Mangia! Mangia!
End of an era for street peddlers
ANTOINETTE JACKSON

When we moved to the South Side of Chicago, unless you thought Creamette's elbow macaroni and Hunt's tomato sauce on the shelves of our local A&P were ethnic groceries, there were no Italian staples to be found where we shopped.

It was an era when peddlers drove down the alleyways collecting old rags and scrap iron for the War effort and itinerant merchants hawked their wares from the back of their vehicles.

Recognizing a niche for his Italian groceries, enterprising emigrant Gitano Venditore regularly called upon our neighborhood in his hunter green utility van.

The grocery store on wheels looked like a cross between an old UPS van and a Police Department patty wagon as it parked waiting for us in our alley.

Gitano was a short middle-aged man, who resembled Danny DeVito in physical appearance.

He wore a Chico Marx type hat and a heavy linen apron to protect his work clothes. His tanned leathery skin showed he spent most of his day in the sun.

The vendor's strong garlic breath gave the impression he popped cloves of garlic like they were pieces of candy.

As Gitano unbolted the two back doors of the truck, the distinctively Italian aromas beckoned us to come inside and shop the delightful cornucopia of imported groceries.

Large balls of provolone cheese, links of hard salamis and dried salted codfish hung overhead from the roof slats.

Along the sides of the wagon, shelves displayed canned Italian plum tomatoes, Sicilian-grown vegetables and colorful tins of Italian and Spanish olive oils.

Baskets of fresh fennel, cardunes and dark leafy greens dotted the lively display.

Gallon jars of Sicilian, Greek and green olives sat alongside wooden barrels of dried fava beans, lentils and Cannellini beans.

The aromatic blend of fresh fennel, heavy herbs, garlic and aged cheeses was enough to make one hungry.

Five-pound boxes of every imaginable size and shape of semolina pasta were stacked throughout the van.

Sweet treats like Torrone Italian nougat candy, sugar coated almonds and red pistachio nuts were temptingly displayed at a child's eye level.

To youngster like me, the inside of the traveling purveyor's vehicle was like a magic carpet ride to another world.

Hindered only by her budget, Mom slowly and wisely made choices from her list.

Gitano weighed her cheese, salami and fresh specialty items on his hanging scale.

With his licked pencil tip and tablet, he totaled her purchases then carried her groceries into the house. Mom paid him with cash since checks and credit cards were not used back then.

Since Sunday afternoon dinners were heavy meals shared with my aunts and cousins, much of what my mother bought was for the evening's light snacking.

Around 6 p.m., Mom and I brought jars of prepared olives and Caponatina to the table. Daddy helped by cutting Genoa salami, capocollo ham, mortadella and provolone cheese.

Mom diagonally sliced fresh braided Italian bread from Gonnella's Bakery for sandwiches.

Daddy, in typical Sicilian style, ate his bread, meats, cheese and olives separately, and then washed it down with a glass of Chianti.

After World War II, when returning soldiers had experienced Italian food, many Chicago supermarkets started carrying the familiar imported items.

Italian delicatessens became more commonplace.

Gitano made fewer sales of imported groceries and fresh vegetables to at-home moms.

And in time, itinerant peddlers who drove down the paved alleyways hawking their wares became extinct. Sadly, it was the end of an era.

Caponatina

A Sicilian creation, Caponatina is a cold sweet-and-sour eggplant relish, which is served as an antipasto.

2 eggplants 1 cup extra virgin olive oil 1 28 oz. can Italian peeled tomatoes 1 cup diced celery 2 tablespoons capers 1 cup pitted green olives 4 tablespoons wine vinegar 1 tablespoon sugar 1 teaspoon salt

1/4 teaspoon black pepper

Wash and dice eggplant. Fry in hot olive oil for 5 minutes or until browned.

Remove eggplant and add onions. If needed, add more oil. Cook the onions until golden, and then add the tomatoes and celery. Simmer about 15 minutes until celery is tender, adding water if necessary.

Return the fried eggplant to the pan. Add the remaining ingredients and simmer for 20 minutes, stirring occasionally. When done, pour into large bowl and serve cold.

Makes 8 servings.

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Antoinette Jackson is a Bullard-area resident. You may reach her at Antojxn@aol.com.