RAISING LITTLE LUIGI

FOR THE FIRST YEAR of Little Luigi’s life, Bella tugged him around the neighborhood in the old wooden wagon. Only trees, sky, birds, and Bella above. God and Jesus too. But mostly only his favorite sister, floating in the clouds above him like a big, beautiful hot-air balloon.

For the first four years of his life, Bella was the song that sang him to sleep at night.

She was the delicious food in his belly.

She was his light when it was dark.

She was the one who held him when he cried.

She was the sun in his sky.

She was the only mamma he had ever known.

Until Tony, in a boxing mood, broke the news to the boy that Bella wasn’t his real mamma.

Luigi didn’t believe him.

“What do you mean? Am I an orphan like Lulu?”

“No, dummy.”

The boy was confused.

“If Bella’s not my mamma, then who …?”

When Tony told him his mamma was the silent lady always asleep in the dark, smelly old bedroom off the kitchen, Luigi was horrified.

“That lady’s not my mamma …”

“She’s everyone’s mamma. Everyone except Lulu.”

“Liar! You’re lying to me!”

Luigi spit into his big brother’s face. Then he punched him in his nuts and ran away.

Later that afternoon, Bella found Luigi curled up on the henhouse floor, a slingshot in his hand, six of the family’s best layers dead.

The blood. The feathers. The severed heads.

“Meatball! What did you do?”

“Is it true what Tony said?”

“What did Tony say?”

Luigi could barely get the words out of his blubbering mouth.

“Fucking Tony,” Bella quietly said. “That fucking stunad.” She took a deep breath. “Listen to me, Meatball. It’s true. That lady in the dark room gave birth to you and to me, we came into this world from between her silent legs, but I am your mamma. I raised you,” Bella said. “I made you the boy you are. I made you the man you’re gonna be.”

She sang “’O sole mio.” Then she took him in her arms and held him the way she used to when he was a baby and sang,

Lullaby, lullaby, lullaby, ooh,

Who will I give this baby to?

Lullaby, lullaby, lullaby, eee,

I will keep this baby for me …

When she was finished, she tickle-pinched him and gave him a sweet kiss. “I don’t know about you, but I’m really hungry.”

Luigi smiled up at his Bellamamma.

All was right with the world again.

“Me too. I’m starving.”

Bella gave Luigi a tender bop on the top of his head. “Let’s see what my Cooking Spirit has in store for these poor dead chickens.”

Little Luigi’s Chicken Cacciatore

Bella always made this for her little brother.

She made it for everyone she loved.

2 slaughtered chickens (6 if you have an angry little brother with a slingshot and a full henhouse), cleaned, plucked, and cut into proper pieces, skin on and bones in (thighs, breasts, legs)

2 large (28-ounce) cans of good-quality Italian plum tomatoes

6 sweet bell peppers (use green, red, and yellow if you can), cleaned and sliced into quarter- or half-inch-wide strips

1 small sweet onion, diced

5 garlic cloves, whole

1 cup black olives (pitted)

a healthy handful of basil

1 tablespoon oregano

several fresh sprigs of thyme

½ cup red wine

olive oil

flour

salt, to taste

pepper, to taste

chili flakes (always add chili flakes!)

1.After properly cleaning the slaughtered meat, pat the chicken pieces dry, flour each of them, coating them thoroughly (a pinch of salt and a pinch of pepper in the flour really blesses things!).

2.In a large, deep skillet, drizzle plenty of olive oil (take a healthy swig to honor Big Betty LoMonico) and heat the oil over medium heat (until it shimmers like Big Betty’s spirit).

3.Add five whole cloves of garlic and fry them until just golden and aromatic. (The sun in your pot, the perfume in your kitchen!)

4.Toss in a healthy pinch of chili flakes and watch them bleed. (Try not to think about Little Luigi and his slingshot run-in with the chickens.)

5.Fry each of the coated chicken pieces on all sides (about 3–4 minutes for each side), until they’re a nice, golden color. (Listen to the way the frying chicken makes the oil sputter and cluck. Even dead chickens have something to say.)

6.Once the chicken is fried, crowd it all in the large skillet. Pour in the red wine and braise it on medium-low heat for about 8 minutes. (The aroma will be enough to raise a papa from his basement. It will almost be enough to make a silent mamma speak.)

7.Coat the bottom of large gravy pot with olive oil. (Take another healthy swig to grease your insides, to keep the old timer ticking properly, and say hello to Betty LoMonico when her spirit appears. Give her a hug from Bella.) Tilt the pot on a flame to create a healthy puddle in its bottom crook and fry the remaining five cloves until golden. (You know the routine.)

8.Right the pot on the flame. Throw in a pinch of chili flakes (always add chili flakes!) and watch them bleed. Then add the diced onion and sauté until transparent.

9.Add the thyme sprigs to the pot and add the black olives. Stir it around. (There is magic in thyme spent in just about any dish!)

10.Add the sliced pepper (add a healthy pinch of salt, a healthy pinch of pepper, and the oregano) and stir until peppers are evenly coated and sizzling.

11.Put the plum tomatoes in a large bowl. Break them up with your hands and add them to the pot of cooking peppers. Add a pinch of salt and a pinch of pepper along with the fresh basil. Simmer for 10 minutes or so. (Sing “Santa Lucia” and dance around the kitchen with someone you love until the whole house smells like Italian Heaven.)

12.Place the chicken pieces and all the juices in a deep casserole pan. Pour the pepper and tomato gravy over the chicken, distributing it evenly.

13.Put the uncovered casserole in a 400-degree oven for 1 hour to 1 hour and 15 minutes.

14.Take it out and let it rest for at least 10 minutes.

15.Give someone you love a hug. Brush the tears away from their cheeks if they are crying and tell them you love them more than anything in the world, even more than chicken cacciatore and meatballs. Then eat!

16.Buon appetito! Mangiare bene! Stare bene! Delizioso!