Dinner @ Nonna's

photo by Davey Gravey on Unsplash

Confession: I did NOT have a “Nonna.” My grandmas were reluctant cooks at best (Grandma Berrigan) and actively horrible cooks (Nana Cunningham) at worst. And my kids’ Nana (my mom Joanie) was worse still. So if I was ever inspired to, say, dedicate a restaurant to the cuisine of these lovely ladies, I’d immediately reconsider. It's hard to imagine a hangry crowd paying top dollar for Hostess Twinkies, Swanson’s Salisbury Steak, and incinerated green bean casserole.  

But I know many of you (especially those of Italian descent) did have both beloved and culinarily gifted grandmothers. And so, Nonnas, the movie I watched last weekend with Steve, might resonate. You could picture your own dear Nonna, slaving away in a commercial kitchen to prepare and serve her specialties from the Old Country. 

 

Not to give away the restaurant (for those of you with it in your Netflix queue): Nonnas is based on a true story, about an average Joe who wanted to honor his deceased Mama by opening a dining spot in Staten Island, using her cherished recipes. Complications aplenty ensue, all rapidly ironed out, but bottom line, he (Vince Vaughn, who appears uncomfortable with the proceedings) enlists a quartet of oldsters to be the eatery's chefs. There is great need for the willing suspension of disbelief immediately, because one of these gals is Susan Sarandon. I mean, come on! The rest of the posse consists of Talia Shire, Brenda Vaccaro and Lorraine Bracco, all capital M Movie Stars who have consented to being glammed down a bit. None of them can believably make world-class gravy (tomato sauce). I’d buy them joining forces to open a spa instead, or launch People magazine.

 

Seen through the smudged lens of my own experience, this is Theatre of the Absurd, because none of my feminine forebears would EVER vote to prep meals under pressure and for scant recompense; the ladies in the film are sweetly surprised when they get their little paychecks. Where, I ask, are the burnt offerings which were so central to my family’s kitchen lore? In this version of things: pastas galore, delectable desserts, lots of vino, and blissfully happy patrons at meal’s end. In mine? A couple of hours after our “repast,” we’d be hunting and pecking for something (anything) to quell our gnawing hunger. And we’d be refunding disgruntled patrons’ moolah to beat the band.

 

I’m delighted Nonnas is out in the world, and it really was a very nice diversion from the horrifying daily menu of political news. I do propose a Nonnas Two, however, for those of us with “different” grandmas. In my sequel, the Nons are quite annoyed that CUSTOMERS are arriving, because Oprah is still on! They will jolly well have to wait! And eat what they are served! And be darned grateful there’s food on the table at all! 

 

Anyhoo, enjoy Nonnas, a heaping helping of cinematic tiramisu. And if you recognize your own Nonna there—don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.