Sunday April 1
We've written about the semiannual Italian dinner at Sacred Heart church so many times since we started the blog that all you have to do is search "Holy Ravioli" (or "Scared Heart") and you'll get all the details. But this is the first time we've remembered to bring a camera. So here are the volunteers moving the flats of freshly-made ravioli out of the basement to roll them in to the kitchen, past the salivating people waiting on line.
And here is the shouting maitre d', who got the six of us (Holt, Barbara, Valeria, Eleni, Jun, and Daniel) a table in the back.
We gave the newcomers a seat facing the mural and the Frank Sinatra imitator who was introduced last year to add to the already-brain-numbing noise.
But now that I have an image of this mural, it seems stranger than ever. For one thing, The Blessed John Scalabrini, Mother Cabrini, and their priestly and devoted companions are shown in a deserted semi-tropical landscape with a palm tree, and they were mainly concerned with immigrants in urban areas. Is Scalabrini gesturing toward the setting sun ("go west, young woman!")? If so, that seacoast sure doesn't look like his diocese Piacenza, which was inland. And how did I see Indians here for all those years?
The cost of the Italian dinner is now $12, and the number of meatballs has decreased to two. But it's still worth every penny. Only those who had skipped breakfast succeeded in eating the entire meal, while the rest filled up their tuppers and brought ravioli home.
And in the evening, we could only manage something light but poetic: a salad of spring mix, sliced Anjou pear, and toasted walnuts.