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By Joe Puglia | July 31, 2008
My great uncle Sal was a dirty dog, a ladies’ man, if you get my drift. He was a cavalier poet who could recite verse from Virgil and at the same time take three guys apart in a bar fight. He won the Italian Medal of Honor for bravery in World War I and then pilfered the Allied Commissary, sending supplies to his family in Sicily. That uncle of mine had a strange duality. Salvatore Puglia was always full of advice most of which went in one ear and out the other. But I can still hear him exclaim as he’d labor over a hot stove orchestrating a masterpiece of linguini and squid: “Joey Boy, the way to a woman’s heart is through cooking!
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By Joe Puglia | July 31, 2008
My great uncle Sal was a dirty dog, a ladies’ man, if you get my drift. He was a cavalier poet who could recite verse from Virgil and at the same time take three guys apart in a bar fight. He won the Italian Medal of Honor for bravery in World War I and then pilfered the Allied Commissary, sending supplies to his family in Sicily. That uncle of mine had a strange duality. Salvatore Puglia was always full of advice most of which went in one ear and out the other. But I can still hear him exclaim as he’d labor over a hot stove orchestrating a masterpiece of linguini and squid: “Joey Boy, the way to a woman’s heart is through cooking!
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