"You order like a true paisano!" It was a compliment like none other, especially coming from Adriana herself, owner and operator of St. Louis' beloved Adriana's on The Hill.

I got the sandwich special, Franke got the Sicilian meatloaf, and we both got an order of Adriana's cucumber, tomato, onion salad. If ever I can replicate that meatloaf I'm pretty sure every meat-loving man worldwide would be knocking on my door. Even more so than they already are, that is (wink, wink).

Adriana's was our first stop on The Hill, and it was there that I rekindled my love affair with all things Italian. This fabulous little Italian-American neighborhood made me wish Nashville had such a place. It made me wish I had known my nonna and that my grandfather, Andrew Spelta, had passed on his knowledge of his native tongue. It reminded me of the amazing sense of life that I felt when I spent that wonderful summer in Italy, and it made me want to return even more.

I always like to say that the Italians really know how to live. By that, it just seems that they appreciate the small things in life and take the time to take them in. They put family, friends and food in their rightful spots in their lives, and they are passionate about all three. It could be that I'm just romanticizing the whole thing since I have Italian roots and I spent that one fabulous summer traipsing all over the country. Nah. Too many others see it the same way. It's just fact.

Isn't it odd, then, that my own Italian family here in Nashville, Tennessee is so foreign to me.

When my mother was growing up, the whole Spelta crew was here in Nashville, and the way my mother tells it, her uncle Peter (my grandfather's twin) was the patriarch of the family. He apparently kept things together and made sure there were gatherings and food and reunions. I even remember a few of them from my childhood days.

After "Uncle Pete" passed, cousin Tony kept the tradition alive. I don't really know what happened as the years ticked by, only that either they stopped having Spelta family reunions or we stopped going. And that's really when it all breaks down. When we stop gathering, stop participating, stop telling stories about our family and about our past. If I'm gonna be a "true paisano" I guess I better stop longing for my Italian past and start reaching out to my here and now.

Perhaps I should work on my Sicilian meatloaf recipe and work up a little family reunion of my own.