|
Marriage and Family
Overcoming a Culture of Meat
by Mary Ann Romans
Pay no attention to the Italian hiding behind the curtain of lettuce. That’s just me.
Until my dad’s 75th birthday party, I never knew how much cultural pressure there was in my family. Normally soft spoken, I become louder and more outgoing when in a sea of Italian American relatives. Aunts who pinch my 36-year-old cheeks have that effect on me. My personality becomes larger, and my hand gestures can send a plate of food clear across the room with one stoke of a sentence.
The party is fun and noisy. People laughingly jostle each other at the buffet table, each person trying to outdo the other with a skyscraper of food. My father, God bless him, still worries that one day I’ll keel over from lack of cow. He offers me lasagna. After all, the meat is all covered up by the pasta. Although his advice has kept me mostly out of trouble over the years, it is hard to incorporate this current reasoning. My sweet Aunt Marie, who helped me figure out all of those college financial aid forms, warns that without beef I must be lacking. She sends Uncle Joe to fetch some steak and spaghetti. “Eat it bloody to feed your blood!” she orders. Ugh. The advice conjures up all sorts of negative images. Is there anyone here that would understand?
As I stand there helplessly arguing that pasta with meat sauce is not vegetarian, I scan for salad. Most Italian Americans eat their salad last to assist in digestion, so I can’t pull the “I accidentally filled up with salad” card. To the typical Italian American, that would be absurd anyway. Who fills up on salad when there is veal parmesan? Salad is only one of the seven expected courses at an event such as this. I pick at the antipasti and feel sorry for myself.
I am the lone wheat-grass in a family of garlic knots and sausages. I’m an Italian American who goes to a feast in Little Italy and actually plays the games. How do I fit in with all of these gregarious people? The buffet table alone seems to ask, “Are you Italian or vegetarian?” Hmm, do I really have to choose? Of course not.
As I look around the room, I realize that I do belong. I share genes with these people. They are not strangers. A cousin looks up with the same deep soulful brown eyes that look up at me from my daughter’s face. A head of straight dark hair goes pushing past high cheekbones on its way to the buffet table. I recognize both qualities in the mirror and on the person of my mother. These strange meat eaters roaming the plains of New York City are all part of me. Blood and bone, as the saying goes. I’ve been given this culture, this rich heritage passed through the generations. Now I need to add to it.
But culture changes. I doubt my ancestors looked at the Statue of Liberty and declared, “There is only one way to do things.” From tenements to homes in the suburbs, we have adapted, grown and changed for the better. My grandparents came to this country to give their family choices. They brought their culture, and they adapted. They shared with the country the best things about being Italian American
There is another culture in this room. The one I share with my husband and children. The one that says it is better/healthier/more humane to eschew eating animals. Until now, I haven’t shared my beliefs. I’ve sat on the sidelines, quietly working around everyone else and scouting out the salad. All of the good advice I’ve been given all of my growing-up years, all of the positive influence that instilled my values, and here I was standing silent.
By reaching out to the people around me, I can share my beliefs. I can tell them about choices and about nutrition. I can bring them the best advice I could give. This is my family. What better ambassador then someone who already speaks the language? I owe it to them for all of the years of nurturing me in a warm embrace of tradition and heritage.
I’ll start out small. Organic pasta with broccoli, a touch of olive oil, and lots of garlic is delicious. They might have had something similar before. With every event I will bring a new dish, along with the recipe. Tofu might be a long way off, but I know these people. Good food is always appreciated, especially when served with love and garlic.
There may still be those who can’t imagine life as a complete vegetarian, but at least I can increase their exposure. Perhaps in the future, meat sauce will be the oddity and pesto pizza will be a staple. Somewhere beyond the calamari and the cleft chins is a sense of family. La Familia. Because no matter what our individual choices are, we have a bond that automatically leaves us open to good advice from within; open to new choices in an evolving culture. Or as great Aunt Angie would say, "Non si vive di solo pane." One does not live by bread alone.
Mary Ann Romans is the author of numerous parenting, health and nutrition articles. She resides near Philadelphia with her husband and two children.
| |
Sponsors:
|
