By Sal Guarino
Lazy childhood Sundays were special in our Italian American enclave in Brooklyn. After some of us returned from our family’s partial attendance at church, mom would start puttering around the kitchen midmorning. Others devoted themselves to elongated slumber instead of Father McGloin’s interpretation of the gospels. All were soon called to olfactory attention by the unmistakable smell of red “gravy” simmering magically, triggering our culturally conditioned Pavlovian reward centers. Happy aromas of fresh tomatoes, basil, and garlic signaled our hearts to the wonderful food and relaxing familial camaraderie to follow. The most sacred Sunday rituals were indeed performed in mom’s kitchen and around our dining room table, where antipasti, macaroni, and meatballs (always made with pork, beef, and veal), delivered with ample jugs of red wine and endless loaves of fresh Italian bread, played host to the weekly communion that filled our bellies and soothed our souls.
Decades later, I was reminded of our deliciously slow-paced Sundays when watching a scene from the 2010 film “Eat, Pray, Love.” Liz, played by Julia Roberts, was spending time in Italy soothing her pained soul by consuming copious amounts of pasta and wrapping herself in the loving arms of warmhearted Italian friends when confronted by one of them, Luca Spaghetti. He chastised her in a well-intended yet scorching tirade about how she, and “Americans” in general, have no ability to relax. He barked on, bemoaning how when they do attempt to slow things down on the weekend, they are so guilty about it that they need to get drunk in the process. He continues dispensing his melodic, Italian-accented tough love by espousing Italians’ reverence for dolce far niente—the sweetness of doing nothing. His logically sound impassioned plea rendered his tightly wound American friend speechless, thoroughly convinced that she needed to move in his suggested direction, stop “planning” to relax, and instead just do so. This funny yet poignant scene brought to light a key cultural and psychological deficit that stifled Liz and her countrymates—the ability to enjoy the moment.
Raised in the United States and a well-trained creature of its habits and customs, I also appreciated Luca’s indictment of U.S. angst, our archetypical guilt over even attempting to relax. But growing up among many relatives who were raised in the old country, I had also learned to revere and enjoy dolce far niente. While I empathized with both characters, I intuitively craved that transformative practice for which Luca so demonstrably advocated. Going through a divorce, navigating a career change and physical relocation at the time, however, the sweetness of doing nothing felt elusive, a fantastic ideal that was forced to wait in line behind life’s more pressing concerns. Sadly, that childhood Sunday feeling remained on the back burner.
Several years and some pivotal life lessons later, I was happily reminded of my dormant desire to slow things down and live more in the present. Upon meeting my current wife online in May of 2020, I began to travel back and forth to her home in Querétaro and the surrounding areas of Mexico. As frequent diners, we often received a common politeness from those exiting a restaurant while we remained. “Provecho!” they would exclaim with a buoyant, enthusiastic tone, complemented with direct eye contact and a warm glance. Short for buen provecho! and translated best as bon appétit! (good appetite!), translation fails to capture the full meaning of this customary pleasantry and culturally rooted expression of goodwill. What was really being conveyed through this seemingly habitual passing of the gustatory baton among patrons, and why did it feel so important?
As I continue to immerse myself in Mexican culture, often via my love for eating, the weighty significance of Provecho! and the increasingly familiar chords it strikes within me have become clearer. My appreciation grows each time we receive or issue the Spanish dining directive. In a country where movement of the body seems incessant, where “side hustles” are better defined as simply doing what’s necessary, and relocated estadounidenses like me are quickly forced to acknowledge the feebleness of our collective work ethic al norte, Provecho! is a wonderful imploration to slow down, enjoy your food and the precious time shared with family and friends (Mexicans rarely dine alone), and relish the opportunity to just be. Ahh yes, Provecho!, indeed! Luca Spaghetti has made an encore appearance through my latest cultural immersion. In any language, his heartfelt directive always hits the spot.
Some of Sal’s future articles will share more Provecho! through personal experiences of the palate and spirit at our amazing San Miguel restaurants!
Sal Guarino
Born in Brooklyn, NY, Sal brings a rich set of life experiences, including a diverse career path to the table. Now settled in San Miguel, “SALudos!” shares his ongoing reflections of gratitude and personal strategies for joyful living. Sal’s first book, a collection of autobiographical essays, “SALutations!” was published in 2018. Contact: salguarino@gmail.com
