The East Side of My Youth: A Veritable International Smorgasbord (Heavy on the Italian)

When I was a kid in elementary school, every year students would put on a dance or song presentation at an annual event downtown at the St. Paul Auditorium, called “The Festival of Nations.” It’s been more than 50 years since I went to one of these multi-cultural events, but I often consider my childhood to have been just that – a multi-cultural event.

I think we also made posters and banners. I do recall being at two of these, both being dance presentations. One year it was a Jewish folk dance done while singing “Hava Nagila.” I have no idea what I wore, but I do remember the dance moved in a circle. We linked arms and we did a lot of kicking. Another year it was a folk dance from the Philippines, I believe. It involved two long bamboo poles which a pair of students would tap on the ground and click together while two other students jumped in and out. There was music, and I think the story was about birds trying to avoid getting caught in a cage. We clicked those poles quite hard to make the loudest sound possible, and it sure hurt when they caught an ankle in the process!

One of the highlights of these festivals was ethnic food. As I look back on my young days, that was appropriate, because most of my multi-cultural experience revolved around food. And in my memory, it involved a lot of tomato sauce, parmesan and mozzarella cheese, and Italian sausage. Hmmm...maybe the trace of Italian in my son's DNA results accounts for my fondness for that.

photo courtesy of Carbone's

When we moved to the first house my parents bought – on the corner of Earl and Orange – our next-door neighbors were the Carbones. Yes, THOSE Carbones, the ones of Twin Cities pizza fame. Nana was a widow, her husband passing away several years before I was born. Her sons were there often to take care of her. In those days they only had one restaurant In addition to their original grocery store. The pizza shop on 7th Street was as I recall a small store with just a few tables, mostly occupied by people waiting for their take-out orders. I think they served spaghetti as well, which wouldn’t surprise me. (Apologies to Carbone's - I snagged your graphic off the internet, and I hope you don't mind. I couldn't find a public domain photo.)

A simmering pot of spaghetti sauce on the stove is the aroma of my youth. Nana always had a giant batch going, and my siblings and I were often invited in for a bowl with pasta. Nana Carbone didn’t speak much English other than her favorite shout-out to us when we were out playing in the yard: “Hey KEEDS – come-on-a- EAT! Manga, Manga!” Venturing into that house was an experience well outside my quiet Swedish/German upbringing. Mama Carbone’s decorating was a bit over the top for my taste, but the FOOD was fantastic! And sometimes, on rare occasions, we were ushered into the dark living room to select a piece of special anise candy from an elaborate cut-glass dish.

Carbone’s has expanded far afield from those days. I see from their website they even have a store in Montana! But back then they were confined to the East Side. Their history speaks of sons Frankie and Mario, but I also remember Rocco. He may have been a grandson rather than a son, so I am unclear on the relationship. He had several children, and one of them was a daughter my age. We sometimes played together when they came to visit Nana. I think her name was Stephanie. Someone probably calls her Nana now.

Nana Carbone grew truckloads of various kinds of tomatoes along the short retaining wall that divided our houses. Oh, and zucchini, bushes of zucchini. That stone wall probably held enough heat to create the perfect growing conditions. I’d never had anything like those zucchini; Swedes didn't eat those. But Nana could turn them into an exquisite treat, breaded and fried, and covered in sauce and melted cheese. Manga, manga indeed!

The Italian food-related names of days gone by still swim in my memories: Yarusso's, Ronally's, Morelli's. Lower Payne Avenue back in those days looked like Little Italy. But there were also other neighborhoods with great Italian food, places like Romolo's. I was crushed to learn that Romolo’s on Arcade and Sherwood closed a few years back. No insult to Carbone’s, but I still think Romolo’s was the best pizza in town. And their hot dago sandwiches were to die for. (Apparently there have been numerous attempts over the years to ban the term ‘hot dago’ from St.Paul restaurant menus because some think it is offensive; the Italian community – who should be the ones offended – has staunchly resisted those efforts.) When we moved back to St. Paul in 1989, one of the first places I took my husband was Romolo's. Their take-out pizza became a staple for us.

I got introduced to the incredible food at Romolo's by Grandma Kate. The restaurant (formerly a drive-in whose name I can't recall) was just a short walk down the alley from my paternal grandparents’ house on Wheelock Parkway, and you could smell the aromas of whatever was on the stove in their kitchen from that Wheelock backyard. Grandma took me there for the first time; we had spaghetti for lunch, and it seemed like such an adventure. For someone raised on rather mild Scandinavian food, where the only spices in one's cupboard were black pepper, cinnamon, dill, and cardamom, it probably was.

Ah, the tasty memories. Manga, manga! I think I'll go make a batch of spaghetti the way Nana taught me - from scratch. And maybe some zucchini.