The Middletown Press (Middletown, CT)
Honoring the Gravy
The letters, emails and phone calls arrived at a steady pace from passionate readers in the fall of 2018: Where’s the Gravy? Chip Malafronte, right, the author of the Sunday Gravy, died after a long and courageous battle with cancer on Aug. 12. There were many conversations with Chip since his final column Sept. 1, 2018, about returning the Gravy. But he always said he didn’t want to tease readers, disappoint them if he was unable to follow through. He even considered writing a final Sunday Gravy in his final weeks. Chip’s devoted sister, Mia Malafronte, left, a former Register photographer and passionate sports fan who prepared him countless meals during his battle, has stirred up one final Sunday Gravy for us to honor her brother’s legacy. Her touching tribute appears on page B2, where her brother’s words greeted readers each Sunday from 2011-2018.
Editor’s note: The letters, emails and phone calls arrived at a steady pace from passionate readers in the Fall of 2018: Where’s the Gravy? What happened to the Gravy? You could not possibly have been dumb enough to end the Gravy! And those are the ones we can print.
Chip Malafronte, the author of the Sunday Gravy, died after a long and courageous battle with cancer on Aug. 12. Chip was a very private person. We respected his privacy with vague answers in the many months following his final column Sept. 1, 2018.
There were many conversations with Chip about returning the Gravy. But he always said he didn’t want to tease readers, disappoint them if he was unable to follow through. He even considered writing a final Sunday Gravy in his final weeks.
Chip’s devoted sister, Mia Malafronte, a former Register photographer and passionate sports fan, who prepared him countless meals during his battle, has stirred up one Final Sunday Gravy for us to honor her brother’s legacy.
Here is her touching tribute:
It is Sunday. The smell of sauce and fried meatballs is permeating the air. A loaf of Italian bread is on the kitchen table along with a fresh block of Italian table cheese from Durantes market in West Haven.
From the TV room I can hear the Yankees game and I can see The Boy in his usual “game time” position.
He is lying on his stomach, two feet from the television, scorebook open in front of him where he is documenting every single pitch and at-bat. He is holding half a meatball in his left hand.
“Did you take the last meatball?” I ask.
Without saying a word, he pops the rest of the meatball into his mouth, looks at me and smiles while he chews.
It is September 27, 1981. Dave Righetti is on the mound, Reggie Jackson is batting cleanup and The Boy is my big brother, Chip Malafronte.
“You jerk!” I yell, while trying to yank the scorebook out from under him. He hangs onto it.
So I turn to the television, where I think I can pull our favorite '80s “Gotcha” move by changing the channel and pulling the knob out of the set so the poor fool will be stuck watching "The Love Boat" or something of the like. But the knob isn't there.
I turn back toward him and there he is, grinning from ear to ear, holding the dial up in the air and slowly waving it back and forth at me.
He is ALWAYS one step ahead of me.
⏩ In researching details for this article, I forgot how awful the New York Yankees were throughout the 1980s. I was surprised to find that the only year they even made it to the World Series was 1981.
The faces of "Rags" and Reggie hung in my room; so did Willie Randolph, Graig Nettles, Lou Piniella, Dave Winfield, Rickey Henderson and Don Mattingly. These guys were so awesome, how could they not win? I guess my memories of watching games throughout my childhood are so grand that my brain never registered the final outcome.
I wonder if Donnie Baseball feels the same way?
⏩ While I’m talking about 1981, how many of you remember that was the year Pope John Paul was shot? It was the year "Raiders of the Lost Ark" was released. Chuck and Di also got married. (Flashback: "I hope you upchuck and die." — Carla to Diane on "Cheers".)
⏩ With COVID-19 still running rampant, schools are doing the virtual “Yo-Yo” with their decisions on fall sports. UConn football just announced it’s “pausing” after six athletes tested positive.
⏩ Not sure if you remember, but holding the pause button too long on early-model VCRs caused the tape to melt and self-destruct.
⏩ As much as I hate to say it, I think the Ivy League did the right thing in making the call quick and early.
⏩ Chocolate snow was reported to be falling on Monday in Switzerland. Apparently there was a malfunction of a ventilation system at a local chocolate factory, causing the town to be covered in cocoa powder. I can’t help but picture Augustus Gloop in all his glory.
⏩ I loved seeing New York Yankee hurler Gerrit Cole get fired up when he was removed from Wednesday's game against Tampa Bay. He is fierce, he’s got the golden arm, he is 4-0 and he wanted to finish the game. Storming off the mound, screaming into his glove, slapping the railing wasn’t poor sportsmanship. It was about being a competitor. One who knows what he’s got left in the tank. One who’s fire in the middle of August will bring forth lightning come the end of September.
THAT is the guy I want on MY team come playoff time.
⏩ Did you know that a coupon for a $5 Whopper at Burger King does not include cheese? Want cheese on that whopper? It will cost you an extra 80 cents.
⏩ The Boy of the 80’s had an affinity (obsession might be another word) for keeping an official scorebook to document every single Yankee game he ever watched. He carried this tradition on throughout his adulthood and eventually taught his son to do the same.
Starting somewhere around the age of 8, I’m guessing Chip logged somewhere in the neighborhood of 6,480 games.
Some part of me thought he may still have them all, so a search ensued at his house last week. While we couldn’t find the books from the 80’s (really, who would want to keep those?) a 1998 book was found, complete with Game 4 of the World Series all tallied up and “Chip Malafronte” signed neatly as the official Scorer. In case you were wondering, the Padres left 8 men on base and the Yanks won the series 4-0. The official scorer in this case might have shown his favoritism in some places on the page.
The Sunday Gravy has been a staple in our lives long before any of you had the chance to read about it back in 2011. A lifelong love of family, sports, statistics, silly anecdotes, and the smell of sauce wafting through the air in the background.
It stemmed from a childhood filled with tradition, where eating dinner together was a top priority and all of the day's events would be told to each other.
Perhaps our father describes it best in a tribute he wrote to the women of our family back in 1989. In part he says:
“Consider the dining room table. The scene where family members are always present in our most cherished memories. Where heads of the family share the values of life by which we live and learn.
Love for each other overwhelms all else in the room and the food can still be tasted even after all these years have passed. Most of all, the family teaches that faith in God and in each other, perpetuates life.
That love and understanding within the family is a natural gift.
That memory, tradition and love, transcends all and remains with us even beyond the loss of life itself.”
While the Sunday Gravy may no longer be written and here for you to read every week, we can say with certainty, that the sauce and the memories will still be simmering in our homes.
We encourage each and everyone of you to make a pot of your own.
Mia Malafronte, a former photographer for the New Haven Register, is the sister of longtime sportswriter and columnist Chip Malafronte. The Sunday Gravy appeared weekly in the Register from 2011-2018. She can be reached at miamalafronte@gmail.com Contributions to benefit the future and education of Chip’s son John Paul may be made c/o Nancy L. Malafronte, 12 Bishop Dr. Woodbridge, CT 06525.