Lindsay Marie Morris

For 89 years, San Francisco's La Società di Maria Santissima del Lume has organized Festa delle Madonna del Lume, a grand celebration/memoriam patterned after the original held in Porticello, Sicily.

In addition to serving as a Sicilian-American festival dedicated to Porticello's patroness, the event honors fishermen who were lost or perished at sea. 

Sicilian-American Brianna Dorio Wraa's grandfather was one of those lost. His daughter, Brianna's mother, was just 11 years old when his fishing boat was caught in a swell, and he disappeared off the coast of one of the Farallon Islands. A few years later, the then-teenager found comfort and fellowship within La Società di Maria Santissima del Lume and began attending the group's annual Festa. It's become a family affair. 

Last weekend, Brianna proudly stood before her community for the second year in a row, wearing the crown of Festa della Madonna del Lume Queen. For her, it was an honor and a way to pay tribute to her grandfather's memory. Next month, it will be 50 years since his disappearance. 

Following the festivities, I caught up with Brianna, who is pursuing a degree in communications studies with a minor in human resources management at the University of Nevada-Reno, to chat about the significance of the event, how she became Queen, and her fondest Festa memory.  

 

 

How did you become Festa Queen?

For me, it was a little different than normal. My family has always gone to the Festa della Madonna del Lume, and we always saw the queen and the princesses, and everyone wanted to be that. 

Knowing that it was coming up on 50 years with my grandfather's passing, I wanted to do something to honor his memory more than just going to the event. So, I reached out to Rose Cannizzaro, one of our co-presidents.

She said this was great because many people in my generation aren't really focused on preserving the tradition. They usually have younger queens—middle school to high school-aged range—which is great, but when they're finished, they still have a bunch of school left. There's only so much you can do when you're a kid. 

But as an adult, I knew that I wanted to preserve this. I want to make sure that tradition continues for as long as possible. I know it means so much to my family. There are so many people for whom it means so much.

When I joined the committee last year, I immediately started running. A couple of months after I joined the committee, they were having a fundraiser. We got raffle baskets, and we got the centerpieces done. And they were impressed that I was able to get so much done in such little time. Rose and Antonia San Filippo-Ferretti are not only co-presidents of the organization, but Antonia was also the queen and maiden director.

Both called me on a three-way call, and they said, "We would be honored if you were our queen." It was definitely a surprise. I said, "Oh my gosh, I'd love to; I'd be honored."

This organization is special for two reasons. One reason is to honor the Madonna and the very religious aspect. The other side is to honor the fishermen like my grandfather, who were lost at sea. It just meant a lot to be Queen. 

I was able to find girls to be maidens for the court. I've expanded the court, so now we have six maidens. (Last year, we had three maidens.) And we already have girls talking about joining next year. It's nice to see that progression.

I think the committee was just so impressed that I was able to do so much being so young and being so dedicated already that they were like, "This girl is the perfect example of what it means to be dedicated, to honor our organization, and to portray our organization in a great way."

 

What are your responsibilities as Queen?

I actually changed the way that Queen is thought of. In the past, it was really just for the events and to have a young representation there. So, there weren't really any roles associated with it before I came in. And I set things in stone for the future in a way because, besides being Queen, I am still on the committee and go to the monthly meetings we have. I also am one of the fundraising chairs. So, I work with Antonia to find sponsors for our events.

I try to get the word out. I am the person who runs our social media, our Facebook and Instagram. I am also a co-director of the court. I am super involved, and I will stay involved. And especially with next year being the 90th year, it's really a huge year for us. 

 

What does Madonna del Lume mean to you personally?

People always talk about how Madonna de Luma shone the light down on the fishermen to help bring them back home. The Madonna can mean so many different things, but for those from fishing families, that's the most heartfelt part. Part of the reason some people come is because of the fishermen who never made it back. I grew up hearing my mom's stories. She was 11, so you know what's happening at that age, but you don't at the same time. I remember her talking about how, in the case of my grandfather, he was just going to show his friend and his friend's son how to do his line of work on a new boat. He was a drag fisherman. 

A swell just came, and it was too big for the boat they had. The Coast Guard searched 24/7 for two weeks, and then, after those two weeks, they called it off.

It was hard. My grandmother was a stay-at-home mom, and she was a widow at 32. She had to not only take care of her children but also compose herself in a way after losing the love of her life.  

Our organization is super-small compared to Porticello's. The entire procession is huge and so focused on the Madonna. I think our organization finds a way to do both.

There are many ways to pray to the Madonna because she is the Mother of Light. It's not just about fishermen returning to shore. It's also about when there's so much darkness in your world, and you need a beacon of light or that light at the end of the tunnel mindset. She is that.

A woman from one of the families associated with our organization went through several miscarriages, and a family member prayed to the Madonna. After they started praying to the Madonna, she got pregnant and was able to conceive and carry to full-term a child. 

I know it means so many different things for so many different families. That's something that's great about the organization: It could mean so many different things, but we all find our way back to the light at the end of the tunnel, in a way.

 

Can you share a special memory from a past Festa?

Next month is going to be 50 years since my grandfather was lost at sea. I actually had a wreath made in honor of him and surprised my mom with that. And she absolutely had no clue. 

For the past month, we have been running around doing a bunch of different things to get ready for this Festa. She kept saying this year, "I need to get a wreath made. I need to get flowers. I need to do this. I need to do that. I need to do all these things."

Because I'm in Reno, I flew on Thursday night and had Thursday and Friday, and then the Festa was on Saturday and Sunday. So there wasn't really a lot of time to get flowers or make a wreath. I remembered someone I know, a beginner florist, and I asked her. She had never done a wreath before, and she was like, "I can try, but I've only done bouquets." And I was like, "Anything is better than nothing at this point."

So we worked together, and it turned out amazing. My friend Gracie came in on Saturday to spend the day with us, and I was like, "Hey, on your way to my house, can you pick up this wreath I had made from my mom? It's a surprise."

I knew my mom was so stressed and worked up. On Friday night, she said, "I never got flowers. I never got a wreath made." And she was really upset about it. 

Then my mom walked into the living room Saturday morning, right before we were about to leave, and she saw the wreath and said, "Wait."

She turned to my friend and said, "Did you make this?" 

Gracie said, "No, Brianna had it made. I just picked it up." My mom started bawling. 

Obviously, you don't want to make your mom cry, but in a way, I think the rush of emotions just hit her. 

There were also a lot of overflowing emotions just because this is something I've always wanted. Being Queen of this organization, representing this organization, and representing my family have always been very important to me. 

Usually, they have the outgoing queen crown the incoming queen. But last year, because they found out my family's history and that my mom had recently just finished radiation for breast cancer and had missed the year prior, they asked my mom, "Do you want to crown Brianna?"

There's a picture of her crowning me in Saints Peter and Paul's Church. Those are two memories that I'll definitely always have.

 

What do you hope to share with the broader community?

Even though everything is about being Sicilian and Italian, we are inclusive of everything else. I will also say that even though we love our traditions and keep to them as much as possible, it's so great to see us expanding. And I know that next year, being the 90th year, it's going to be our biggest year yet.

We've already talked to different organizations about creating an entire gallery for next year. It is going to be really exciting to share all the past photos and commemorate the fact that this has been happening for 90 years. We've always been a smaller organization, and it comes together. We love our traditions, but we also love creating new traditions.

 

 

 

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Restauranteur's daughter and former restaurant owner Suzanne Lo Coco doesn't recommend people get into the restaurant business.

 

"You need a lot of raw talent, and you need to be willing to put in all that time and hard work and long hours and miss weddings and parties and everything else and have your hands burned several times over and still work through a shift," she says. 

 

She's done all that and then some, having run the popular La Fornaretta in Pasadena, California, for nearly ten years before new landlords purchased her lease in order to repurpose the building. She also watched her father's challenging rise from immigrant to successful owner of Lo Coco restaurants. 

 

Still, despite their mother's misgivings, Suzanne's sons, Gian Luca and Gilberto Di Lorenzo, have carried on the tradition at La Fornaretta in Newcastle, California. And Gian Luca has invited Suzanne to join him in a new pasta-making venture he's started with her brother Frank.  

 

"I feel very complimented that they asked me to do that," Suzanne says. 

 

There will undoubtedly be more stories to tell for this Washington resident, who recently published the deliciously entertaining memoir Secret Dough. Drawing from the wit and wisdom of her late father, Giovanni Lo Coco, Suzanne shares her journey to self-discovery flavored with Sicilian traditions, relationship drama, and humorous stories. She's even thrown in a handful of recipes to savor between page turns. 

 

Suzanne is what we call a paesana. Giovanni came to the U.S. from Porticello, Sicily, the same village as my grandparents, and Suzanne has returned often.

 

We sat down for an entertaining chat about Porticello, the book's namesake dough, her writing inspiration, balancing personal and professional life, her favorite Giovanni aphorisms, and what she hopes readers will take away.   

 

 

What are your memories of Porticello?

The first time I went there, I was a baby. My parents drove across the United States and took the Michelangelo ship to Napoli and then to Sicily. They were there for two months, and I have absolutely no recollection of this trip whatsoever.

 

When I was 10, I returned with my dad for two weeks. When we got on the plane and took Alitalia from San Francisco to Rome and then Rome Palermo, he ordered me my own bottle of Asti spumante as soon as the plane lifted off the ground.

 

And he says, "This is an Italian plane, and now you are in Italy. The air… It's not America anymore. The air doesn't belong to anybody. Now we are on an Italian plane, so we are in Italy. You can drink with your papà."

 

The flight attendant didn't even bat an eye. He brought me my flute and bottle, and I drank that whole thing. Then, I crashed for several hours.
 

Every day when we were in Sicily, we'd drive from Palermo to Porticello and hang out. And everything is kind of mind-blowing to an 11-year-old who has only ever been in America, and all of a sudden, you're in Sicily.

 

I remember that at that time, there were a lot fewer cars and less traffic. And there were still women laying out those giant pieces of plywood propped up on sawhorses used to make tomato paste.

 

I remember swimming in the sea with my dad every day and him diving for ricci, sea urchins. I couldn't believe how long he could stay underwater! His cousins made pasta con ricci with his catch.

 

I remember going to the open fish markets—those giant swordfish on display made such an impression on me. Every town had its own frutta e verdura guy and fresh fish stand. And then, just randomly, there's this popup with a very round man under the tent tossing fresh octopus into these giant vats of boiling water with lemon halves bobbing around on the top. There are no women, just men at the counter that is set up with beautifully painted ceramic plates, lemon wedges and salt shakers. They are all spouting off in Sicilian, yelling and talking all at the same time while eating their octopus.

 

My dad stuffed things in my mouth throughout that whole trip. He stuffed a piece of octopus in my mouth, and I was horrified. They cut into the brains and that brown mushy stuff… Oh my God! I just remember swallowing it whole.

 

I remember the first time I had pane e panelle, and then I had to have it every day. I just loved the arancini and eating ice cream every day.
 

So, for me, when the plane lands in Rome… Sure, you're in Italy, and you're excited. But when the plane flies into Palermo, I feel like I'm at home. It really does pull on your heartstrings to go there, to be there—the sights, the smells.

 

After my dad retired, he spent half the year in Sicily. He happened to be there when he passed away, so we buried him there. Now, when I go to Sicily, I feel like I am visiting him. I'm so happy that he introduced us to this magical island and that it is part of our lives.

 

Tell us about your family. When and why did they leave Porticello for California?

My grandfather Gaetano Lo Coco was a professor of philosophy, but he was also, I guess, very instrumental in local politics and trying to advocate for the fishermen. His father was a fisherman. 

 
My grandfather used to own the land where Solunto is. It was full of olive and citrus orchards, climbing up the mountain behind Porticello. He was not a businessman or materialistic in any way—he was a true philosopher. 

 

Before selling the land, my dad's dream was to build a pizzeria and nightclub at the top of the mountain. My grandfather did not support this idea, which was very upsetting to him. For this reason, he decided to leave for America to pursue his dream of owning his own business. Funny—eventually, someone opened a pizzeria atop that mountain and became very successful!

 

When my father left, he ended up living with cousins for a couple of months in San Francisco's North Beach, where he had to teach himself English. He worked three jobs, seven days a week, both lunch and dinner shifts at various Fisherman's Wharf restaurants.

 

He met my mother about a year after he came to the States. They ended up getting married very quickly and starting a family. Shortly after they married, his cousin Domenic, whom he had lived with, recommended, "Giovanni, if you could come up with a really great pizza recipe, you will be very successful." 

 

Domenic planted the seed in his head: "I need to come up with a pizza recipe."

 

After a visit to Jackson, California my dad fell in love with the town, as it reminded him of scenes from old Western movies he had grown up with. So they moved there and opened their first pizzeria. That's where his secret dough recipe was born.

 

Let's talk about the significance of that dough; it's what you named your memoir.

So, there is a whole chapter on that in the book.

 

My parents divorced in 1977, maybe '78. Afterward, a gentleman named Eugene deChristopher came into the restaurant. He had been eating Lo Coco's Pizza in Marin County. He actually first approached my uncles, and they sent him over to my dad. So, he came into the restaurant in Pleasant Hill.

 

So Eugene comes to the restaurant and tells my dad, "This is a great product, and I think we can do something with it. Have you ever thought about marketing it like this or that?"

 

Initially, my dad thought, "Well, maybe we should open up franchises."

 

At the time, you had places like Pizza Hut and Shakey's and this and that. But still, if you go in and order a pizza, it's going to take some time. You can't get a pizza at the same time as a hamburger, right?

 

But my dad thought we could cut some of this production time in half by having a crust that's already half-baked and ready to be topped. He came up with this idea to speed up the pizza process.

 

He originally thought, "We'll start with universities and make all these really small, self-serve pizzerias."

 

The idea evolved from there.

 

Then Eugene said, "Well, we could package it. And then what about selling it in grocery stores?"

 

They created a company that was originally called PizzAmore.

 

Meanwhile, they are still in the developing phase, coming up with packaging ideas and reaching out to different companies for meetings. Eugene is sending in his son all the time, who hangs out at the pizza counter and watches night after night. One night, he was watching my dad make pizza and asked, "I don't understand, Giovanni; how do you get those bubbles on the crust?"

 

My dad, with his thick accent, responded, "That's the boboli—the cheese—it melts on the crust and makes the boboli."

 

The Boboli chapter of my book illustrates the "origins" of the pizza shell and the partnership between my father and Eugene. The company has since sold many times, and we wish them well.

 

What inspired you to write your memoir?

I was in my first marriage, and we were going through a very rocky time. Someone gave me Ruth Reichl's book Comfort Me with Apples, and it really inspired me.

 

I thought, "I have stories like this!"

 

So, I started writing, having been inspired by her books and also just as an outlet. And I always enjoyed writing.

 

I always enjoyed creative writing classes and writing term papers in school. I enjoyed the whole process of crafting a good story. Growing up in the restaurant business, one is naturally groomed to become a storyteller.

 

I interviewed my dad a lot when I started that process over twenty years ago. But this book is not that book. I did finish that. Many years later, I went back to school, and with all the required writing and reading, I sharpened my skills.

 

A couple of instructors had pulled me aside and said, "Do you do a lot of writing? I have to tell you, it's really a pleasure reading your papers."

 

I went back to school at 42 years old. I had an AA degree, but it still took me four years to get my BA.

 
I was raising kids and working, so I couldn't take a full load. I'd take three or four classes at a time.

 

Two years into school, I divorced but continued working at the restaurant until I got my degree. A few months before graduation, I met and started dating Stuart, who I eventually married. After we married, we moved to Tahoe and bought these two little houses. We lived in one of them, and I rented the other on Airbnb. Early on, one of my first guests was Cheryl Angelina Koehler, from the Bay Area, who was the publisher, editor, and designer for Edible East Bay Magazine.

 

Having had many false starts on writing a book, now that I had the time, I once again started dabbling in writing. I held so many stories in my head. I said, "I really want to do this."

 

So when Cheryl checked in, my mind went immediately to" I've got to meet this lady!"

 

But something about having her land on my doorstep ignited this hope and excitement within me.

 

I thought, "Somehow, this lady is going to help me in this process, to get this going, and to get this moving in the right direction."

 

I was dying to say something to her, but I didn't know how to approach the subject of my writing. Finally, just as they were checking out, she asked, "Can we meet your dogs?"

 

We got into this conversation, and I asked Cheryl, "You're from the East Bay. Well, do you go to Lo Coco's?"

 

We got into this discussion about Lo Coco's and then into a discussion about my dad. When I get into Giovanni Lo Coco's stories, I become very animated. I mean, there are so many good stories. He really was such a unique character.

 

She says, "That is pretty incredible. You should really write down some of these stories. Just start writing. I would love to help you. You can send me what you have, and I'll read it over."

 
I couldn't believe my good fortune. Of all the places in Tahoe she could have rented, this was the one. It was a sign! I needed to finally write and try to publish my memoir.

 
It took me months. I wrote about four chapters and then sat on them for months. I didn't have the nerve to send them to her, and I didn't think they'd be good enough.

 

Finally, my husband was like, "You've got to send this to her. Just send them. What do you have to lose?"

 

I sent her what I had, and she encouraged me to keep going. I continued sending bits and pieces and then decided to hold off until I finished the book. 

 

After three years, I forwarded her the final chapters, and she said, "Oh my God, you finished!"

 

That really excited her, and she went through it. Then suddenly, our process and our relationship shifted, and it really turned into a writer-editor relationship.

 

Tell us about your book's cover.

Well, as you can see on the cover of the book I sent Cheryl, I wanted to incorporate a lot of these articles. It was her brilliant idea to plaster them all over the book in a collage-type way. That basically makes up the cover. And then I wanted to include an "I like Lo Coco's Pizza" pin on there.

Whenever my father's restaurant was written up, they always wanted a photograph of our Lo Coco's special, which was pepperoni, artichoke heart, green onion, and anchovy, because it was such a pretty pizza—just aesthetically, it's just the colors.

So, I said it has to be the Lo Coco special on the front. So, last spring, I went into my boys' restaurant and made a pizza. My husband, who is actually a professional photographer, took the picture of the pizza.

There are many old family photos peppered throughout the book. They help tell the story.

 

You sprinkled pearls of wisdom from your father throughout the book. Can you share a couple?

Each chapter starts with something that my father used to tell me, using sayings or dictums instead of telling you straight what you need to do, like "You always leave the taste of honey in the mouth," meaning don't burn bridges.

 

Or "Be stupid inside and smart outside." My dad was of the philosophy that the world was out to get you, so you need to stick together.

 

How do you balance life's personal and professional aspects in your storytelling?

When I knew this book was complete and we were going to launch, I was overcome with a panic I did not expect to have when I started this process. It had been a pipe dream for so long, and now it was really happening. I was second-guessing myself. Maybe it's not good enough; maybe people will hate it; maybe my family will be upset.

 

This book is so different from my first few attempts. I was sort of all over the place—mingling dad stories with my own stories. After reviewing some of my work, my sister commented, "I don't hear your voice." She asked, "Is this about Dad, or is this about you?"

 

I didn't have much confidence in telling my story. I never even thought about that. But then I thought, well, actually, there is a lot to say and a lot to tell.

 

I didn't write the book to bash anybody, and I don't bash anyone. But sometimes, people, including myself, are not shown in a good light because if you're writing a memoir, you can't just talk about the good things; that's not realistic. Life is messy.

 

What do you hope that people take away from reading your book?

Well, I hope it humors and entertains people, and I hope it's relatable. I hope it reminds people to treat themselves with more kindness and forgiveness. We all have dark periods in our lives; we make mistakes. I strived to be very authentic and offer readers an intimate glimpse into the life of a Sicilian-American restaurant family. I introduced intriguing, fun characters, like my immigrant dad and my ex-husband.

 

There are so many misunderstandings about Sicily and Sicilians, and I hope this book helps Americans gain more appreciation for this place and its people whom I love so dearly. Finally, I hope that Secret Dough inspires people. As illustrated in the book, one can walk through a lot of crap and still come out smelling like a rose.

 

I hope it makes people laugh and feel many emotions. It's just a good, fun read.  

 

>>Get Secret Dough here!<<

 

 

 

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