#gabbagool

Random thought-vomit, drawn out of order because it's not like even I pay attention to what I'm saying.

My mom is half-Italian, so on special occasions and certain holidays, she'd go to Ianiro's bakery and import store and splurge on some traditional foods - the ones she couldn't make herself, anyway. Traditional cookies, fresh made sausage, Italian loaves baked and sliced in-store, and those lovely salumi,* especially capicolla and prosciutto. Nothing says "the week after Christmas" to me quite like a sandwich of capicolla, prosciutto, and salami with a slice of provolone cheese on Italian bread. I was so freaking spoiled.

Incidentally, the word prosciutto was one of the ways Mom taught me about the difference in her grandparents' accents (they were from different parts of Italy and met in Ohio). Grandpa Mario, from Trieste, had a more refined urban accent and would say it "proh-SHU-ttoh." Grandma Lucy, from a remote village in Molise-Isernia, had what Mom called a hillbilly Italian accent and would say it "prSHOOT." They argued a lot about how to speak Italian, until they finally agreed to speak only English, which they could both mangle in peace.