Capitolo 1
When Naples Calls, You Answer
Naples has a way of drawing people in, much like the mythical Sirens who lured sailors to the rocky cliffs with their irresistible songs. Unlike Odysseus, who had himself tied to the mast to experience their song without succumbing, Katherine Wilson arrived in Naples on a packed Delta flight in 1996 with no restraints-just collegiate curiosity and unexplored appetites. What began as a three-month internship at the U.S. Consulate transformed into a life-altering journey that would completely reshape her identity, relationships, and relationship with food. As Goethe famously said, "See Naples and die." But for Katherine, seeing Naples meant finally starting to live.
The book has become a cultural touchstone for anyone fascinated by the intersection of American and Italian cultures, praised by celebrities like Anthony Bourdain for its honest portrayal of Neapolitan family life. Wilson's memoir stands apart from typical "foreigner in Italy" narratives by diving deep into the messy, complicated, and utterly charming realities of becoming part of a traditional Neapolitan family.
Capitolo 2
Embracing the Neapolitan Family
When Salvatore Avallone arrived twenty minutes late in his tiny red Fiat to pick up Katherine from her boarding school, she had no idea she was meeting her future husband. Instead of taking her to a pizzeria as planned, he brought her to his parents' apartment in Posillipo, Naples' most prestigious residential area. There, she met Nino, Salvatore's gentle father; Raffaella, his gorgeous, perfectly made-up mother; and Benedetta, his sister in teddy bear pajamas who worked at a bank and was planning her wedding.
As Raffaella served homemade pizza in their tiny kitchen, Katherine felt awkward in her blue blazer, struggling to follow rapid Italian conversations while interjecting "Veramente?" and "Mamma mia!" at what she hoped were appropriate moments. When Raffaella suddenly plunged her hands into Katherine's lap to remove pizza crumbs ("Briciole!"), she realized there were no boundaries in this family. Despite not knowing if she even liked Salvatore, without any ceremony or coherent verbal communication, she somehow felt at home with them.
This immediate intimacy was characteristic of Neapolitan families, where personal space is an alien concept and emotional connections form quickly and intensely. The Avallones didn't just invite Katherine into their home; they absorbed her into their family ecosystem, treating her as if she had always belonged there. This stood in stark contrast to the polite distance maintained in American households, where guests are carefully accommodated but rarely fully integrated.
What Katherine couldn't have known then was how completely the Avallones would transform her understanding of family, food, and love-and how their influence would eventually help her overcome the eating disorder that had plagued her for years.
Capitolo 3
Finding Freedom from Food Obsession
At five-foot-three and 155 pounds, what no one in Naples guessed was that Katherine had binge-eating disorder. She loved food too much to become anorexic and hated purging, so she cycled between binges and starvation. But during her first six weeks in Naples, she stopped bingeing and lost twenty pounds without dieting-in fact, she'd never enjoyed food more.
Naples proved to be an anti-binge city. Mealtimes were sacred rituals where food was freshly prepared and consumed in company. "Statte cuieto" (keep your pants on) was what you'd hear if you seemed rushed at the table. You ate at proper mealtimes with wine and without distractions. Cafes wouldn't serve substantial food at odd hours-only tourists ate stale food.
The fresh, flavorful meals left Katherine satisfied without additives making her crave more. For the first time, she could finish eating and not think about food until the next meal. When she described American eating habits to her Italian friend Maria Rosa, she looked at Katherine with sad Sophia Loren eyes and diagnosed the problem: Americans eat in a way that is "scombinato" (disorganized or messy). The Italian term for eating disorder-"disordine alimentare"-literally means "disorganized, messy eating sickness."
Unlike American girls, Italian girls seemed to live in their bodies naturally. They'd drape over motorbikes, hook thumbs in each other's pockets, caress each other's hair. They embodied carnale-a word that in Italian is precious and sacred, not derogatory like its English counterpart. When Katherine's daughter was born years later, her father-in-law called her carnale-wonderfully, squeezably of the flesh-the highest Italian compliment.
This natural, healthy relationship with food and body stood in stark contrast to Katherine's upbringing. Her mother had first put her on a diet in kindergarten. Though never called "fat," words like "chunky," "heavy," and "plump" were used. Katherine's mother, born to an Italian-American Presbyterian minister in West Virginia, had stopped eating breakfast and lunch in the early 1960s and maintained her weight under 120 pounds ever since. For her, a "chunky" daughter simply wouldn't do.
Capitolo 4
Learning to Cook with Heart, Not Measurements
In the Avallones' kitchen, Katherine found herself watching Raffaella prepare sartu di riso, an elaborate Neapolitan rice dish that required multiple steps and careful attention. The dish, a testament to Naples' culinary heritage, involved creating a shell of rice filled with meatballs, cheese, and ragu. Salvatore had disappeared to study law in his room, leaving Katherine with his mother in an undefined social territory-not quite a girlfriend, not exactly a guest, but somewhere in between. Raffaella moved through the kitchen with graceful efficiency in perfect makeup despite having been to the gym ("Non sudo"-I don't sweat, she explained with a characteristic wave of her hand), simultaneously managing multiple components: stirring the deep red ragu, frying golden-brown meatballs, and sauteing bright green peas with the precision of an orchestra conductor.
When Katherine, trained in American precision, asked about specific quantities and measurements, Raffaella wrapped her arm around her waist and whispered one of her favorite cooking philosophies: "Piu ci metti piu ci trovi!"-the more you put in, the more you get out. This applied not just to ingredients, but to effort, attention, and love. Katherine's analytical, measuring-spoon approach had no place in Raffaella's kitchen, where cooking was guided by generations of intuition. Later, in America, Raffaella would stare at measuring spoons in bewilderment, declaring with amused disdain: "Americani!"
This intuitive approach to cooking reflected a deeper cultural difference that permeated every aspect of Neapolitan life. In Naples, cooking wasn't about following precise recipes or measuring ingredients-it was about feeling, tradition, and love passed down through generations. When Katherine anxiously asked how long to cook something, Raffaella would exclaim "Lascia stare!" (Leave it alone!), teaching patience and trust in the process. The secret to authentic Neapolitan ragu wasn't in timing or measurements but in letting it "pippiare"-the onomatopoeic dialect word for the gentle bubbling sound when sauce simmers for hours, a sound that filled the kitchen with promise and comfort.
Katherine's childhood had been defined by strict diet restrictions and careful monitoring, from the mandatory skim milk at school to Flintstones vitamins masquerading as "treats." The contrast between her structured American upbringing and Raffaella's intuitive approach was stark. When she once asked why she was the only one with blue (skim) milk cartons while others had red (whole milk), her mother had explained rationally about calories and fat content, treating food as a scientific equation rather than a source of joy. But when her friend Robin secretly let her taste whole milk one day, her world shattered with new possibilities-just as Raffaella's cooking was now awakening her long-suppressed appetites and teaching her that food could be about pleasure rather than just nutrition. This liberation in the kitchen became a metaphor for broader cultural differences in approaching life itself.
Capitolo 5
Navigating Cultural Boundaries and Expectations
Cultural misunderstandings created both comedy and tension in Katherine's Neapolitan education. One September morning, she arrived at the Consulate with a huge sack of laundry, desperately seeking her boss Cynthia's help. Her laundry had become an obsession-she had no washing machine, Naples had no laundromats, and when she took her clothes to dry cleaners, they'd look shocked, exclaiming "Ma c'e roba intima!" (There are intimate robes!).
Cynthia explained that in Naples, underwear and intimate items are extremely private, to be touched only by their owner. Katherine had been humiliating herself by showing her dirty panties to strangers! When she asked what to do, Cynthia was surprised she hadn't done what any Neapolitan woman would: hand-wash her intimates in the sink. Katherine had been raised by a mother who would never handle her intimates but throw them in the washing machine on hot.
Dating customs presented another cultural minefield. When Salvatore took Katherine to a lovers' lookout on Posillipo hill, where couples parked in cars with newspaper-covered windows, she discovered this was where Neapolitan young adults came for intimacy, complete with vendors selling condoms, newspapers, tissues, and tape for covering windows. Despite the romantic view, Salvatore's advances felt too fast for her. When she refused, he simply said "Va bene!" and drove her home without complaint.
Confused by his dual nature-mama's boy at dinner, aggressive suitor in the car-Katherine consulted her Italian friends at school. To her shock, they considered his behavior remarkably restrained. "Are you sure he's not gay?" they asked, explaining that Italian men always push until stopped, and that she had the power in the situation. Their cultural translation saved the relationship by helping her understand Neapolitan dating norms.
Capitolo 6
Faith, Family, and Religious Traditions
Attending Catholic mass with Raffaella revealed another dimension of Neapolitan culture. Unlike Katherine's precisely scheduled Presbyterian upbringing, Raffaella's approach involved "catching" a mass by speeding around Naples in her blue Lancia, triple-parking, and ducking into churches until she found one starting at the right moment.
The contrast with Katherine's childhood church experience couldn't be starker. At Christ Memorial Presbyterian, where her grandfather was preacher, services started promptly at 11:00. Katherine and her sister performed carefully rehearsed songs and poems that appeared spontaneous but were actually meticulously planned. Church was a perfect show with the cross, flag and stained glass as the set, hymns as the musical score, and her tearful grandfather as the star.
Santo Strato Church was an explosion of sensory experiences-garish Palm Beach colors, a statue of Mary in electric blue, and women of all ages dressed as if for a night out, with perfect makeup and fashionable clothes. The church buzzed with loud conversations and physical affection. Raffaella maintained constant physical contact with Katherine while her friends openly assessed her appearance, discussing her "doe eyes" and weight loss as if she weren't there.
The congregation was almost exclusively female-the men were all watching the Naples soccer team play. These gender boundaries seemed natural to Neapolitans; church was women's realm just as the stadium was men's. Father Giampietro, a handsome 35-year-old who wore cowboy boots under his robe and rode a motorcycle without a helmet ("But my hair!" he'd joke), presided over the chaotic service with its screeching microphone and synthesizer music.
Christmas traditions provided another window into cultural differences. While Katherine had grown up decorating Christmas trees and waiting for Santa, Neapolitans focused on the presepe (nativity scene). Walking Via San Gregorio Armeno with Raffaella, Katherine was bewildered by the historical inaccuracies in the elaborate nativity scenes-sausages, swordfish, watermelons, pizza, and spaghetti being sold near the manger.
Capitolo 7
The Art of Communication, Italian Style
As Katherine's relationship with Salvatore deepened, she discovered that Neapolitan communication involved much more than words. The essential Neapolitan hand gestures formed a parallel language with specific meanings: the thumb-and-index "pistol" shake meaning "nothing," pulling down an eyelid to warn of cheating, or the peculiar two-finger whistle gesture indicating someone had died.
She was learning Neapolitan dialect rather than proper Italian, with its long lazy vowels and reflexive verbs ("I ate myself a plate of pasta"). The feel of this southern Italian accent reminded her viscerally of her mother's Appalachian twang-different languages but sharing that same pull-up-a-chair-honey-soup's-on quality.
The night before leaving for Princeton (where her father, uncle and grandfather were die-hard alumni), Katherine confessed to her mother that she didn't want to go. Her emotional response-"Sweetheaaaart, it's just the worrrst thang thit ever happened to me! My baaayybyyy girl!"-embodied the Neapolitan saying "'E figlie so' ppiezze 'e core" (children are pieces of your heart), with a feeling that, like good country music, goes straight from the ears to the gut.
The best Neapolitan theater happened on sidewalks, buses, and coffee bars. Katherine witnessed a magnificent standoff on the 140 bus when an elderly lady, handkerchief to nose, accused a middle-aged man of flatulence. "It's just rude. We all have to breathe this air," she told the Bangladeshi housekeeper beside her. Soon the whole bus chose sides until the accused silenced everyone with his bellowing, "Ma come fate a sapere? A sapere tutto?" (But how do you know? How is it that you think you know everything?)
Even asking for directions in Naples became a rhetorical masterclass-the art of saying little in such a spellbinding way, creating dramatic tension with every syllable. One well-dressed gentleman, when asked about Via Noce, delivered a magnificent monologue despite having no idea where it was. "I have grown up in this area, signorina," he began solemnly. After considering hypothetical possibilities with dramatic arm gestures and perfectly timed pauses, he concluded, "If I knew, it would be my great pleasure to impart this knowledge to you." With that, he spun around and walked away with a flourish-a perfect street performance without ever providing directions.
Capitolo 8
Trust Issues: The Neapolitan Way
Neapolitan parents deliberately prepare their children for a world where cheating is expected. The worst thing is to raise a child who's baccala (dumb as cod) or addurmuto (zombie-like). Being naive earns colorful insults like dorme cu 'a zizza mmocca (sleeping with mommy's tit in mouth). The highest compliment is to be scetato (awake)-not merely smart, but impossible to deceive.
When Raffaella complained about prosciutto being cut too thick at the salumiere, she wasn't being difficult but helping the salumiere while demonstrating her scetata credentials. "I'm not difficult," she insisted. "Nonna Clara was difficult."
Clara's weekly ritual with the egg man was legendary. She'd invite the ovaiolo in (offering water, not coffee-coffee was for people in confidenza, those with whom you share your troubles), position herself by a lamp, and inspect each egg against the light. Fresh eggs passed; those showing shadows indicating age were rejected with "Chisto t'o magne tu" (You eat this one yourself) and "E bbrutto comme 'a faccia toia" (It's ugly as your face).
These stories explained Katherine's stress when shopping in Naples. Her mother's relationship at suburban Safeway had been with her shopping cart, not humans. She'd race through aisles grabbing cereal boxes with cartoon characters and easy-open ketchup bottles, getting her family in and out efficiently. In Naples, Katherine had to engage with the salumiere, answering questions about prosciutto types without seeing or touching the product. Overwhelmed, she'd retreat monthly to Conad, the American-style supermarket where she could confidently throw pre-packaged items into her cart without revealing her culinary uncertainty.
This cultural approach to trust extended to hospitals as well. When Katherine visited Raffaella at Fatebenefratelli Hospital after a salmonella outbreak from wedding mayonnaise, she discovered that hospital visiting hours revealed another Neapolitan phenomenon-relatives didn't just visit out of obligation but arrived en masse, determined to advocate fiercely for their loved ones. A sixteen-year-old niece knew her aunt's medications and test results, ready to confront any medical negligence. When lunch arrived, Katherine learned she needed to complain loudly about the quality to prove her worth as Raffaella's advocate.
Capitolo 9
From Cultural Visitor to Family Member
As Katherine's time in Naples extended beyond her initial internship, her relationship with Salvatore deepened despite cultural misunderstandings. After reducing her Consulate internship to part-time, she began teaching English at a small language school. Her classes revolved around two topics: what her students thought about America, and what they thought about her relationship with Salvatore.
When Katherine was accepted to a master's program in Bologna, meaning she'd return to Washington for summer courses before coming back to Italy in fall, Raffaella threw her a going-away party with her favorite pasta al forno-a casserole packed with bacon, bechamel, and four cheeses, golden-brown and crispy on top. When Katherine started sobbing upon arrival, Raffaella didn't coddle her but slapped her across the face-not painfully, just enough to snap her out of it. "The pasta al forno is almost ready!" she announced cheerfully, forcing Katherine out of her sadness.
After a year studying in Bologna, where Salvatore visited every other weekend bringing Styrofoam care packages from his mother filled with parmigiana di melanzane, mozzarella, and pasta al forno, Katherine decided not to continue her graduate program in Washington. Instead, she wanted to work professionally in theater in Italy.
The transformation from visitor to family member was cemented when Katherine held Benedetta's newborn son Emilio. Though initially confused about being called "Zia" when she wasn't even married to Salvatore, holding nine-minute-old Emilio against her chest had transformed her into family. The Avallones had welcomed her completely-passing her the newborn like a football, treating her as a kinswoman before her brain could catch up to what her body already understood.
Capitolo 10
Building a Life Between Two Cultures
Katherine's relationship with Salvatore culminated in an unexpected proposal during a weekend in Positano at his family's cliffside villa. After confiding in his parents about her frustration with Salvatore's reluctance to discuss marriage, Nino advised patience: like an octopus, Salva needed to stew in his own juices and come to the decision himself. The romantic American proposal Katherine expected was apparently just another "americanata"-a Hollywood exaggeration. Her patience lasted barely a day before she confronted Salva while he sped dangerously along the coastal road. "So are you going to ask me to marry you?" she shouted over the wind. After confused yelling, they agreed-the octopus was cooked.
Their wedding at Washington's National Presbyterian Church featured a cultural misunderstanding that became Katherine's favorite wedding photo. It is tradition in Naples for the mother of the groom to hand the bride her bouquet ceremoniously, with photographers capturing this ritual moment of respect and love between women. Oblivious to the ritual's significance, Katherine kept saying "Oh, thanks!" before setting the bouquet aside or handing it to someone else when Raffaella approached her three times with increasing solemnity.
After marriage, the couple moved to Rome in 2001, renting a loft in Trastevere. The decision wasn't really theirs; Raffaella essentially pushed them out of Naples, saying "Te ne 'a i" (You gotta get outta here). Contrary to the stereotype of the clingy Neapolitan mother, she insisted there was "no future" in Naples and urged them to go anywhere else.
When Katherine became pregnant with their first child, she quickly learned about the Neapolitan belief that a pregnant woman's cravings must be satisfied or the baby will be born with a voglia (birthmark) resembling the craved food. When she mentioned craving rigatoni alla Genovese, Raffaella immediately dispatched Nino to buy onions and purchased her train ticket to Rome-her grandson would not risk being born with an onion-shaped birthmark!
As Katherine and Salvatore built their family, they navigated the challenges of raising children between two cultures. When their son Anthony developed intense jealousy toward Katherine's pregnancy with his sister, Raffaella was baffled by Katherine's self-blame. "What do you have to do with it?" she asked. Unlike American mothers who assume every negative trait in their children traces back to parenting failures, Neapolitans view character traits as inherited like eye color. "Zio Renato era geloso," she explained-Anthony had simply inherited his great-uncle's possessive nature.
Capitolo 11
The Lasting Gift of Neapolitan Wisdom
Through her immersion in Neapolitan culture, Katherine gained not just a family but a new perspective on life. The day after Easter, called Pasquetta (Little Easter) in Naples, she experienced a profound realization about her relationship with food and body.
Sitting on a 1970s blanket with the Avallones at the magnificent Reggia di Caserta palace gardens, Katherine ate every bite of her personal casatiello-a dense bread made with black pepper, salame, lard, bacon, various cheeses, and crowned with a hard-boiled egg. As Raffaella carved melon and searched for an outlet for her espresso maker, Benedetta applied sunscreen, and Nino read the newspaper, Katherine realized she was no longer plagued by her eating disorder.
Her years of binge eating weren't problematic because of the binges themselves, but because of the self-punishment that followed. At Caserta, she finally understood that denying herself nourishment on Easter's-Done Day meant missing Easter's fundamental message: The sacrifice was Jesus's body, not hers. He said, "Take and eat. This is my body"-not "Take and eat my body...and then feel guilty." In Naples, she heard Him saying, Buon appetito, signorina. Enjoy.
Perhaps the most valuable lesson Katherine learned from Raffaella was embodied in a single word: "Eccomi"-here I am. One fluid word that summed up her approach to life. When someone asked for help, time, or lasagna, Raffaella's response was simply: "Eccomi!" No questions asked, no emotional price tag attached.
In her Americanized kitchen in Rome, Katherine finally found a way to give something back to Raffaella. When asked what she wanted to eat after arriving with her magical suitcase full of eggplant Parmesan, mozzarella, and lasagna from Naples, Raffaella said, "Solo insalata"-just a salad. Without measuring or thinking, Katherine made the salad she knew how to make, drawing on her grandfather's talent for dressings.
"Ketrin, e fantastica!" Raffaella exclaimed. This is the best salad I've ever tasted. She asked if Katherine could teach her how to make it for an upcoming ladies' lunch and begged for more. As Katherine prepared a jar of dressing for her to take back to Naples, she heard her children fighting over Raffaella's treats in the living room. "There's enough to go around," she called out. "Nobody's going hungry."
In that moment, the cultural exchange had come full circle. The American girl who had arrived in Naples with a disordered relationship to food and her body had not only been healed by Neapolitan culture but had found a way to contribute something valuable to the family that had embraced her so completely.
