Dear Valentina, this was a feast for my soul. My great-grandfather was technically born in Italy, although a Slovenian (the region your grandfathers brother went missing) in the 1920s. He was active in the war, joining the communist partigani (Yugoslav, not Italian), captured and imprisoned in Gonars from which he fled (a story turned legend in our family). My great-grandmother on the other hand was born in what is now a small town on the border with Austria. She has also, as a young girl barely in her teens, helped the partisans, hiding and delivering the letters.
Italian food has a special place in my heart. The Italian tradition of using cheese and eggs in everything is the only thing keeping me from turning vegan, although I am vegetarian now for almost half of my life. I think we ate extra Italian, even by Slovenian standards, because of my great-grandfather, a man who, according to my family, was of great authority, although the war years plagued him until his (what I would call surprisingly) calm death in his sleep in the nineties.
It is fascinating how much emotions, and with that power, the food holds. And when I think of it, I always remember the tradition of breaking bread with someone, usually the guest. What a powerful gesture it used to be before the abundance we now have (at least in the global west).
I could go on so many topics you opened in this essay, but I would just like to thank you, for sharing the history of your family. There is still so much hate for the reality like joining the fascist party only to survive or to remain unseen. People unfortunately forgot about the nuances of survival in the wartime.
Thank you so much for your beautiful comment, it almost brought me to tears.
It is incredible what stories these people have to tell. Your great-grandfather escaping the concentration camp! I heard crazy stories of people's granpas escaping prisons, camps, hiding on boats...I tried to ask my grandparents all I could, and often, and still I wonder how many more stories I didn't manage to take out of them.
I don't want to give up the convivial aspect of food I learned from them in this one life that I had either.
After all, like you said, for them surviving really was a huge scale of gray.
Wonderful, well-told story. I've found since living in Padova that the tradition of consuming white flour extends also to pane, even today (at least in the Veneto). The bread I find at the supermarket and in the paneficio is mostly from white flour. Brown, whole wheats are still not the choice.
Dear Valentina, this was a feast for my soul. My great-grandfather was technically born in Italy, although a Slovenian (the region your grandfathers brother went missing) in the 1920s. He was active in the war, joining the communist partigani (Yugoslav, not Italian), captured and imprisoned in Gonars from which he fled (a story turned legend in our family). My great-grandmother on the other hand was born in what is now a small town on the border with Austria. She has also, as a young girl barely in her teens, helped the partisans, hiding and delivering the letters.
Italian food has a special place in my heart. The Italian tradition of using cheese and eggs in everything is the only thing keeping me from turning vegan, although I am vegetarian now for almost half of my life. I think we ate extra Italian, even by Slovenian standards, because of my great-grandfather, a man who, according to my family, was of great authority, although the war years plagued him until his (what I would call surprisingly) calm death in his sleep in the nineties.
It is fascinating how much emotions, and with that power, the food holds. And when I think of it, I always remember the tradition of breaking bread with someone, usually the guest. What a powerful gesture it used to be before the abundance we now have (at least in the global west).
I could go on so many topics you opened in this essay, but I would just like to thank you, for sharing the history of your family. There is still so much hate for the reality like joining the fascist party only to survive or to remain unseen. People unfortunately forgot about the nuances of survival in the wartime.
Thank you so much for your beautiful comment, it almost brought me to tears.
It is incredible what stories these people have to tell. Your great-grandfather escaping the concentration camp! I heard crazy stories of people's granpas escaping prisons, camps, hiding on boats...I tried to ask my grandparents all I could, and often, and still I wonder how many more stories I didn't manage to take out of them.
I don't want to give up the convivial aspect of food I learned from them in this one life that I had either.
After all, like you said, for them surviving really was a huge scale of gray.
<3
Thank you for sharing this story about your family.
What a fabulous post and great celebration of your grandfather.
Time just melted away reading this post. A truly wonderful read. Thank you.
Thank you for sharing. What a well-told story of a lovely family.
Wonderful. 🙏
I love this piece Valentina, thank you 🙏🏼
Wonderful, well-told story. I've found since living in Padova that the tradition of consuming white flour extends also to pane, even today (at least in the Veneto). The bread I find at the supermarket and in the paneficio is mostly from white flour. Brown, whole wheats are still not the choice.
🔥