Reader mail

Happy Friday. Talorico reporting in.

Who's headed to the beach? Raise your hand? I'm hoping to check out the restaurant scene there this weekend.

It's been a crazy week trying to play catch up after my unexpected six-day break - i.e. jury service. (See below.) I have a whole new appreciation for the justice system and have to thank our bailiff "Big Tom" for making us laugh everyday.

Here's some news: Sussex County restaurateur Matt Haley has opened a new Rehoboth eatery Lupo di Mare.

Whoa, wait, a minute....what happened to Spiaggia, the Italian seafood house Haley was planning?? I'm guessing some kind of name dispute...since Lupo di Mare is located inside the new Hotel Rehoboth - right where Spiaggia was to be located. I'm going to call Haley later today and get the scoop. Stay tuned.

Check out Eric Ruth's Taste column today on chicken. We unveiled the "new" dining format two weeks ago - stars are out, forks are in - and Ruth will now be exploring cheaper eats as well as fine dining options. (Me too.) Buddy Hurlock will snack on "Regular Guy Grub" and tell you about it every Tuesday. Buddy's working on a pizza story that will be coming soon in 55 Hours.

Onto the mailbag:

QUESTION: Hi Patricia,
I have noticed a take-out shop on 202 just behind Casapulla's North. I think it's called McDaniel something, which makes sense since it's in McDaniel Crest. The sign mentions baklava and some other Greek dishes. Not sure if this place is new or I am just noticing it for the first time, but was wondering if you knew anything. Thanks!
Anne Mathay

ANSWER: Hey, Anne. Thanks for the email. Wow. This is news to me. I just drove by that way yesterday and didn't notice this new place. Good Greek food is hard to find - I've always enjoyed the European Bistro on Naamans Road - so I'm going to stop in soon and see what's going on. I'll have an update soon. Readers, anyone have information??

QUESTION: Dear Patricia,

Firstly, I wanted to let you know how much I enjoy your blog. Some of the recipes you've posted have quickly become household favorites! I am a Wilmington native, and I moved to Cincinnati two years ago. This summer, my boyfriend and I are coming back to Delaware to spend a week at the beach. I am looking forward to seafood in all forms, but my boyfriend is a little more particular. He is allergic to shrimp, crab and lobster, but love clams. I was wondering if you know of a place that serves good fried clams in the general Rehoboth area? The last time we visited we were met with puny strips that looked like they came out of the grocery freezer section. Any advice would be greatly appreciated!

Sincerely,

Jenna in Cincinnati

ANSWER: Hi Jeanna in Cincinnati. I'm so glad we're reaching Ohio. My friend Judy lives in Shaker Heights.

To be honest, when I eat clams, I usually go for raw or steamed. You may want to try Fins Fish House & Raw Bar on Rehoboth Avenue or perhaps Big Fish Grill on Del. 1. or maybe Jake's Seafood.

Red, white and blue dessert

A Fourth of July recipe for the Twinkie lovers out there....(Do people still eat Twinkies??)

Patriotic Twinkie Pie
Serves 16

1 (6-ounce) package blueberry Jell-O
3 cups boiling water
1 (16-ounce) bag frozen blueberries
1 (6-ounce) package strawberry Jell-O
1 (16-ounce) bag frozen sliced strawberries in syrup
6 to 7 Twinkies, broken or torn into 1-inch pieces
2 (5.1-ounce) packages instant vanilla pudding mix
6 cups milk
1 (12-ounce) container frozen nondairy whipped topping, thawed

In a bowl, combine the blueberry Jell-O and 1 1/2 cups of the boiling water and stir until dissolved. Add the blueberries and stir until blended and slightly thickened. Allow to cool completely.

In another bowl, combine the strawberry Jell-O and remaining 1 1/2 cups boiling water and stir until dissolved. Add the strawberries and stir until blended and slightly thickened. Allow to cool completely.

Place half of the Twinkie pieces in a 6-quart glass bowl or trifle dish. In a separate bowl, combine the pudding mix and milk and stir according to the package instructions. Spoon half of the pudding over the Twinkies.

Spoon the blueberry mixture over the pudding spreading evenly. Top with the remaining Twinkie pieces. Spoon the remaining pudding over the Twinkies, spreading evenly. Spoon the strawberry mixture over the pudding, spreading evenly.

Cover and refrigerate for several hours or overnight, until completely chilled and set. Top with the whipped topping just before serving.

Top Chef

Richard Blais - one of the top three cheftestants on "Top Chef" - just received a glowing review for his cooking at Home restaurant in Atlanta.

NEW - Regular Guy Grub

Every Tuesday, sports reporter Buddy Hurlock will share with SH readers his take on "Regular Guy Grub."

In his first post, Hurlock goes on an mission for pizza, but ends up with something even better. Later, he washes it down with some new soda flavors:


Finding a pizza joint with late night hours is tough.

Often, the cravings for regular guy grub hit when most places have either closed or stopped serving food for the night. A welcome exception is Main Street in Newark, where even in the summer, one can find places open later than midnight.

Craving some late night pizza after I was done work recently, I hit Main Street for some pizza, only to find my original destination closed.

But that led to a welcome discovery of D.P. Dough, which I had always thought was just another pizza place.

Nope. My question of "Any slices ready?" was met with "We actually don't serve pizza, we specialize in calzones."

And they specialize in them very well, with more than 40 varieties from breakfast versions to those with ham or chicken and even some with eggplant or spinach.

If you want reviews of those, you've got the wrong blog posting. Several of calzone's names are a play on words, and I ordered the Oh! Zone, which included steak with American and mozzarella cheese.

I asked for pepperoni to be added, which was no big deal for them and surprisingly no extra charge.

The $6 charge also included a can of soda and one cup of sauce, where the choices are your normal basics (marinara, garlic butter, honey mustard, bleu cheese, etc.).

The calzone was superb and so filling that I only ate half that night, saving the rest for lunch the next day. After a night in the fridge and then a minute in the microwave, the second half, especially the bread, held up very well.

The menu also includes wraps, salads and wings. But don't skip getting a calzone when you visit D.P. Dough (127 E. Main Street, (302) 368-8878, www.dpdough.com).

This blog will focus on grub, but I'll also have thoughts on more trivial items, such as the new line of Mountain Dew sodas being trotted out this summer.

After a few hits (Code Red) and misses (MDX) over the years, this summer offers three new flavors: Revolution (described as "wild berry), Supernova (strawberry) and Voltage (raspberry).

I've tried Supernova and thought it was not too bad, but not a regular soda for me. These brands are also flavored with ginseng, so be forewarned.

Read more and vote for your favorite at www.dewmocracy.com.

The verdict: Pretty decent, fast lunches in downtown Wilmo

Don't kid yourself. It can happen to you.

On June 16 sometime before 8:30 a.m., I walked into the New Castle County Court House fully confident, supremely confident, in fact, that I would fulfill my summons for jury service by reading a book. No way was I going to get picked.

A few hours later, I sat with 14 other very stunned jurors (in addition to a 12-person jury, they pick 3 alternates) and hunkered down for a six-day trial.

Yo, what just happened?

I'm not going to get into the details of the case, but I will talk about breaking for lunch each day.

On the first day of jury duty, assistant jury manager Cheryl Elzey - who uses humor to make a boring situation bearable - warned us about the overpriced, but very convenient, Dunkin' Donuts in the basement of the courthouse. Great advice- and, nope, I didn't visit the DD.

So for six days, I made the best of my civic duty and decided to eat at six different places. I considered eating D&H's Jamaican chicken on Fourth Street and Genelle's curry on Market - two places I've always liked but haven't visited in some time - but spicy food and long hours of sitting in court didn't seem like a great idea.

This is my eating diary, in no particular order:

Sushi at the Riverfront Market (we had a good 1 1/2 hours for lunch that day and I really needed to stretch my legs after sitting for so long);

Subway on Market Street; (a so-so turkey sandwich; we forgot we were wearing our Juror stickers and the guys behind the counter saw them and joked "we're not guilty")

Perky Bean on Market Street (very cute place, nice service; hefty chicken salad with craisins);

Amertige Bistro (they have a great "noshing" bar - free samples of cheese, olives and salamis, but wish the service was a little faster; we ordered a sandwich at the counter and had to wolf it down and practically run back to the courthouse);

Sugarfoot (awesome turkey BLT; we got out of court early that day - had a little more time that day to sit and relax).

A reader had suggested I stop into the Squire's Pub sometime, but the lunch menu didn't list too many things under $10, so I skipped it.

On the last day of the trial, we began deliberations during lunch hour so the state paid for an ordered in meal from Leo & Jimmy's.

Hadn't had a Leo & Jimmy's sandwich in years and my fat chicken salad on wheat was all white meat chicken. Really nice.

- Patricia Talorico

Time out - briefly

Hey all,

Second Helpings will be on a brief break this week. I'll return to posting as soon as I can.

Let's just say my absence is due to something that everyone dreads doing - and there's no way to get out of it.

I'll fill you in on my return, hopefully by Monday or Tuesday.....

Eat and drink something wonderful and share it with us. I just had brunch at Terrain at Styer's Garden Cafe in Glen Mills, Pa. It's the garden center across from the Shoppes at Brinton Lake on Baltimore Pike. It's lovely.

A review is coming soon.

Patricia Talorico

Italian Festival - Last Day

The Italian Festival draws to a close today with worship services at St. Anthony of Padua Catholic Church, 901 N. Du Pont St. in Wilmington, at 7 a.m., 9 a.m. and 11 a.m., with an Italian Mass at 12:30 p.m.

Then at 2 p.m., the annual Procession of Saints will parade north on Du Pont street past the church and wind through the Little Italy neighborhood. Local families walk with statues and hand out prayer cards to those who make a contribution of at least $1 to the festival. The festival will open at 2 p.m. and close at 9 p.m.

Read News Journal reporter Chris Yasiejko's take on the festival in the post below.

The trouble with Italian food.

NEW! With fresh technicolor PHOTOGRAPHS! Immediately following the POST!

The evening began, as most good ones do, with food.

When my parents caught up with my girlfriend Tara and me at the St. Anthony's Italian Festival, we settled beneath the tent at Cafe Antonian, near the steps of the Father Roberto Center. Tara and I already had eaten a slice of pepperoni pizza from Frankie's Pizza at Cafe Nona Strada and a small, disappointingly cold pizza fritta from an adjacent booth. Next, we thought, was the real meal.

Few things sap my mood more quickly than an overpriced, poorly prepared dish on a paper plate.

Each of them got spezzato, a sandwich that's supposed to carry flavorful chunks of veal, mushrooms and peppers. I nearly followed their lead but opted for my festival standby, the sausage-and-pepper sandwich.

I'm glad I did.

At our picnic table, which was missing one bench, we sat four on one side. Soon after taking her first bite, my mom delivered a scathing critique of the food.

You wouldn't know it by looking at my name, but I'm half Italian. I grew up on a steady diet of linguini, chicken parmesan and homemade pizza. I cannot buy bottled gravy -- that's tomato sauce, don't you know -- because the recipe my mom and grandma passed to me spoiled my palate long ago. It's so delectable I'll find any excuse to spoon it directly into my mouth, with or without pasta or bread.

My mom is a wonderful cook. I learned upon leaving for college just how good I had it back home. Every dinner, it seemed, included four side dishes. So on the rare occasion when my mom speaks ill of prepared food, I know she's not simply complaining.

Last night, she was palpably disappointed to find that her spezzato sandwich included just two little pieces of meat -- and even worse, they had no flavor.

"It's terrible," she said. "I'm only eating it because I'm hungry."

This, my friends, is the death knell for Italian cooks. You don't muscle through Italian food. You delight in it, you bask in its caloric grandiosity.

We didn't do that last night.

The sausage-and-pepper sandwich was decent. I thought so until Tara and I capped our evening with a spin on the misleadingly named "Rainbow."

We already had tried the Sizzler and the bumper cars, the latter of which gave me great joy in sideswiping little kids at 3 miles per hour, watching their heads flop around and snapping photos all the while. (I hold that I outdrove Tara. She disagrees. So that's that.)

Tara had to pick up another four tickets to join me on our final ride, which we carefully selected based on the thrill factor and the line.

Before I get to the Rainbow experience, an aside about festival culture: I had forgotten about the ticket economy. You hand a 20 to the lady in the booth, she slides you a sheet of 20 tickets not much bigger than postal stamps, and this is supposed to be the bargain.

You amble about the grounds, looking at the stampeded trash, wondering if teenage girls wore such revealing strips of cloth when you were in school, and you clutch your sheet of tickets, feeling confident that you're about to enjoy a solid hour or so of vomit-inducing fun.

And then you see the signs calling for four tickets per ride, and you remember you're paying for two people, and those ideas about sampling the biggest rides vanish like your disappointingly small portion of dinner.

The difference between my childhood adventures at the St. John's/Holy Angels carnival and those of my adulthood is that I can afford to add to my bankroll of tickets. And still, I choose not to.

But I didn't have it as bad as the guy manning the Rainbow

A note to whoever designs the layout of the carnival section at St.
Anthony's: If you must park rides atop the dirt infield of the baseball field, don't make it the one with a giant, swirling arm. It's like placing a fan before a pile of dust and switching the speed to "high." And the poor dude who has to stand at the bottom for hours, tilting the switch to the left, then the right, then the left, again the right, is forced to swallow that airborne dirt again and again.

And people wonder why he sounds crabby when he says to your kid as he's trying to secure the harness, "Lift your arms into the air. Lift your arms into the air. Lift your arms into the air!"

So Tara and I are snug in this little seats, and to our left is a girl, maybe 6 years old, and a boy no older than 10. The ride begins, swings left and up and over and right and down and under and left and up and over andrightanddownandunderandleftandup -- and at first, it feels great. I mean, really great. The kind of great you feel when you drive at a decent clip over a sharp little hill, when you sort of free fall beneath your seat belt for a nanosecond, and you smile a bit and say, Ooooh!

I wondered for a moment whether I was supposed to be enjoying the feeling that much. Then I stopped wondering. My stomach -- wherein danced a slice of pepperoni pizza, a beer, pizza fritta and a sausage-and-pepper sandwich -- went on a ride of its own. I didn't get sick, technically speaking, but my smile and ooooohing stepped aside. I no longer thought about the pretty twilight or the tiny police officers on the ground below or my parents looking skyward for their spinning son and his girlfriend. My energy was focused on why the hell I was starting to sweat despite the cool breeze.

And I looked to my left, and that little girl's arms were in the air, and she was laughing.

But not at me. I think.

|||

Soap's. And if you pay $10, maybe you'll get "12."


Maybe it was the thinning crowds that made it seem there were more cops than usual.


St. Anthony brought his candles outdoors.


Dad and Mom. ................... Power grid.


Tara crashing. ..... Tara hitting someone. ......... The scene.



I did not enter the ................. Hello up there!
port-a-potty garage.


Tara learning the rules. ....... Tara losing a dollar.


It was a celebration of Italian culture, as these lovely shirts show.




Faithful Friends does a fine job, and I love my own pets, but I couldn't help but laugh at these mugs and, um, quotations.


Moon over Ferris wheel. (Title courtesy of Dad.)


Yeah, this is one I didn't ride.


Dad pointed out to me 1) the monkey on a cell phone, 2) Larry, Moe and Curly, and 3) the monkey chick applying makeup.

News Journal Dining Review news

Another time out from Italian Festival coverage to share some news.

The News Journal dining reviews are taking a new approach. High-end restaurants will still get ink, but expect 55hours' weekly dining coverage to focus more on value and affordability.

In joining forces, critics Eric Ruth and Patricia Talorico are tweaking some other approaches as well:

**We're ditching the "Dish" and "Dining" column names. The column will now simply be known as "Taste."

**The old "star-rating" system is being 86ed. We will be using a fork rating instead. (Just to clarify: Eateries will receive a fork up or a fork down. A sideways fork means a so-so experience. We will not be giving out one through four forks.) Let us know what you think. We've already received a call from a reader this morning who said: BRING BACK THE STARS.

**Expect a broader scope -- some columns might focus on a single eatery; others might take a far-ranging look at some specialty, whether it's authentic tacos or steamed crabs.

**Expect quicker reporting -- the old guideline of giving a restaurant a few weeks before swooping in for a write-up doesn't mean we can't deliver an early look at a place that's creating buzz.

**More voices are on the way -- News Journal reporter Buddy Hurlock will soon begin "Regular Guy Grub" postings Second Helpings. Hurlock will write about casual eats such as pizza, hot dogs and hamburgers.

Click here for the stories on the changes and Eric's reviews of Ponos, Nalu and Que Pasa, all in Dewey Beach.

Italian Festival: Day Four

It was newbie night at the Italian Festival last night.

Intern Lindsday Key and I (reporter Shruti Mathur) both are not from Wilmington. Lindsay hails from Baton Rouge and is with us for the summer. I just moved to Wilmington in October.
Apparently this Italian Festival is a pretty big deal for folks around here. We were bombared by recommendations and accolades for the festival, as well as some grousing of "I can't believe they are charging."
But for us, the $5 charge was no big deal since it was all new to us anyways. Two ladies guided us towards the pay booth and we thanked them.
"They were nice to us!" said one of the ladies in amazement. "See, people can be nice."
I guess some folks have been giving them a hard time about the charge. Leave the nice admissions ladies alone, folks!

A co-worker recommended we try a Panzarotti. But first, we had to remember what we were supposed to try.
"Panzanetti," I asked Intern Lindsay.
"Maybe?" she replied.
"Panzarooti? Panzanetti? I can't remember!"
"Maybe when we get there we will remember."

So wander we did. We were thankful the weather had cooled to a manageable 85 degrees, as opposed to the steam lockers intrepid reporters Patty, Ryan and Victor had to endure. Still, we fortified our jaunt about the fair with some non-alcoholic strawberry daquiris, made with handfuls of fresh berries.

We made a full loop around the festival in search of this mysterious Panza-whatever, before finally swallowing our pride and asking the Information booth. There Justine Mataleno helped us find our way--right back to about two feet from where we started.


Justine has been a member "since I was born in 1938," she told us. Thanks for the help!

We think we bought the wrong thing at the tent, however, settling on a pizza fritta with its powdered sugar top. Intern Lindsay pronounced it tasted just like a beignet, a Lousiana confection she eloquently describes as "basically fried bread with sugar, but a little but fluffier than that thing." OK, then.

We couldn't possibly finish the thing by ourselves and luckily Mimi Boudart and Don Callender not only let us share half of their shady picnic table, but also helped us eat the sweet dessert.


Being the youngest reporters on our desk, it should be no surprise we decided to be the ones to tackle the midway. Having steelier stomachs than Ryan Cormier, we gamely bought sheets of tickets with our stomachs full...of course, we aren't crazy so we hit up the ferris wheel first.

All rides are one ticket less before 7 p.m. and I highly recommend hitting the Ferris Wheel during that time. With the daylight, you get an eagle eye view of the St. Anthony of Padua Church, the fairgrounds and the surrounding area.




We decided to stick with our low-key theme at least until the powdered sugar settled a bit, so we headed over to "The Monkey House," which was the fun house. And while we had fun, it was disappointing use of two tickets (normally three tickets) with only two stories--the first floor a mirror maze and the second floor with those funny mirrors that twist your body shape, making you look like a chubby midget or a tall giraffe.




With the fried dough safely settled, we decided to go for the big one: The Ring of Fire. A one-track rollercoaster that spins you in the loop, its the kind of ride that behooves you to not think about the fact that a few days ago it was set up on that lawn.
Unfortunately, someone on the ride before us did not heed the "food settling" warnings and let his food settle all over everyone else on the ride...while they were at the top. As the showers of upchuck rained down, Lindsay and I slowly backed away from the ride. Next please!

OK, what else was as daring? How about the ride that whips you around in circles! Yeah, we are totally daredevils. Except that everyone else on the ride was seriously midgets. The two of us crunched into one seat, while the next car over held four little munchkins. But, no matter, we had fun being flung about. Intern Lindsay said she does not like to scream on rides, but this one caused her to "woo-hoo!" just a little. Success.

Two tickets left. Each. And it was after 7 p.m. How could we spend our last precious tickets? The bumper cars said the cost for drivers was 3 tickets and for passengers it was 2. So we begged two drivers to let us be their passengers!

I didn't expect much from a 9-year-old in terms of driving, but Hiraa Walee surprised me. ("I practice in my mom's car," she confessed. Duly noted.) We made it our goal to hit the car that Intern Lindsay was riding in as many times as possible. Unfortunately, a little girl in pink seemed to make our car her primary target too.



With that, we only had five measly dollars left. We ended our first Italian Festival in the opposite manner in which we started: with quiet contemplation. We took the last of four nightly tours of the church and left impressed. Intern Lindsay said it reminder her of her family's church back in Baton Rouge. I admired it for how much it resembled the churches in Italy.

The irony was that, as we were winding down, the crowd was just getting started. Admission price affecting crowds? Nope, it looks like this one can just be chalked up to the heat.

Top Chef - finale (SPOILER ALERT)

A brief interruption from our Italian Festival coverage for the Associated Press's lowdown on last night's "Top Chef" finale.

**********SPOILER ALERT: Stop reading NOW if you don't want to know who won.**********











By ADAM GOLDMAN
Associated Press
NEW YORK - It took four seasons, but a woman finally took the top spot on Bravo's "Top Chef."
Stephanie Izard, a 31-year-old, mild-mannered chef from Chicago, beat out 15 other contestants to win the popular reality show designed to test a cook's mettle.

Izard, a former restaurant owner with a fondness for seafood and pork, was among the last three contestants to make Wednesday's finale, along with Lisa Fernandes of New York and Richard Blais of Atlanta.

Going into the finale, Blais appeared to be the favorite, but it was Izard who impressed the judges in the end to capture the title and $100,000 that goes with it.

"I just made the best meal that night," Izard told The Associated Press. "It came down to who brought their A-game."

The last episode took place in San Juan, Puerto Rico, following many culinary battles in Chicago.
The judges threw the trio a serious test. A four-course black-tie dinner for nine that had to include fish, poultry, red meat and dessert. The contestants did get a bit of help: each was paired with a big name New York restaurant chef, including Eric Ripert of Le Bernardin.

Izard described the show - won in previous seasons by Harold Dieterle, Ilan Hall and Hung Huynh - as grueling, and said the pressure mounted with each cooking challenge, especially those that involved working with a team.
"It definitely took a lot to get to the finals," she said. "It's definitely one of the hardest things I've done."

Ultimately, Izard prevailed with her dishes of sauteed red snapper filet with truffled white asparagus and clam broth; seared quail breast with butter poached lobster ravioli and mango; lamb medallions with maitake mushrooms, olives and braised pistachios; and ricotta pound cake with lime glaze, pineapple and salted banana cream.

At dinner, Ripert praised Izard's simple menu and the seasoning of the quail. Though he did call her cake "unrefined."

At the judges' table, opinions flew. "There were some missteps along the way," head judge and chef Tom Colicchio said. Some big. Some small. And some startling admissions.

Blais told the judges he choked. It wasn't his "best performance." Colicchio agreed. Blais had missed with a pork and scallop dish.
Fernandes' food seemed one dimensional and her beef course missed the mark. Its sauce left one judge perplexed.

What put Izard over the top? Not her cake obviously. But the totality of her food prevailed. The judges based their decision on which meal they'd like to have again.

Izard's winning strategy involved avoiding confrontations with the other cooks. "Top Chef" takes pleasure in airing spats and creating villains. This year was no exception, but Izard remained above the fray.

In a show filled with long knives and short tempers, Izard even came across as affable and humble. "I try to avoid getting into fights," she said. "That's not the way I am in life. I just like to respect others and have others respect me. I wanted go in and keep focused on the food."
Izard, a University of Michigan graduate, said she plans to open another restaurant in Chicago, one that will emphasize global flavors, seafood and pork.
On Wednesday, Bravo announced that it was developing a new, family-friendly spinoff of the show called "Top Chef Junior" in which teenagers will compete for the top culinary spot.

Italian Festival: Day Three

Why is this photo of Jenny DiPaolo (nee Borzillo) so shaky? There was an "eruption" of Mount Vesuvius (see photo below) on Tuesday night at St. Anthony's Italian Festival.
Ralph Sianni next to some family pictures.

Giovanni Bucci, the Chicago artist who created the Mount Vesuvius display. Bucci also created last year's Trevi Fountain.

The mottled-orange fiberglass volcano - behind the church - spews a cartload of steam and spit fire.

By VICTOR GRETO

Here's what the Italian Festival was about on a steamy Tuesday evening.

Think of two people, one dead, one living, as a pair of meaningful bookends.

Before I start, though, pretty please: Stop whining about the $5 to get in; the cops that don't know where the entrance to the place is; even the steamy air that seems easier to swallow than to breathe.

It's summer: Deal with it.

Right now, we're talking about Peter Ferraro, an immigrant who owned a blacksmith shop somewhere in Montchanin in 1890. He's dead now, but there is a picture of him on a long board displayed near St. Anthony's church, at the very beginning of a set of exhibits of Italian-American families who had come from the Campania region of the Italian peninsula all those years ago.

Soon and perhaps without his quite understanding why, Mr. Ferraro's business will be as useful to society as a physician who believes in the "balance of humors" theory of health.

Still, his arms folded, his back arched, his face hard to make out, but his mouth grim, he looks as proud as anyone I've ever seen in a photo.

I don't care what he looks like: He's the quintessence of every honest immigrant. Just as Jenny DiPaolo (nee Borzillo), a living, breathing woman I met sitting nearby the exhibits, is as proud about who she is as anyone I've met for a long time. She's a South Philadelphia chick who always has lived there and always will. She was watching her friend perform a traditional Italian dance. I was standing nearby looking for a pen I misplaced, and after looking for it with me, she looked at me and smiled.

"It's there," she said. "Your ear."

I had stuck it there so I wouldn't lose it.

"I do that all the time," she said.

Jenny attended Wilmington's Italian Festival because, well, it was as close to South Philly as she could get while not being there.

"You know how people go all over the world?" she asked me, after I stopped blushing about the pen, and after we both groused about how digital cameras don't capture action shots very well.

"Not interested. I stay in South Philly."

Like Wilmington's Little Italy, South Philly's Italian neighborhoods are fragmenting.

But, like Peter Ferraro, and others I saw at the festival, Jenny DiPaolo is there to stay. She loves her Flyers, she carries around a picture of Sylvester Stallone in her pocket - I asked her about whether she liked him or not, and she whipped it out - and we sat reminiscing about growing up a long time ago, about lace-tied sneakers thrown over telephone wires, about going to front-row seats at Flyers games decades ago courtesy of her father's connections.

Oh, and Barbra Streisand was the first act at the Spectrum, and Jenny was there. "It's so noisy where I live," she told me. "Sirens. Guns going off. I love it. It's the only way I can sleep."

Well, there's the family behind her that likes to sing karaoke at 2 a.m. some mornings, which bothers her, but life in the city is full of stuff like that - people are people, remember? - and she wouldn't have it any other way.

In between these wonderful bookends pulsed a slow-moving festival, as slow as the air. I spoke with Giovanni Bucci, the Chicago artist who created the Mount Vesuvius display set up by the side of the church. He set it off for me, and the speakers grumbled like my old man after his second pack of cigarettes of the day.

The mottled-orange fiberglass volcano spewed a cartload of steam and spit fire.

"We did it in such a rush," Mr. Bucci told me. "There's always room for improvement."

Yep.

He told me that a lady cried when she saw all the photographs of Campania he had plastered to the left side of the exhibit. It's always about pictures.

I liked talking to Ralph Sianni, whose family pictures were displayed on the other side of Peter Ferraro's defiant picture. Mr. Sianni's mother and father, Antonius and Cecilia, emigrated to Wilmington in 1921 from the town of Castel Morrone, in the province of Caserta in the region of Campania near Naples.

One more thing about old photographs. Near Ferraro's picture was a picture of an industrial truck operator, Julia Capella, sitting and subtly smiling at the camera during one forever-gone moment during 1919. She's beautiful, wearing high laced boots and bloomers, scarf and necklace, her right hand resting on her left thigh, and her left hand resting lightly on a steel door.

An industrial truck operator?

"Why not?" one onlooker said.

Sure. Why not.

Contact Victor Greto at 324-2832 or vgreto@delawareonline.com.

Monday Monday, so good to me...

It was 8:30 p.m., it was 90 degrees and I was at the Italian Festival.

Life was not good.

Hello, I'm Ryan Cormier, guest blogging for "Second Helpings," taking a break from my own blog, "Pulp Culture."

After having lived in Wilmington's Little Italy neighborhood for a few years when I first moved to the city, let's just say I have a few nights of the Italian Festival under my belt. And after last year, I told myself I wouldn't come back.

Why's that?

Well, after a certain hour, roving groups of teens or people in their early 20s -- I'll just call them The Undesirables -- take over. They have no interest in the festival, whether it be the food, the rides or the music. They are just there to roam around and give the stink-eye to other groups of teens or anyone else they deem stink-eye-worthy.

After hearing about this year's introduction of a $5 admission fee, I read between the lines. Organizers said they made the move to raise more money, but I have to think it was primarily an attempt to cut down on The Undesirables.

So I decided to head out tonight and see whether the $5 kept away the seemingly bored teens that have been drawn to the festival in recent years.

Before going over, I stopped in a Wilmington liquor store to stock up -- I knew I was going to need a cold beer after this assignment! -- and bumped into a friend.

I told him I was headed to the festival and wondered aloud whether the fee would attract a different crowd than year's past.

By the time my friend was out the door, the white-haired man behind the counter blurted out -- without a second's thought -- that it'll keep out a certain group of people. He identified that group by using a racial slur in Italian that, uh, you would hear regularly on, let's say, an episode of "The Sopranos."

He then went on to say those "punks" would stay away and wouldn't hit on the "white girls." Once I picked my jaw up off the ground, I drove away from that liquor store, making a mental note to never to go in there again.

But his reaction stuck with me, as you can imagine. And as I'm writing this, I want to make sure that I'm clear -- The Undesirables do not belong to one racial or ethnic group. I'm simply referring to the riffraff, no matter their background, who have time on their hands and trouble on their minds.

With that said, my Monday night didn't really answer any of my questions about the impact of entrance fee.

It was so really hot and there was a very light crowd, so it's hard to judge. But the teens who were there seemed to be actually enjoying the festival -- buying gelato and lemonade, riding the ferris wheel and trying to win prizes. The loiterers were few and far between.

Was it the $5 or the heat? I'm not sure. All I know is that tonight will probably be the slowest night at the festival, considering it was a Monday night and one of the hottest nights they will have all week.

With that elephant out of the room, I spent an hour at the festival with my camera:

First, I saw plenty of rides with fun names. I would have gone on one, but I'm a big baby when it comes to hurtling through the air...






Did I mention kids love me? I took these two photos as one of the rides flew by me at breakneck speed. Apparently, at least one kid was ready for the camera...




Just the thought of ingesting a funnel cake, Panzarotti or a big plate of spaghetti made sweat more, if that's humanly possible. The cool place to hit was the Cafe Gelato stand. That kid looks like he needs some gelato, STAT...



Let's just say the City Rhythms band at Surf Side Cafe didn't draw much of a crowd...



Hey, look! It's a Delaware celebrity! Republican Bill Lee, who is running for governor, was eating some pizza when he was accosted by an annoying reporter with a camera. (That would be me.) He was nice enough to let me take a photo of him with some of his staff and volunteers...



The Panzarotti tent was a tough place to work since they were serving tons of fried foods. I'm pretty sure the hostage kid working the fryer looked at me and blinked, "Help me escape," in Morse code...



My final stop was to visit the real heroes of the night -- the poor souls huddled around the funnel cake fryer, with its 375-degree oil bubbling every time batter was introduced. They (mostly) smiled through the work. I can attest it had to be the hottest spot in Wilmington. Here is the voyage of one funnel cake from start to finish...





And with that, I went home with my clothes completely drenched in sweat. I was only out there for an hour, so I must give a major tip of the hat to all the volunteers, police and merchants who stayed all night just so we could goof around and have a good time.

Good night....



-- Ryan Cormier