Sunday supper, old school, with family from 3 to 94

Later, there will be tale-telling.

The time the mosquito got trapped in the car on the way back from the Shore, feasting on the kids who were pinned down by the luggage stacked on their laps.

And the time one son-in-law's eyes turned yellow, the first sign of a failing liver.

And on and on around the table - nine feet long (with the card table appended). This is the almost-closing act of one more Sunday supper in the Fishtown dining room of Michael DiBerardinis, a ritual stretching back now more than 20 years.

Fourteen family members (ages 3 to 94) will be there, about the usual, full of talk, easily familiar. In sweatshirts and jeans, some of them. Bottles of Catina Zaccagnini, with the twig attached, will be uncorked and ready.

This was a common scene once in Fishtown, in South Philadelphia - in America. Not so much today. Still, nearly every Sunday of the year, DiBerardinis, now 66, cooks; his wife, Joan Reilly, sets out squat vases of bright flowers; daughter Maura - the violinist - cuts and preps.

And the clan, most of them living within walking distance, squeezes in around the table.

Close-knit is literal here.

Right now, though, it's 8:20 in the morning, time to pick up the dark-meat chicken and sprigs of rosemary, the curbside lemons and boxed farfalle, the handfuls of string beans and potatoes at DiBerardinis' sweet spot - the corner of Ninth and Carpenter in the Italian Market.

Routinely compared to Robert De Niro ("I'm taller," he insists), he has long been a presence in the local political fray - from early community activist days in Kensington to key posts under Tommy Foglietta, the late congressman; Ed Rendell; and former Mayor Michael Nutter.

This particular morning, he is a week into his new job as Philadelphia managing director in the Kenney administration, essentially the No. 2 go-to guy for making the city run.

And as we drive from his plainspoken, brick Federal-style rowhouse (circa 1864) near Tulip and Montgomery in the unhipstered precincts of Fishtown, his Sunday is starting with pings on his phone: "Who knew there were so many [suspicious] bags in the city," he murmurs, scrolling through messages. "Where do all those bags come from?"

We enter South Philadelphia and, suddenly, an urban miracle. A parking spot materializes - the last on a row - precisely at the corner of Ninth and Carpenter.

It is just steps from Talluto's hand-cut pasta, across the street from the glass cases of Esposito's meats.

DiBerardinis' first, and second, stops.

To say Sunday supper in the city's Italian enclaves, of course, is to refer to a certain menu as much as a day - typically, strands of pasta, long-simmered red gravy, three-meat meatballs, sausage, maybe braciole, thin steak stuffed and rolled.

DiBerardinis cooked to that beat, too. At first. He grew up in Downingtown, the son of a paper-mill worker. His father's family had emigrated from Abruzzo; his mother was born in Sicily.

"It was a mixed marriage," she once confided. "But we made it work."

Twice a year - for years - he has traveled to Italy; to Sicily to visit Sicilian cousins, to Abruzzo to see Abruzzese cousins. Then in the mid-'90s, he had something of an epiphany: The one-pot, Italian American supper he had been cooking when his kids were young was fine. But in Abruzzo, he was seduced by a more purely Italian tradition - the five-course meal, "not just the food, but the rhythm of the event, the beauty of the table, the celebration of family and friends."

Also, one other central feature: "Lots of talking."

So there may be a more varied menu on a given Sunday - veal cutlets with hazelnuts and white wine; steaks grilled in the postage-stamp backyard; or a fish dish.

This Sunday, it will be his family-recipe rosemary chicken (tossed in olive oil, rosemary, lemon, and white wine), then baked with halved new potatoes.

The pasta course, no question, will not be neglected.

The water will be boiling in a few hours in the scuffed, four-gallon aluminum pot DiBerardinis' mother got as a wedding gift.

In the 1930s.

The pavement is wet and gray at Ninth and Carpenter, the sky still gloomy. DiBerardinis makes quick work of his shopping: At Esposito's, he orders 10 boneless chicken thighs, 10 wings ("You're on a 10 kick today," the counterman interjects), and four quarter chickens.

Then he's over to Talluto's, but not for the "homemades," the pasta he often gets: This time, he wants the boxed farfalle bow-ties and canned San Marzano tomatoes for the pasta with tomatoes and peas.

From the curbside vendors, he gets lemons and rosemary, and handfuls of string beans that will be served parboiled, crisp and chilled, dressed with olive oil, red wine vinegar, and salt.

He gets celery for the celery soup he'll make with beef broth, risotto, and butter.

Then it's up the street to Sarcone's, the legendary bakery. He picks up a long, seeded loaf and a round, dense, rustic loaf. And a bag of assorted cookies.

By 9:30, he takes a break at a tiny cafe table at Anthony's Italian Coffee House, sips a restorative double cappuccino.

Outside, over the produce-stand canopies and brooding Rizzo mural and a butcher shop offering iguana, kangaroo tenderloin, and boar, a glimmer of sunshine winks through the gray.

Toward 5 o'clock at the Fishtown rowhouse, the usual suspects trickle in - daughter Maura's husband, Pete Angevine, a founder of Little Baby's Ice Cream (toting a tub of chocolate-peppermint for dessert); sons Gabriele, Justin, and Daniel; spouses; a nephew; two toddler grandchildren; wife Joan's very Irish mother, Rosemary, at 94, sharp as a tack. A stray guest - also fairly typical.

Hands are held around the slightly wobbly table. A few bars of "Sing and Rejoice" are sung. Joan, the longtime peace activist, offers a brief prayer for peace.

Bowls of olives and antipasti are laid out. DiBerardinis checks on the oven. Celery soup is served. Then the farfalle with tomatoes and peas. Next a heap of the rosemary chicken - on mother Rosemary's handed-down platter. Then green salad. And the cookies and Little Baby's.

The "coursing," as Maura calls it, that DiBerardinis was reintroduced to in Abruzzo is well-practiced - bowls passed, platters emptied, a subtle rhythm. There is no shortage of "a lot of talk."

Were those mosquitos, after all, savaging the kids on the way back from the Shore? Weren't they black flies?

The grandchildren are hustled upstairs to an after-dinner tub, emerging slick and shiny.

Sunday supper is almost over. But Michael DiBerardinis has one more act - a command performance - to complete this edition.

In the simple parlor, he sings to them: "You and Me," by Penny and the Quarters.

"If you love a soul more than fame and gold, and that soul feels the same about you," it goes, "you got to say, it's you and me."

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Makes 6 servings

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3 cups of celery diced into 1/2-inch cubes

3 tablespoons butter

6 cup beef broth

1/2 cup Arborio rice

Parmesan cheese grated

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1. Place butter and celery in soup pot, cover, and cook over medium flame for 10 to 12 minutes. Stir occasionally and make sure you don't overcook (mushy celery . . . bad)

2. Add broth and bring to boil; salt if needed.

3. Add rice, cook for 15 minutes more or until rice is al dente.

4. Serve with grated cheese.

- From Michael DiBerardinis

Per serving: 170 calories, 8 grams protein, 15 grams carbohydrates, 1 grams sugar, 8 grams fat, 19 milligrams cholesterol, 889 milligrams sodium, 1 grams dietary fiber.EndText

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Makes 6 servings

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Extra virgin olive oil

1 pound farfalle (I like DiCecco, made in the hills of Abruzzo near my family's home).

4 ounces frozen or canned peas

4 ounces heavy cream

16 ounces

San Marzano tomatoes chopped coarsely

Chopped parsley

Salt and pepper

Hard asiago cheese

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1. Cook pasta al dente.

2. Cover base of saucepan with olive oil and heat over low flame. Add pasta and heat for a minute. Add heavy cream. Stir. Add tomatoes. Stir. Add peas (more if you like). Heat for a few minutes

3. Place in serving bowl. Sprinkle parsley. Serve with grated asiago.

- From Michael DiBerardinis

Per serving (based on 6): 361 calories; 11 grams protein; 48 grams carbohydrates; 3 grams sugar; 14 grams fat; 83 milligrams cholesterol; 125 milligrams sodium; 2 grams dietary fiber.EndText

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Makes 6 servings

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3 pounds of dark meat chicken

Needles of 3 or 4 sprigs of fresh rosemary

Extra virgin olive oil

One lemon

1/2 cup dry white wine

One pound small red potatoes

Salt and pepper

Italian seasoning

Garlic powder

Dried oregano

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1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

2. Cover base of roasting pan with olive oil. Place chicken and potatoes in pan. Add rosemary and liberally sprinkle Italian seasoning, oregano, garlic powder, salt, and pepper over chicken and potatoes. Squeeze lemon over, as well. Mix with hands, combining ingredients and covering both sides of the chicken, add more olive oil if needed

3. Place in 350-degree oven for about 11/2 hours (or when drippings become thick and turn brown).

3. Near the end of cooking, sprinkle white wine on the chicken. Also, you may want to flip chicken at the 1 hour point in cooking.

- From Michael DiBerardini

Per serving (based on 6): 565 calories; 67 grams protein; 13 grams carbohydrates; 1 gram sugar; 24 grams fat; 202 milligrams cholesterol; 253 milligrams sodium; 2 grams dietary fiber.EndText