Italian-American Food is not Italian.

And that’s okay.

I must admit that I once was a harsh – albeit confused – critic of Italian-American food. My disappointment joined the chorus of those who grew up on the peninsula and who immediately fell into the same trap I fell in when setting foot in the United States. The trap is that of comparison, and it’s something you are bound to constantly be disappointed by. When I moved to North Carolina, I immediately went in search of Italian food that would make me feel like I was back home in Friuli. Apparently it only took me 10 hours of travel for my culinary homesickness to kick-in. In the throes of my disorientation as I searched for Italy through food, I didn’t realize that I had stepped across the threshold of someone else’s home. I forgot my manners, and with that, my table manners.

A perfectionist on the dos and don’ts of eating Italian food around the table – or so I thought – my personal experience up to that point had to fill-in for my new lack of context. Criticisms on primi and secondi piatti plated together, observations on the amount of red tomato sauce that unapologetically smothered the rest of the ingredients, the generous proportions. All understandable culture shocks that got the best of me. But then I got bored of the internet and its sea of unimaginative reaction videos of Italians tasting fast-food pizza like Domino’s, or eating in sit-down restaurants like Olive Garden, and then predictably tearing everything apart. Perhaps I had realized that lazy jokes for a cheap laugh at the expense of Italian-Americans, were really ignited by the appropriation and commodification of the Italian heritage in the United States, not by Italian-American cuisine, per se. I had enough, so I decided that if I could understand Italian-American food, I could get closer to understanding Italian-American culture and not feel so disoriented.

When people talk about Italian culinary traditions and pull the authenticity card, I can’t help but think about the food of our childhoods. What is more authentic than the dishes our parents and grandparents cooked for us? When comparing recipes, don’t we all compare them to what we ate growing up? To what all the other families around us were eating? Our family is our tradition, so authenticity is relative. The great migration of mainly poor southern Italians to America in the late 1800s and early 1900s is no different than other stories of migration: you travel in search of something better, while simultaneously leaving a part of you behind. Food for the immigrant becomes a connection to the motherland, but it can also become a symbol of newly found wealth in a new country. Italians in America couldn’t change the cards they were dealt with in life, so they chose to play the hand the best they could. They played l’abbondanza – abundance. Being able to afford meat, cheese, tomatoes and other ingredients in a way that they couldn’t afford back home resulted in dishes like spaghetti and meatballs, and chicken parmigiana, new symbols of wealth, love and comfort.

While we compare Italian-American food to that of the motherland, we ignore the fact that Italian-American food is its own cuisine, and that it’s evolving just like any other.

Chef Scott Tacinelli and chef and partner Angie Rito’s modern Italian-American restaurant, Don Angie, is a testament to this. A place that offers food in a way that emphasizes family gatherings around the table. Approachable Michelin star fine dining that invites you to pass around the food and share a meal, family style. Everything from their house wine straw-covered bottle, to a large bowl of salad in the middle of the table from which everyone can get their portion. And let’s not forget to mention their pinwheel lasagna. I honestly think that a recipe that presents itself in its final form as neat individual cinnamon bun-like rolls instead of stacked layers of pasta, is ingenuity to be proud of. What’s not to like?! I really enjoy cookbooks of authors who give historical and personal context to their recipes, so I highly recommend Italian American, their cookbook. I also recommend Nana’s Creole Italian Table, by Elizabeth M. Williams. Like a puzzle, she masterfully interlocked the immigrant Sicilian history of New Orleans, her experience and that of her family, with recipes like the Three Generation Olive Salad – essential on a traditional muffuletta sandwich – Creole red gravy, and meatball po’boys.

I’m elated at the idea of delving more into food history and culinary traditions that stem from Italy, and I know that sooner or later I’ll find the intersections that will connect me to my African American heritage.

Now, whether someone correctly salts the water and cooks the pasta al dente, is an entirely different story.