Here Come the Sons
Here Come the Sons
By Mike DiGiacomo
He was one of the greatest boxers of the 20th Century. To this day, Rocky Marciano is the only champion to hold the heavyweight title while going untied and unbeaten throughout his entire career. The Brockton Blockbuster was a legend, especially to those kids who grew up in Italian neighborhoods, like Omaha’s Little Italy.
The son of Italian immigrants, Marciano passed through Omaha on several occasions as a heavyweight champion. But, it’s that stop in 1954 that those young “bambini” treasure most. Marciano cut the ribbon at the re-dedication of the newly remodeled Sons of Italy Hall, near 10th & Williams streets.
Omaha’s Sons of Italy facility has been a landmark in South Omaha since 1905. In its early days, the organization helped Italian immigrants find jobs, learn English, and adjust to life in their new country. More than 100 years later, the group celebrates its Italian heritage, while serving the community through programs to help the needy. And, they do it the way Italians know best – through big piles of food.
Every Thursday hundreds of people step off the beaten path right in to the hidden gem of Omaha’s favorite lunch stops. The city’s most famous pasta lunch started back in 1973, and it is stronger than ever.
To embrace the experience, I recently dropped in on my dad, and his Paisans, as they settled in at their favorite table. When you step through the front doors, the aroma of fresh basil and oregano overtakes your senses. The giant vats of secret pasta sauce are boiling over in the kitchen, while volunteers are yelling at guys like Bosso, Bruno and Buda.
Who you see depends on which Thursday it is. It’s an age-old controversy that has divided Italians and non-Italians alike. Spaghetti or mostaccioli? Italian sausage or meatballs? In an effort to satisfy the masses, organizers alternate the menu every other week. To make sure there is no confusion, signage is posted on walls, and the calendar on their website is up to date. It would be a travesty if a spaghetti lover showed up on a mostaccioli Thursday!
As you make your way through the serving line, the regulars eyeball the sauce, just to make sure it’s the right consistency! Here, everyone is a critic. And, nothing compares to Nana’s recipe. But, they’ll tell you it’s the next best thing.
As usual, the mostaccioli was piled high. A scoop of pasta that would make most forklifts buckle. A salad, a couple of meatballs and a slice of Rotella’s or Orsi’s bread and you’re on your way.
On this day, the old timers at our table went to work, not only on the pasta and suggo, but they went after each other. They debated who was fatter, who had the biggest belly, how much they weighed in high school, and whatever happened to so and so? Occasionally, the guys in the kitchen would swing by our nook to bust someone’s chops. You get the sense that not much has changed here since the good old days.
But this place isn’t just for Italians. It’s for the Jones, Johnsons and Smiths, too. Business people, city workers and, during election season, politicians from Bellevue to Blair will put on their pasta bibs.
It’s one of those places that takes you back to a simpler time, where food, friends and family were all that really mattered. And just like in the traditional Italian home, you’re strongly encouraged to clean your plate, even if it does take a heavyweight appetite. Rocky Marciano would be proud.
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