hated them, they thought that I was too good for them and I was stuck up. They thought that I was a bad son, a bad brother, a bad nephew, a bad grandson. 

 

I just had so much guilt about this. And the guilt got so bad that as weird as it sounds, three years ago, almost to the day, I packed a bag and I left. I left Melbourne, I left Australia and I just started traveling. I realized that when I was traveling, I could be anybody that I wanted. I didn't have to carry my family with me. I didn't have to have this guilt anymore. And for the first time in years, I felt free. 

 

After three years of that, I decided I probably wanted to settle down somewhere. I decided I wanted to live in Europe. I was eligible to get my Italian citizenship through my Nonna's family. There's two ways you can get citizenship for Italy. You can come back to Australia and try to get it to the consulate here, which takes about two years, or you can go to Italy, to your ancestral home, live there for about two months and get it in person. So, that's how I found myself on a four-hour bus ride up a mountain from Naples, going to the tiny, hundred-person town on the top of the mountain where my Nonna was born. 

 

I had emailed the one family member I knew of in Italy named Vittoria. She was my Nonna's niece. I'd never met this woman. I'd never seen a photo of this woman. But as soon as I got off the bus, I knew exactly who she was, because she looked exactly like my Nonna. She came running up to me and she gave me a big Nonna hug. She took me to her house. When I opened the door, there were 20 people waiting inside. She had organized a surprise party for me. Everybody in there were my relatives from all over southern Italy. They had come two or three hours each just to come and meet me. 

 

They'd never heard of me before, but I was family. They wanted to meet me. They bought me presents. They had photos of my family to show me. They wanted to hear stories from me. We had this big family lunch. I smelt something coming from the kitchen, and it was this really nostalgic smell. I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was. Vittoria comes out looking just like my Nonna, holding this big pot. I realized it was Nonna's sauce. I lost it. I started crying. Everyone else started crying. I think they thought I was just really emotional about pasta [audience laughter] which in a way, I am. 

 

So, I lived in Grumento Nova for six weeks. My family did so much for me there. These are people who didn't know me at all. They knew nothing about me. I didn't know them. I just some random Australian who emailed them and they took me in. It was the first time I felt family for decades. The day that I got my Italian citizenship, that should have been the beginning. That should have been the beginning of my life in Europe. That should have been the beginning of my emancipation. But when I held that passport in my hand, all I could feel was that it was the end. It was the end of me running from my childhood. It was the end of me running from my family. It was the end of me trying to live without people in my life who cared about me. And that was the day I booked a flight back to Australia. 

 

I got back to Australia three or four months ago. When I got back, I was really anxious about how I was going to try to start rekindling my relationship with my family. I sent them a message and I said, “I just got back from Europe, and I spent a few months in Grumento Nova. You won't believe it, they taught me how to make Nonna's sauce.” They responded straight away and they said, “Oh, my God, you have to tell us the recipe.” [audience laughter] And I said, “I can't tell you the recipe, but you can come over anytime you like and I'll cook it for you.” [audience laughter]