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A review by beatniksafari
Crazy in the Kitchen: Food, Feuds, and Forgiveness in an Italian American Family by Louise DeSalvo
Louise DeSalvo writes about her complex relationships with food and family in “Crazy in the Kitchen.” At first glance, the book’s description: growing up Italian-American in New Jersey, appealed to me since it seemed to fit my own life. But her background is Southern Italy, North Jersey, while I’m the opposite. I’m also about thirty years younger than DeSalvo. Those factors, and a number of others, create a significant difference in our life stories. DeSalvo grew up with a depressed mom, an abusive father, a dysfunctional extended family always in conflict with one another. They came from the poorest parts of Italy where they lived desolate lives of hunger and oppression as peasant workers. Their stories parallel those I have read of sharecroppers in the American South, held down by unfair laws and by the greed of affluent landowners who cared more about their own profits than the welfare of their employees.
DeSalvo’s family members carried their despair and their rage into their new country, where they expressed it both internally and externally. Her story is a far distance from the typical ones of abundance and exuberance associated with Italy and Italian Americans. No fat nonnas bestowing kisses on their grandchildren while stirring giant pots of red sauce in DeSalvo’s kitchen. There was a grandmother, but she was neither fat nor affectionate, though she did love DeSalvo with a fierce sort of protectiveness. No doting mother plying her children with delectable treats, either. DeSalvo’s mother cooked poorly, and relied mostly on convenience foods to feed her family. DeSalvo grew into an adult with a passion for Italy and for fine food, a surprise considering her childhood deprived of both physical and psychological nourishment. The latter parts of the book, where DeSalvo makes peace with her family and her upbringing, resonated most with me.
DeSalvo’s family members carried their despair and their rage into their new country, where they expressed it both internally and externally. Her story is a far distance from the typical ones of abundance and exuberance associated with Italy and Italian Americans. No fat nonnas bestowing kisses on their grandchildren while stirring giant pots of red sauce in DeSalvo’s kitchen. There was a grandmother, but she was neither fat nor affectionate, though she did love DeSalvo with a fierce sort of protectiveness. No doting mother plying her children with delectable treats, either. DeSalvo’s mother cooked poorly, and relied mostly on convenience foods to feed her family. DeSalvo grew into an adult with a passion for Italy and for fine food, a surprise considering her childhood deprived of both physical and psychological nourishment. The latter parts of the book, where DeSalvo makes peace with her family and her upbringing, resonated most with me.