I'm not sure how it goes with other ethnicities -- I imagine it's largely the same -- but after an Italian funeral, you eat.
And you reminisce, tell stories, laugh, drink wine, and remember the ones you love. It all makes perfect sense, really.
The New Haven-area restaurant where we had our Monday-afternoon "dinner" did a great job, putting out homey family-style dishes that hit the spot and made our exhausted clan feel right at home.
We started with a salad, which was served with baskets of brick-oven-baked focaccia and pepperoni-stuffed rolls (nice touch). Then out came great platters of delicious penne alla vodka, which were followed by the main courses, chicken cacciatore and sole francese. Dessert was something akin to strawberry shortcake.
Poor Margy just sat there and tried to hold it all together. She would have enjoyed this meal, but not today. Her stomach picked a lousy time to be sour.
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