Identity-based Zoom fundraisers are all the rage among Harris-Walz supporters, so Sunday night's "Sunday Sauce Kickoff," organized by Paisans for Kamala, was as inevitable as a gravy stain on a white shirt. The event was touted as a virtual old-style Italian family dinner and Alyssa Milano from Who's the Boss was supposed to be there, so I RSVPed right after Mass.
But when I never received the Zoom link the RSVP confirmation page promised, I wondered: Had I been politically profiled by my paisan peers? I decided it was only business and watched later on YouTube.
The event was cohosted by comedian Paul Mecurio, with help from former New York City mayor Bill de Blasio, Maryland state senator Jim Rosapepe, and former Providence mayor Joe Paolino. "This expresses who we are," intoned de Blasio. "We all know what it's like to have that beautiful Sunday dinner when the family comes together." A few participants imbibed in red wine and pasta. Most just sat alone and talked.
Robert De Niro was the main celebrity guest—he went first because he had another event to attend. De Blasio praised De Niro, best known for playing mob bosses, for changing the way people think of Italian Americans. "I don't know what to say," De Niro confessed when he appeared on the small screen, "except I hope we raise a lot of money." (At the end of the Zoom call, the organizers were about $2,200 short of their $30,000 goal.) His uninspiring appearance only felt as long as The Irishman.
Sharing top billing—the event's Pacino to its De Niro—was Nancy Pelosi, who also appeared only briefly but received accolades throughout the night. Other familiar politicos dropped by to praise the Democratic presidential candidate: Leon Panetta (who mispronounced "Kamala"), former congresswoman Susan Molinari, and the great Anthony Scaramucci. I was excited when I saw Perry Farrell, former lead singer of Jane's Addiction, join the call, only to find out it was Rep. Rosa DeLauro (D., Conn.). There were no Cuomos in sight.
These D.C. figures were balanced by the Hollywood charm of Steve Buscemi ("Full disclosure," he confessed, "I'm only half a paisan"), Lorraine Bracco, John Turturro, Mark Ruffalo, Marisa Tomei, and others. Alas, Alyssa Milano stood us up.
The speakers agreed the Harris-Walz ticket represents the Italian family values that all of their parents and grandparents held dear. In a rare reference to religion, former Ohio congressman Tim Ryan recalled being "immersed in the Church," learning values that "are fundamental to what we're talking about in this election"—though presumably not the abortion rights that many other speakers emphasized. Speakers frequently used the issue of immigration to connect Harris with Italian Americans. The evidence of Harris's expertise on the issue was that her parents were immigrants, not that she had any relevant policy experience as vice president. Nobody used the term immigration czar, maybe because it's too Russian.
Tomei fell prey to similarly selective memory when she complained, "Our country has just been through so much pain these, um, this past year," as if Donald Trump were in office. There were also laments that people can't sit down and enjoy meals together anymore, recalling Tim Walz's reminiscence of an age "when you could go to Thanksgiving … and not complain about politics the whole time." That's rich as tiramisu coming from Democrats, who encouraged onesie-wearing wannabe wonks to popularize the Affordable Care Act at the holiday table. It's also a tricky move, yearning for bygone harmony while insisting, "We are not going back."
There were some fun moments. I enjoyed hearing the celebrities and obscurities recount their family histories, and I could imagine having fun trading stories with them about relatives, food, and The Godfather. De Blasio was appropriately mocked for eating pizza with a knife and fork. To a group of fellow Italian Americans, my father once said, "The common bond I have with those who share my Italian ancestry prevents me from readily being drawn into enmity with those people on the basis of, for example, politics." This event occasionally illustrated his point.
But like Tommy DeVito walking into an empty room, you could tell something was off. It wasn't just that there were the usual Zoom struggles with mute buttons or that nobody mentioned Harris's purchase of Tuscan Sunset Salt Free Italian Seasoning during her notorious spice-shop stop. Nor, I assure you, was it de Blasio's claim that the two people "who have gone the farthest in the entire history of Italian Americans in this nation" are Nancy Pelosi and Leon Panetta, as if the Supreme Court is oogatz.
No, the real problem was the irony of the event's conceit: a big Italian family dinner, just like many of the speakers fondly recalled having as kids. The delicious food! The lively conversation! The valuable lessons! Everyone agreed how important these occasions were to making them the people they are today. But with few exceptions, these dinners were in the past tense. There were almost no references to ongoing traditions of having a big Sunday meal together.
You don't need to be the kind of person who makes fun of childless cat ladies to see the weirdness of all these Italians praising the importance of family dinners to strangers whom they've invited to spend their dinner time on a screen, away from their families. It turns out a virtual Italian family dinner is a bunch of people sitting in empty rooms, like the kind of COVID Thanksgiving that would have made Governor Walz happy in 2020.
As for how I handled being snubbed by Paisans for Harris… what are ya gonna do? I ate the delicious lasagna that my non-paisan wife made for our Sunday dinner.
Christopher J. Scalia is a senior fellow at the American Enterprise Institute.