Living in an Italian family that is so closely knit together means it’s nearly impossible to have never brought a friend or friends to Sunday lunch. The first time an outsider comes to Sunday lunch is the ultimate test to the friendship. You soon learn whether or not they plan to stick around or decide that you’re just as crazy as your family.
The first time I brought friends to a classic Sunday lunch at Nonni’s house was in seventh grade. Needless to say they were in for pure culture shock. We’re 13 years old and my friendship with the three of them has been nothing short of sisterly since the beginning of elementary school. I thought it was time they experienced the Sunday lunches that have been consuming my weekends for the majority of my childhood.
We arrive and there are more than thirty bodies piled in the kitchen, all hovering around the plate filled with slices of cheddar, parmesan, swiss, and provolone cheese. We pass some time by clearing the plate of cheese, then take our rightful spots at the two tables that are pushed together in order to fit everyone. The pasta is brought to the table and the aunts serve everyone one by one. Extra sauce is passed, grated cheese is being sprinkled, and my friends seem to be holding their heads above water perfectly fine. As we stuff our faces with gnocchi for the next fifteen minutes and numerous Italian words that only the parents understand are being thrown around, I notice my friends eating more pasta than normal.
Do they think this is the only food?
Little do they know what else has to come out. My family, myself included, all love this next part of newbie’s coming to Sunday lunch because no one ever realizes what’s hiding in the oven. We probably should've warned them not to eat so much pasta, but the expressions on their faces were priceless when the two trays of cutlets, two dishes of lamb, four different vegetables, and giant bowl of salad made their way to the table.
“There’s more?!” They asked me in shock. And all I did to answer was laugh and nod my head yes. After they force fed themselves, they finally thought it was over...
That is until my Nonni called the grandkids back into the kitchen, “Time to put the fruit out.” Looks of shock take over yet again as we placed watermelon, red grapes, green grapes, cantaloupe, and honey dew on the table. And within the next ten minutes the fruit was nearly gone and my friends seemed to think Sunday was coming to an end, but it was far from the end.
The coffee was brewing in the pot, espresso was brewing on the stove, and dessert after dessert were making their way next to what was left of the fruit. I’ve now lost all self control and gave into my laughter when I heard one of my friend saying that they’re so full but everything looks so good. And like my family, each of my three friends grabbed a plate and filled it with dessert.
When the night was finally over, my three friends and I sat in our sleeping bags in my basement recapping the night. They went on and on about how welcoming my family was, how great my Nonni’s cooking is, and how they have never eaten that much on any normal Sunday. And right before we go to bed they asked me, “Can we come back next Sunday?”
They certainly passed the test.
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