I've figured out that I can't stay away. This festival isn't just 11 days of my life that I won't get back -- it has become a part of my life that needs to be reinforced each year. Tradition, ethnicity and generosity are all things that represent the feast and values I try to instill in myself.
Part of the desire to work each year comes from working with Peter and my friend Tony. During the year, we see each other sparingly, but San Gennaro brings us together, and besides real hard work, there are enough jokes and antics to fill a movie script.
From wanna-be mobsters to tourists who have never been to New York, the festival brings out everyone. Just about any character can be found fighting for walking room on a packed Mulberry Street.
Then of course, the annual questions. What's a Zeppole? The answer, for those of you who don't know, is sweet fried dough. What does San Gennaro stand for? Well, the way my mom explains it, San Gennaro was known for his generosity. When Italians settled in the Little Italy section of Manhattan, they started the feast and chose the saint they felt best represented them. Each year a statue of San Gennaro is paraded up Mulberry Street and money is attached to the statue as a sign of giving back.
Where's Vincent's Restaurant? On the corner of Mott and Hester Streets. It never fails: These questions are asked all day every day throughout the feast.
As corny as it sounds, if I went a year without answering those questions I would probably think there was something wrong. As much as I complain about the 11 grueling days and nights and the annoying questions, working at the feast has become an extension of me. It's part of who I am.
I'm a Zeppole maker. And according to Zeppole law, I'm not supposed to give out the ingredients, but what the hell. Sugar, salt, yeast, flour and water. But most important of all, you must dip them in peanut oil. There simply is no substitute for a zeppole dipped in a vat of peanut oil. Also, remember that when dipping, a hole must be punched into the middle so the zeppole can cook properly.
After 10 years, though, I feel as if my time of making zeppoles might be over. There is talk of Peter hanging it up, even though most of us think he'll be back next year. If it's so, I guess what I'll miss most are the people I've met and the funny nicknames they all have. Just to name a few: Pete "The Hook" Trapani, Pete "Regg" Amato, "Smoky" Joe, Tony "Double T" Tomassino, "Prune Face" Betty, and "Baby" John.
Two years ago our friend Carmine passed away abruptly. He was a big-hearted guy who gave people everything he had. His memory lives on with us every year.
Well, now I feel like a boxer who comes back every year after retiring from the sport. I'm officially retired as a Zeppole maker, but don't ever count out the comeback.
