Ivano Pulito
Quarantine, Family Style
Or Quarantena alla famiglia
A symphony of alarms go off in the middle of the night; everyone’s cellphone sounding off in harmony. It’s 4:05am and I’m jolted awake by the sharp beep. I grab my phone and squint through foggy eyes. AMBER Alert Clinton, NY. Those alerts always bother me, but not as much as they bother my mother. My door swings open a few seconds later.
“Are you okay?” “Yeah.”
“You’re still here.” “Yeah.”
“They didn’t take my baby.”
I just turned 34 years old. I’m not eligible for Amber Alerts – in fact, I’m probably, most definitely closer to the demographic of the abductor than the abducted. Funny thing is that we do have an actual baby in the house, yet my mother chose to check on me. I’m approaching two months of quarantine with my family where we have taken shelter in upstate New York. There are three generations of immediate family under one roof now, six of us in total: my parents, my brother and his wife, their newborn, and me (the other baby). Anyway, maybe it’s nice for us to all be together in one house and enjoy each other’s company.
Isolation is a relative term if you’re Italian; whenever we’re required to isolate, we isolate with relatives. It’s nice to have a community of people around sometimes. You’d think there would be a lot of security and support in a family environment. Occasionally, there is. Other times, I’d much rather be in solitary isolation. The mental torture of being confined to a small space with your family should qualify as a cruel and unusual punishment.
As an Italian-American with a significant amount of famiglia in Italy, I knew what was coming when it came to Covid-19 because of how hard Italy was hit. My father grew up on a farm and most of my family is still in his hometown, Arqua Petrarca - an idyllic village in the hills before the Alps. I always thought of it as an untouchable paradise. That is until Covid-19. Arquà Petrarca neighbors a town called Vò, which is where the first death due to Covid-19 was recorded in Italy. A 78-year-old man died in a hospital known as Schiavonia, which serves a region of about 5 towns. It is the same hospital that I saw my grandmother in for the last time. It was surreal that this virus would attack this small, rather remote place. I couldn’t even image how the virus got there.
As the situation unfolded in Italy, towns, cities and regions progressively locked down. Our Italian friends and family kept us up to date of the situation with photos, videos, and stories. Bedsheets hanging from windows that read, “I swear to you, I’m going to kill him” (a nice message from a wife to her husband after only a couple of days in quarantine). Videos of farmers attempting to get their chickens to social distance. The stories continued to flow in from my father’s hometown as they settled deeper into their home confinement - go to the store now and by a bag of fruit and save the receipt, so you can take walks everyday using that same bag and receipt when you are only allowed to leave your house for the grocery store. We even heard a tale of one older gentleman putting a stuffed dog on a leash so that he could go out for walks. However, it gave us the sense of how serious this situation was going to be when it inevitably landed in New York City, forced us to closedown our family-run Italian restaurant, and shelter alone... together.
If you’re making the most of your quarantine with your family there is indeed a lot to be grateful for. I’m thankful for the companionship, the cooking, the food (those Italians know what they’re doing), the laughter. But perhaps most of all, I value the sage advice that I’m getting from my elders. Old enough to make my own life decisions, one may wonder how I ever managed on my own.
I’ve truly learned the valuable lesson of starting your day off on the right foot. My father wakes up early – not long after the sun rises. They say the early bird catches the worm. It is of utmost importance to start with a good breakfast and a positive attitude. The standard Italian breakfast is the most extraordinarily healthy way to start your day. My father’s typical breakfast is a double espresso and a cigar (used to be a cigarette, but he quit...), which serves to get the mind going and the heart racing up to levels of rapid hand gesticulation and too many ideas. Before my father is done with breakfast (read: the cigar), he’s found about 300 things wrong in the house, around the house, on top of the house... and then starts to communicate with his exquisite vocabulary. I can’t tell you how many days the first word that I hear my father say is “fuck.” It’s usually at the top of his lungs. It’s an exclamation actually, “fuck!” Or, the escalation of a fuck, “Motherfucker!” Sometimes he starts the day with a poem:
Fuck! Motherfucker!!! Fucker. Fucker! Son of a bitch. Motherfucker!! Fuck!
People wonder why I struggle with anxiety. Starting my day with this kind of energy makes it difficult to settle. In times of trauma my family doesn’t exactly embrace the philosophy of stay calm and carry on. However, the life advice from my wise father didn’t end there.
Just the other day he gave me some profound life advice when we were driving to the grocery store with masks on. He told me all about his first job:
“I started working in a resort, up in the mountains, in Switzerland, and I was making a lot of money. I had friends and they were all at home, staying in my home town, not making any money, but they were my friends. Good people. My friends. But they all had no money and I had money. I got back and they really had nothing. So, I thought to myself. I have to ask to myself. Do I want money or friends? Nobody is gonna give you money.”
I didn’t say much during this story. He chose money. Moral of the story: money is more important than friends. I think that’s what he was saying. I mean, where else can you get sound financial advice like that. One thing is for sure, definitely not at the super expensive liberal arts college he paid to send me to.
Certain lessons you can only learn from family... or from years of therapy talking about your family. Another invaluable lesson I’ve learned from my father is the importance of communication and talking about your emotions. Of course, like most things I learned it from my father backwards. My father wanted to help me when I was struggling to cope with confinement. This can’t-go-anywhere-situation is made more difficult by the long-distance relationship I find myself in. My girlfriend is currently quarantined in another state. Love during the time of Covid-19 isn’t easy, but I’m grateful for Zoom sex. There’s nothing like spicing up the bedroom by changing the background. Anyway, obviously, I want to be with my significant other, so I was feeling a bit frustrated on this one particular day - thinking I should just put on a mask, head to the airport and risk it. My reason for traveling was as essentially non-essential as you could get, but there are grey areas, right? Some would certainly argue that love is essential. In terms of a ranking of values I would say it comes right after money, but definitely before friends.
My mother freaked out about my potential travel as well.
“You’re an adult, you can be smart or you can be as stupid as you want. I think you would be making a bad decision, but it’s your choice if you want to make bad decisions.”
At least she admitted I was an adult. I felt really great at this point, so I went outside to chop wood. It’s what I do now to cope with anxiety. Nature has many benefits. I’m fussing around trying to get a good piece to smack with the axe when my dad comes over and wants to talk. In that moment, the last thing I wanted to do was talk to him. If anyone came near me I was only going to vent. In fact, I was only interested in venting specifically about my love life and my desire to see my lover and fear that if I didn’t find a way to do so we were going to break up.
Somehow, my father thinks that it’s a good idea to bring up my therapist. He yells at me:
“Who’s better me or the therapist? Who is better the therapist or me?! Huh? Who is better?!! Why you need the therapist if you have me?!!!”
My fuse ran out and my bomb exploded. I yelled back:
“You wanna know the truth. I need the therapist to deal with you! Okay? Is that the answer that you want? I didn’t answer the question because I didn’t think you wanted to hear the answer to the question.”
He seemed somewhat taken aback by my outburst and walked away. We didn’t speak for the rest of the day.
At this point the outbursts have been many. Somehow, we are all still alive and together in this house. We’re getting closer to the point of hanging a sheet out the window that reads, “we swear, we’re gonna kill each other.” I don’t know what life is going to be like after this. I used to be relentlessly optimistic, one of my high school teachers told me that. Then life bitch slapped me around quite a bit and left me insecure and full of anxiety with a pinch of despair. I lived through a few natural and man-made disasters before Covid-19 swept across the globe. This event is eerily similar to 9/11, when in the span of a day my family seemed to lose our home and our business. My family lived in a hotel for three months after 9/11. We shared one room with two beds for four people. We didn’t know when our business would open or when, if ever, it would be safe to go home. Now, we feel the same way. We don’t know how long it will take before New York City feels safe again and we can comfortably open our business. My father is deeply disturbed and depressed about essentially losing his identity. My mother is constantly worried about our safety. Whether they drive me crazy, give disagreeable advice, or question every decision that I make, I know that I would not get through all these difficult times without my family there to drive me nuts. As I get older, I find myself wishing that I actually was a baby sometimes – that I could start learning life’s valuable lessons all over again and not make any of the mistakes. One thing I know I would never change is my loud, laughable, and loving family. No matter how crazy or stressful our days are, a day when I can hug my father will always make me feel uplifted and loved. I’m afraid that in the age of social distancing there will be far less hugs, but it’s important that we stay healthy and happy.
***
In order to make people around me feel happy and alive there are two things that I attempt to do as often as possible:
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Make everyone laugh (why my father often calls me “CLOWN”)
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Cook - because Italians truly, madly, deeply believe that if you eat you feel better
When you find yourself at a table with your family, it’s a good idea to practice your standup routine. If you don’t have one, practice what yours would be if you did. I would say the most major benefit of being quarantined with my father is that he’s a chef and I have this extra amount of time to carefully observe him cooking. Watching his tricks of the trade at the stove is a true pleasure. I’ve learned simple, comforting recipes that my father never told me his mother made for him. An onion frittata – literally just eggs and onions was immensely satisfying to cook and eat. My grandmother always had eggs and onions, since she lived on a farm and raised chickens. Who knew just two ingredients could make me feel safe and satiated in a dark time? Not to mention the presence of a much loved family member who passed away just over a year ago and is often missed. Nonna Cesarina was truly an incredible cook. She evoked emotions with taste and always remembered everyone’s favorite ingredient or dish. My father carries that quality in the food he prepares; he never sought culinary training because she taught him how to be a chef.
Everyone’s a chef during quarantine. I had no idea that all my friends, literally all of them... are bakers. Everyone is talking about toilet paper. What about flour? There hasn’t been any flour or yeast in grocery stores for two months. How are Italians supposed to make pasta without flour? We are a lost people during this time. However, using the flour that we had stocked from the restaurant I’ve embraced my roots deeply and the utmost Italian stereotype by becoming a pizza maker. During quarantine, I’ve become the family pizzaiolo – I make the pizza. It’s fun to lean full in to our stereotypes. I take a little flour, water, salt and yeast and I have a beautiful thing on my hands. It’s become one of my mother’s favorite meals and my dad likes it because I make it in a real Northern Italian way – with real Italian toppings – Pepperoni doesn’t exist in Italy – it’s not a real meat. He likes that it’s not delivery, nor DiGiorno. It’s fresh. It’s made to order. It’s Pulito!
Since it will be a long time before we return to normal, especially when it comes to going out to restaurants, I leave you with the recipe for the best pizza dough that I know how to make. It’s a Northern style thin crust. So, give the sourdough a rest and eat pizza. I recommend that when you eat it you be Italian: sit at the table together -- eat, drink, be merry, and scream your heads off each other.
Pizza Recipe
*Shout out to Jim Lahey, an extraordinarily talented baker who worked briefly with my father before heading off to learn the art of bread in Italy. I often reference his books – check out My Bread: The Revolutionary No-Work, No Knew Method.
Yields dough for 2 pizzas (13”x18” in size)– a nice big ol’ rectangle.
The only equipment you need is measuring cups and spoons (although my father just uses his hands to measure), standard 13”x18” baking tray, and an oven. The oven is important.
Ingredients:
3 3⁄4 Cups (500g) of FLOUR
2 1⁄2 Teaspoons (10g) of ACTIVE DRY YEAST
1 1/3 Cups of WATER (at room temperature)
3⁄4 Teaspoon of SALT
3⁄4 Teaspoon and a pinch of SUGAR Olive Oil
- Mix the dry ingredients together.
- Add the water (it’s important that the water is at room
temperature and not cold in order to activate the yeast).
- Make it into a ball of dough and let it rise for 2hrs.
- Preheat the oven to 500 degrees.
- Cut the dough in half. Roll into two equally sized balls of dough, cover with a damp cloth and let it rise for another 30 min.
- After 30 min. pour some olive oil on the tray and use it to spread the dough out evenly.
- Add whatever toppings you want and throw it in the oven for 25-30 minutes until the edges are beautifully brown.
Slice it up and EAT IT!
For toppings, I suggest you throw some fresh mushroom on it, you could do a classic prosciutto slices and arugula – a popular one in Italy is tuna (canned is fine) and onion (I know it’s weird, but it’s actually molto buono).