A few years ago, my father got into cooking. One of his greatest accomplishments (according to him) was that he made the absolute best orangina. At least that’s what I thought he said. I wondered how one makes orangina and why would you make it rather than buying it. This is orangina:
I had forgotten I was speaking to a man who pronounces pizza as beet-za. It became apparent that what I heard and what he made were 2 very different things. What he had actually made was arancini - rice balls. He was very proud of his arancini. Pop would frequently boast about this. “My arancini is the best. I make better rice balls than anyone on the face of the planet.”
He got into a debate with my cousin over who makes the better rice ball. When he was out in California visiting his brother & his cousins, there was a big arancini bake-off. They voted on whose arancini were better. Guess who won. Yep, it was Pop. My cousin even made a little certificate stating my father was the world’s best arancini maker.
Last night when we came back from the nursing home, Frank & I needed to get something for dinner. We stopped at a local pizza place. (This is how you refer to restaurants that make pizza - pizza place. You now know how to talk like a New Yorker.) I got a big kick out of the fact that they had put lights on the 3 trees out front - one was red, one white & one green, the colors of the Italian flag. Unfortunately it was too cold for me to walk back to the car to get the camera.
Anyhow, there is a point to the pizza place story: in addition to pizza, we got a rice ball. Well I am going to have to admit that yes, my father’s arancini are better. This place made the grave mistake of putting something in it that should never, ever be in any food that I plan on eating.
Do you see that horrible green thing there? Who the heck puts peas in a rice ball? That’s as bad as putting pineapple on a pizza. Fortunately there weren’t too many so I just flung my peas onto Frank’s plate.
