A quiet Sunday, Brisbane, 1954, out front of the fruit shop and milk bar… when cousin Tony came to visit from Melbourne and everyone met there for photos since, at this time, Nonno Anni kept it open from 7am until 10pm, 363 days a year.
It makes me smile to see them all then – Bisnonno Vitale, Granny Maddalena, my dad as a young boy in his best clothes, great-uncle, Vince, Nanna Francesca still in her 20s, Nonno Anni in his work vest (lower centre) with his cousin, Tony, and Tony looking suave between two other fellows, Domenico and Achille, (top left).
It also makes my heart catch a little that they met there so Nonno Anni didn’t have to close the milk bar, even on a Sunday, since people came there after going to church or visiting at the hospital close by.
All the hours my grandparents worked and the decades of holidays they didn’t take so that their children and grandchildren could have different lives, hopefully easier lives. The way so many who are migrants or from poorer beginnings sacrifice and work tirelessly with love and a generous spirit. It’s very humbling to me, especially as, two generations on, I’m able to pursue my dream to write and for this, I’m very grateful – to all of you too. Thank you for your interest in these stories. Zoë 💛 xx
PS. When I was about nine – the age my dad is in a photo here – and cousin Tony was again visiting, we went to Surfers Paradise and I was allowed to get a lift in Tony’s Mercedes while the rest of the family followed in their regular cars. I just couldn’t believe it – my first time in such a car! 😄 And I still remember Tony’s kind grin at seeing my amazement.
PPS. Nonno Anni later replaced the Tristrams sign with the red and white ‘Milk Bar’ one that lit up. The same sign I wrote about in, Joe’s Fruit Shop and Milk Bar that got covered by the flood in 2011.
It’s taken me until aged fifty, to build and light a fire for the first time. Curiously, until now, it’s just so happened that the men in my life did this task. Whether it was Dad’s big, brick barbecue in the backyard (built by one of Nonno Anni’s Italian mates). The guys among friends building a bonfire on the beach. Or Roger taking care of the fire if we stayed somewhere cold that had a lovely fireplace. For whatever reasons, including living mostly in a subtropical climate, it just didn’t come about to light a fire myself.
There’s so much I love about this photograph taken in the Brisbane backyard of Granny Maddalena and Nonno Vitale’s house… everyone under the Hills hoist, Granny bending over giggling, the woman’s arm around her. Nonno Anni looking over to see what they’re laughing at, Nanna Francesca always ready for the camera, holding the young boy who doesn’t look so keen to be in the photo.
As promised, the first steps in making wine this summer, taught the old-style way by Nonno Anni and older Italians…
Thank you for joining me here throughout the year! Many of you have been here with me for a decade now and it’s a joy to connect with you through stories, cooking, gardening, old photos and of course, Italy. I’m very grateful to you all! The festive season for me has so far been a short ‘holiday at home’ with (mostly) big, blue skies, gardening, swimming, park picnics, cooking, catching up with those I can, and missing those I can’t. As always, the ‘bleeding heart’ vine is flowering right on time in Christmas (and Italian!) colours of red, white and green. There is panettone, Roger’s Xmas tree bread rolls and my cousins made lovely crostoli.
My Bisnonna, Granny Maddalena’s birthday was today and by complete coincidence, this morning I was talking to one of her relatives in Italy of her stories that I’m writing about. Like many of her era, Maddalena’s life was shaped by hard-earned experience as she lived through two wars, an earthquake, a pandemic, the depression and bringing up her sons single-handedly before she could join her husband in Australia.
January 6th – Epiphany and the visit of la Befana, the wise men and women and marking the end of 12 days of Christmas. Whatever your beliefs, ‘epiphany’ is a lovely word with connotations of insight, discovery and a sudden understanding of something that is very important to you.
In another Italian tradition… after learning about Abruzzese pizze fritte – its song and secret recipe handed down from mother-to-daughter (and sometimes son), but only on New Year’s Eve – Roger and I decided to end the year by cooking these.
Except, not knowing all of the secret recipe that contains anise and saffron, we decided to make our own version with toppings of basil pesto and crispy prosciutto, bufala di mozzarella, melanzane, tomato and basilico leaves from the garden. The fritte were also cooked in a wok and finished in the oven, which worked well, but isn’t quite traditional! Yet they were delicious and I loved thinking about their connection with Abruzzo.
If it otherwise means not following a tradition at all because it’s too hard or the recipe is lost, perhaps it’s okay to adapt them at times. For that becomes part of our history too, all of us adapting here and there along the way over the years, while still understanding what is important overall. Tanti auguri di felicità per l’Epifania! Many wishes of happiness for Epiphany! xxx
“On Boxing Day, Annibale, Francesca and the others loaded the back of the Chevrolet with cold drinks, some roast chickens and a couple of large watermelons. After several years of keeping the fruit shop and milk bar open almost every day, Annibale had decided they’d close for a couple of days over Christmas and the family would head to the beach for the day…
I never usually know what ‘international day’ it is but happened to see that today it’s in honour of rural women, so thought I’d share with you this rare photo of my great-grandmother taken of her alone.
Our two birdbaths and various ground dishes about the place are being visited and almost emptied every day by both day and night visitors to the garden. 😊🐦🐝🐞🐾
Doing things like an Italian you’d never have thought you would when growing up… 
It’s Nonno Anni’s birthday in a few days so there was once a time when all the family would be getting together this weekend at my grandparents’ house. Several tables would be pushed together, Nanna Francesca would cook huge bowls of pasta and either polpette or cotolette, and of course there’d be cake, champagne and maybe Franjelico, or Sambuca with a coffee bean lit on top.
Granny Maddalena harvesting from her vegie garden before going inside to cook for all the family. Sometimes it’s the simplest things…
The “good” cabinet – filled with items only to be used for special guests, certainly never for family. These were Nanna Francesca’s modest, glass-fronted cabinets of hi-ball glasses, espresso cups, coffee pots and bonbonniere of figurines and sugared almonds (left) in the late 60s and (right) in the early 70s with me, Mum and Nanna Francesca (same Christmas tree).
Zoë Boccabella 