Sometimes I forget how beautiful Pennsylvania is.
We drove over the July 4 weekend to Scranton/Wilkes-Barre, home of my step-father’s Italian American family. The drive north from Pittsburgh through glorious sunshine was spectacular, first through rolling farmland, then into the mountains, with splendid views across rich green valleys. We shunned the Turnpike and drove on the slower, less crowded Route 80 most of the way, stopping for a picnic lunch en route. 
Open forever, when they announced their closing a decade or two ago, the community rallied and insisted they remain open. Mike and Janel, self-confessed pizza connoisseurs, had always wanted to try it. His dad and uncle have fond memories of dinner there back in the 1960’s! They’re open only 3 days a week and we got lucky.
Scranton pizza consists of thick, fococcia-like dough, with a thin, sweet, oniony tomato sauce and melted mozzarella. Knowing we’d be eating a real dinner shortly thereafter, we had just one slice each, which has probably never happened in the entire history of the establishment. Susan and I washed ours down with bottles of Stegmaier beer, a light, refreshing local brew. Perhaps one day I’ll return for a slice with toppings, or perhaps their other offering, BBQ.
Mmmmm.... Stegmeier. I picked up a case to bring home to Pittsburgh. 
Ralph’s dinner was good. It was catered by Villa Real—one of the few local Italian restaurants to pass muster with this choosy crowd.
Basic, well-prepared, Italian-American food is a treat.
Of course there were various pork products—capricola and salami as an anti-pasti.
Dinner was pasta with tomato and meatballs, with a healthy showering of cheese; peppers and sausage; roast chicken; over-steamed vegetables (so soft)… yum.
Susan and I were in Italy last year and ate incredibly well. We’ve also been fortunate to visit Babbo a couple of times in New York, which is outstanding. Locally, we have a chef at Eleven who makes fantastic sausage and cured meats. But it was wonderful to revisit good, basic family-style Italian food again. Made me wonder why I don’t eat it more often.
We drove over the July 4 weekend to Scranton/Wilkes-Barre, home of my step-father’s Italian American family. The drive north from Pittsburgh through glorious sunshine was spectacular, first through rolling farmland, then into the mountains, with splendid views across rich green valleys. We shunned the Turnpike and drove on the slower, less crowded Route 80 most of the way, stopping for a picnic lunch en route.
My cousins Denise and Sandra were throwing their Dad, my Great Uncle Ralph, a 90th birthday celebration. My grandfather, Enso, had just turned 85, too; he’d be there, along with his second son, Mario, Mario’s wife Alice, and my brother Michael and his partner Janel.
Ralph was one of eleven children (one of whom remarkabkly also had eleven children), so the large church hall was filled with nieces and nephews. A widower now (he was married to my grandmother’s sister), he still works, but “not on Fridays anymore.” I guess he’s slowing down a little.
Ralph is an enormously friendly man. He’s always driving somewhere, selling something or other, and I’m sure he has no shortage of great friends all over the North East.
Michael insisted we visit Victory Pig Pizza for a quick slice before the party.
Ralph was one of eleven children (one of whom remarkabkly also had eleven children), so the large church hall was filled with nieces and nephews. A widower now (he was married to my grandmother’s sister), he still works, but “not on Fridays anymore.” I guess he’s slowing down a little.
Ralph is an enormously friendly man. He’s always driving somewhere, selling something or other, and I’m sure he has no shortage of great friends all over the North East.
Michael insisted we visit Victory Pig Pizza for a quick slice before the party.
Open forever, when they announced their closing a decade or two ago, the community rallied and insisted they remain open. Mike and Janel, self-confessed pizza connoisseurs, had always wanted to try it. His dad and uncle have fond memories of dinner there back in the 1960’s! They’re open only 3 days a week and we got lucky.
Scranton pizza consists of thick, fococcia-like dough, with a thin, sweet, oniony tomato sauce and melted mozzarella. Knowing we’d be eating a real dinner shortly thereafter, we had just one slice each, which has probably never happened in the entire history of the establishment. Susan and I washed ours down with bottles of Stegmaier beer, a light, refreshing local brew. Perhaps one day I’ll return for a slice with toppings, or perhaps their other offering, BBQ.
Michael tucking in.
Mmmmm.... Stegmeier. I picked up a case to bring home to Pittsburgh. Ralph’s dinner was good. It was catered by Villa Real—one of the few local Italian restaurants to pass muster with this choosy crowd.
Basic, well-prepared, Italian-American food is a treat.
Of course there were various pork products—capricola and salami as an anti-pasti.
Dinner was pasta with tomato and meatballs, with a healthy showering of cheese; peppers and sausage; roast chicken; over-steamed vegetables (so soft)… yum.
Susan and I were in Italy last year and ate incredibly well. We’ve also been fortunate to visit Babbo a couple of times in New York, which is outstanding. Locally, we have a chef at Eleven who makes fantastic sausage and cured meats. But it was wonderful to revisit good, basic family-style Italian food again. Made me wonder why I don’t eat it more often.
More photos:
A pleasant surprise: I was guest of the day at the Courtyard Whatever Hotel. I got a chocolate for this, and my name in lights. OK, not lights: cheap plastic lettering.
A pleasant surprise: I was guest of the day at the Courtyard Whatever Hotel. I got a chocolate for this, and my name in lights. OK, not lights: cheap plastic lettering.
About to enjoy the Victory Pig.
Me, Grandpa, Susan, birthday boy Ralph, Michael and Janel
Me and cousin Sandra
Susan, cousin Denise and moi.
No, cousin Joe isn't about to have Michael whacked. They're getting passionate over a comic book, I think. 
Sandra's husband Keith's band, self-confessed "Pocono ponies," provided the entertainment. Excellent, they really got the crowd dancing. Hey, is that a '79 Ibanez? Pretty sweet. Fetch a fortune on E-Bay....
2 comments:
Sounds like a good time!
My college roommates and I used to drink a lot of Stegmeier - it was the cheapest thing at the beer distributer. We called it Quagmeier.
Thank you to Mario for sending this blog to me. My mother will see it tomorrow. She will be so thrilled. My best to the Juvenile Birthday Boys..Uncles Enso and Ralph. They still have that mischievous look that has gotten them into so much trouble in the past. They never age!
Dawna
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